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the stage. [two artists tuesday]

behind the curtain and between stage-left and stage-right wings, the action is paused and ready. umbel stalks on point, waiting to explode into clusters of tiny white flowers, delicate leaves opening, lacy, inviting the show to go on.

it’s spectacular – this performance of nature.

queen anne’s lace – i first learned of this wildflower from my dear friend linda – can be confused with other plants. bishop’s flower, wild parsley and hemlock taunt many from the meadow and one must be careful to realize that their performance piece is not the same – they are not edible – like this wild carrot of queen anne’s lace – and, in fact, they are toxic. the meadow stage offers up options but only carrots are carrots.

for those who love the stage in any capacity, there is a responsibility, things one must remember.

i knew from the beginning that the stage was not about me, not about what it could bring me. instead, the stage is about what i can bring to the audience. i have played to a handful of people; i have played to tens of thousands of people. i always knew it was simply my job to offer my music, stories, lyrics, song, to put it out there. to be absolutely present – sharing the moment – my jeans stuck in my boot. to connect, to resonate, to move – though my expectation was not to be moved, were i to feel it connect, resonate, move, i, in turn, am profoundly moved.

to be off-stage for a longer period of time is taxing. there’s expendable energy stoking up, ready to burst off the apron, into the house. shimmering moments, illuminating the glow of faces seated, the warm cloud of laughter, the sighs of sinking in.

i have stood on the giant rocks of the john denver sanctuary, bowing. i have stood on the stump and the downed tree in the forest, bowing. i have danced on the deck, bowing. i have fist-microphoned in the kitchen, bowing.

i googled “what is the difference between an entertainer and an artist?” for i am often called an “entertainer” and, for some reason, that word rubs me wrong. surprisingly, an AI bot responded. “sage” wrote, “entertainment often focuses on providing a pleasurable or amusing experience for the audience, while art is more about expressing ideas, emotions or personal experiences. … entertainers focus on entertaining, while artists focus on expressing themselves through their art.”

sage’s answer indirectly implies a contrived reorganization, a pleasing-you approach. and while i have read audiences time and again, choosing direction of a concert – if possible – as i perform, on the fly, it is still with an intent to share, to impact, not to simply “amuse”.

i think it’s a matter of purity. or order. or intention. a combination of the three. plus gut. intuition. emotion. to bring. to touch. to move. to prompt questions. to elicit change. artistry. to lift up – suspending in midair – a piece of music, to let it soak up tiny jet streams that will carry it, to let it fall – as it might – onto the anyone or the anyones who is or are there – recipients of my good intention, from stage to audience.

hunger for the stage is real. it is pining for that connection, for the very reason i have composed.

one day the curtain rises – one day the delicate leaves drop – and i’m grateful to perform, piano, boom mic, wood under my feet – and the clusters of tiny white flowers explode into daylight.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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black and white prayers. [two artists tuesday]

it is all in the intention.

our old door – leaning against the house on the back deck – is not high in the himalayas. it’s not at everest base camp or, for that matter, on any scaled summit. but, like the space in which our other prayer flags fly, our deck provides a place from which to release prayers and mantras into the wind, to hope for compassion, peace, strength, wisdom, and good will.

the cracked-paint white door leans against the white lapped vinyl siding of the house. walking sticks – mostly from mountain trails we have hiked – lean nearby.

our colorado prayer flags have faded and shredded to nearly invisible. i imagine many, many prayers blown far and wide, the wind pulling at the string on the northeast side of the house, a place of distinct breezes off the lake.

i decided to make our own. they do not have the words of prayers on them. they are not specific in a colorful palette. instead, they are black-and-white, save for one white-and-black flag. sewn of thin bandanas and seam tape, i was pretty excited to string them up.

and with them, as they are beginning to catch the breeze, as they begin to get tattered and worn and sunbleached, they will begin – just as the others – to send wishes of goodness and positive energy into the world.

we aren’t going to get all hung up about color or what is printed on the flags. for us, in these times, it’s all about the intention.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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dogdog. [two artists tuesday]

younger and he would have already figured out how to get his pride bandana off. but he’s ten today and he’s slowing down a bit, taking things in stride a little bit more, tolerantly allowing for message-filled bandanas and goofy headbands.

our dogga – today – will pretty much dictate what we do on this noisy holiday. he – like so many other pooches – does not appreciate fireworks and it hurts us to see him confused and so bothered by them. we will likely spend time in the basement or succumb to putting the old air conditioner units in the windows – the first time in three years – and turning them on so there is less outside noise coming inside.

i’m not really sure why everyone has to have their own fireworks in their own yards. there are stunningly beautiful displays on the lakefront – up and down lake michigan. sitting on the rocks or at the park you can see them north and south. nevertheless, a whole bunch of neighbors and people in the ‘hood will insist on their own well before the fourth and well after, and a whole bunch of pets will be frightened.

dogdog at ten is different from our dogdog at two or four or six. these days, his wise eyes help us center, steer us away from disagreement, prevent us from a snarky word here or there. we try not to upset the dog. these days, he gets up a little slower, jumps down a little more tentatively, lets us love on him a little longer. we try not to forget we are aging with him.

it is possible that this – the undeniable love we have for our dogs and the desire we have for them to be happy – is a good reason to have them. the simplest pleasures, the slightest touches, a little bit of attention – lessons in relationship. ingredients for a happy dogga.

it’s our second fourth of july without our babycat. it’s the second fourth tripper has had without his babycat. although disturbed by the noise, they would buddy up. somehow, one would reassure the other, telepathically relaying words of comfort, soothing, “we got this”. we know he really misses b-cat. every morning he goes into the kitchen to lay with him – our angel-cat now – in their early-morning-after-breakfast tradition. he’s kept up the ritual. it tugs at us to see him there, in the exact place they would always nap together.

and so – on this holiday – this very noisy holiday – it is to the needs of our beloved dog we will turn. we’ll skip the hoopla, we’ll skip the bedlam at the lakefront, we’ll skip the jockeying for a spot on the grass in the park, we’ll skip the rocks where people set off crackers, we’ll skip the fireworks display.

because what really matters today is celebrating this aussie-dog’s birthday, his unconditional love and care for us, and what we can do to make his day a better day.

*****

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both exist. [two artists tuesday]

the owl feather lay on our trail. soft down curled at its base, it was striking against the dirt of our path. we stopped.

the trail has different rules. the point is never to hurry. it is never to walk without open eyes. it is never to pass by that which draws or beckons. instead, it is to take the time, to go slower, to see what is there – in all its mysterious beauty. and, though this is the most familiar of our trails, there is not a time we have hiked it that we have not seen something new, something informative, something so beautiful – even in its simplicity – that we had to stop and photograph it.

it IS how the world is, she said. it exists just the same way as the dark exists. we were talking about goodness, the presence of goodness, the pay-it-forward of goodness. i was wistfully talking about a world that valued goodness, that lingered in kindness, that held beauty in gratitude, that was full of light and hope and the love of one another. her words stopped me.

it does exist. and, yes, it exists the same way as all the dark in the world exists. it’s a profound thought.

we were walking out to big red to go take a hike. a beautiful black crow feather lay waiting on the driveway.

next to littlebabyscion was a smaller feather, perhaps one from a robin that sang the sun up earlier in the day.

to read about owl feathers and crow feathers and robin feathers, one finds a plethora of information, some seemingly opposite in meaning. but the one thing that all feathers seem to represent across the board is that there are angels with you, there is a connection to the spiritual world.

whatever you perceive that to be, it would seem that a connection to the comfort and love of those who passed before or the eternal wisdom, the resilience, the goodness of the universe would be a good thing.

all the light exists just as all the dark.

*****

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the good ole hardware store. [two artists tuesday]

i am a hardware store junkie. there’s a certain joie de vivre found in the midst of an ace, maybe even – on their best days – in a lowes or a home depot. but ace hardware. that’s the stuff. the smell of fertilizer assails you upon entry and you are transported to another place – a magical place – where you could wander for long periods of time, gazing at tools, watering cans, market umbrellas, weber grill accessories, birdfeeders, alligator extendo-backscratchers, benjamin moore paint chips, no-idea-what-they-are-but-nonetheless-fascinating-thingamajigs. magical. and, in that place, it’s just too easy for two artists to dream.

they are having a big sale on backyard umbrellas. the kind you can tilt. perfect for a patio space that begs the reading of a book while lounging on an adirondack chair. we are pondering. brick red seems like a great punctuation in our verdant yard. but then, that green…a celebration of life. at least i can toss out the yellow, but the beige…well, it’s the color of the deck. so who knows. and then, there’s the budget. in the meanwhile, the rainbow of market umbrellas tempt us. joy in a hardware store. and that rainbow…

because everything nowadays seems to have a political affiliation, i just did a little research. read up on the big three – home depot, lowes, menards. read some articles about ace, thankfully, mostly privately owned. what i read just now – easily just skimming the surface of articles thus far – was somewhat eye-opening and will now dictate where i shop. lurid accusations of founders, large dark money contributions to right-wing nationalist groups, support of the sale of items touting anti-democracy – i’m wondering what all this has to do with power drills, lawn seed, building lumber, nails and hummingbird swings.

as ever, i am breathless from reading about the stance of powerful billionaires hungry for more, ensconced in agenda, dedicated to power and control in every arena. i want to believe that store managers are supported and encouraged, not threatened or belittled. i want to believe that these powerful founders – men – truly uphold the equality of women or of any gender identity, of races other than their own, of religions other than their own, of the freedom to learn in this country without banning crucial historic details, without censorship. i want to believe that hardware is hardware and that positioning and lobbying and not-so-veiled political blackmail has nothing to do with hammers and do-it-yourself in a country built on an experiment with liberty and justice for all.

i just want to believe in market umbrellas and the good ole hardware store.

*****

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the allure of the galvanized. [two artists tuesday]

i guess the allure is in the texture. rough-hewn, rusting bolts, galvanized metal. there is something about this that reminds me of the b-24 bombers my sweet poppo told me stories about. something about the rivets that make me think of his own WWII bomber – “boomerang betsy” – shot down, and the “strawberry bitch” bomber we visited at the national museum of the air force in dayton, ohio.

my dad and my brother spent great deals of time using their phenomenal mechanical skills. they brought a 1930 model A back to life, transformed a long island lighting company van into a camper, rebuilt engines, tinkered with vw bug after vw bug, and kept vehicles going. neither were mechanics specifically by trade, but when i was little and they were out in the garage or in the driveway working, i loved spending time watching them and maybe handing them a tool or two.

the other day we went to pick up littlebabyscion, who had had a new catalytic converter installed. not a small job, but a totally necessary one to pass emissions testing. we were glad to bring LBS home afterward, “pass” form in hand. tiny problem though – it was making a new sound. now, that can strike some ample fear into a person when the odometer reads 267,000 miles. but – having listened to this sweet little vehicle for 266,750 of its miles – i felt i could sort of pinpoint the type of noise it was. so we brought it back.

they put it up on a lift. this, in and of itself, doesn’t sound like a big deal until you consider the 267k miles, its 17 years of life and wisconsin’s love of salty roads in the winter. they g.e.n.t.l.y. put LBS on a lift. we were invited in to look underneath.

now – for me, this is a neato-keeno kind of thing! from underneath, the mechanic explained what we were looking at and – based on my mention of the type of sound it was making (like a clip holding the exhaust piping had come undone and was rattling) he found a weld that had failed. he installed a stainless strap and lowered LBS back to the ground. no more noise. well, no more of THAT noise. jokingly, he added, “you’re hired!” over his shoulder at me.

there’s something about rough-hewn galvanized sheet metal begging my attention.

and there IS something about more analog-type engines and their underworkings that really does fascinate me.

maybe it’s all the steel and rivets and bolts and strategizing and solving mysteries. if a, then b, analytical thinking, even syllogisms.

or maybe it’s really just because it conjures up all the times i sat gazing at my dad and my brother, the smell of grease and the look of old metal in all its glory.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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flowers in the sky. [two artists tuesday]

were i to be on jeopardy – and were there to be a topic called “agriculture” – and were i forced to try and answer any question at all – $1000, $800, $600, $400 or even $200 – i would fail miserably. the tools of the trade are foreign to me, just as, i suppose, sheet music for the rachmaninoff piano concerto no.2 in c minor might be for the farmer skilled at using the farm implements. different languages entirely.

so, for us, sitting outside the iowa farmhouse, gazing around at the unfamiliar, it was both mysterious and magical. interesting textures and things with wheels had us guessing and googling. everything begged to be photographed. for us, the unfamiliar is novel and, through our eyes, doesn’t represent the hard work it actually stands for. instead, the wheel hay rake is flowers in the sky, metal petals reaching out from the center on thick metal stems connecting to the machine. the tractors and disc cultivators and harrows and silos – all unknown and a little exotic. it is easier to see beauty in that which is simply shape and texture than when it is the embodiment of the toil and worry each farmer faces each and every year.

i suppose that should make it easier for me to understand why others can generously send notes and email messages to me about my music, about how the piano piece or a song resonates with them, yet i – at this moment in time – see toil and worry. worry about how – in a new world – to put out new music. worry about how to sustain it all financially. worry about how – with a significantly-reduced wrist – my music may differ from what it has been. new crops, new agricultural costs, new limitations. what is that expression about perception? one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. that might be true also as – one man’s albatross is another man’s beauty.

yet, despite the decidedly different ways we perceive things out of our realm of familiarity, we are all spokes in the big wheel. we honor all the tools of our different trades, the languages, the expressions of work, the products of toil.

to be fascinated by another’s work is to appreciate it. to appreciate another’s work is to respect it. to respect another is to live together, under one sun … flowers in the sky.

*****

on this two artists tuesday, we’d like to make a clarification. i received a text asking me about what “buy me a coffee” meant. just as i was given to misunderstand this platform, i’m not sure we have done an adequate job of explaining it. so, please forgive any redundancy as i take a moment to clarify:

the arts don’t generally have the same avenues for payment as other professional routes, so there has been an effort for more crowdfunding types of options. both BuyMeACoffee and Patreon are platforms in which content creators can receive support from people who appreciate their work.

http://www.buymeacoffee.com is a casual way to support creators. when you “buy a cup of coffee” it transfers $5 per “cup” (minus a small percentage) directly to an account for the artist you have chosen to support. it is called a virtual tip jar because it is not a recurring payment – it is a one-time tip for something that has resonated with you. you can opt for 1, 3, 5 “cups of coffee” or any number you wish (in the square box) and the application will do the math. when i first encountered it on a site of wonderful thru-hikers we follow, i mistakenly thought it literally was sending them coffee – or – sending them money they needed to use for coffee-and-only-coffee. silly me. it is simply providing helpful funding – a lovely way for us to tell them “thank you” for inspiring us. a “cup of coffee” is a way to support them in any number of five dollar increments.

patreon (which we will have shortly) is an opportunity to subscribe to an artist’s work on a monthly, recurring basis. people who wish to support the arts have an ongoing and dedicated way to do this through patreon, choosing a monthly dollar amount. again, a small percentage is taken out and the rest is made available to your chosen artist(s).

either way, artists everywhere appreciate the generosity of those who take the time and the resources to help them keep doing their work in the world. all spokes in the big wheel.

that gratitude goes for us as well. we appreciate you and are grateful for your support of our work. you are flowers in our sky.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the red adirondacks. [two artists tuesday]

these chairs – privy to a lot of life – over just a few days – in warm iowa sun.

we gathered to celebrate columbus’ life, to inurn his ashes, to solemnly and with great gaiety – for that is how columbus lived – say the final-of-the-final goodbyes.

it was the game of bags (cornhole for the rest of you), the bubble wands, the hula-hoops and columbus’ old 33rpm records we brought with us i think he really loved. we made his brats with beer and onions. we made the pasta sauce he liked. there was more; a lotta-lotta food – just the way he liked it. mason jars with wine and a cooler full of water and sparkling hard seltzers and beers-just-up-a-notch-from-columbus’-favorites. and he – from the next plane over – held his beloved wife’s hand as she navigated this time in his growing-up land.

the three adirondack chairs from the east-facing porch were moved, following the activity. down the big grassy hill for bags and around the south side of the house closer to gracie-cat’s-plugged-in-water-bowl to escape the howling wind. back to the porch for happy hour and in a big circle in the lawn to toast his momma’s first hostess cupcake, bag chairs a little teetery on the uneven ground.

you had to watch for the thistles in the grass – you couldn’t just run around willy-nilly without being – yowsa! – aware. but somehow that reminds me of life itself.

it was a time of red. bright bright red. a time of brilliant stand-out moments we will clutch onto, like the hugs we shared at the cemetery and at the old screen door past nightfall the last evening.

though life is like a box of chocolates – yes, forrest gump – it is also like an adirondack chair you drag from place to place. it’s about comfort, simplicity and peacefulness. an intention.

you can sit and watch life, take it all in.

you can do life and then, rest.

both, and.

we took turns with the red adirondacks. that’s what family does.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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peonies and babies. [two artists tuesday]

they will bloom pink. hot pink. soft pink. their scent will waft across the backyard and fill the patio with sweetness. peonies are this graceful gift of spring, blooming once a year and stunning the universe with rich layers of soft petals. were there to be a time-lapse camera on the peony, what would be the soundtrack of this wondrous flower?

this peony (and a smaller one next to barney) is truly the star of the yard. without much help from us, its beauty will reign supreme over all the grasses and all the hosta and all the day lilies. it is – despite all efforts by dogga – a survivor. and every year we marvel at how much bigger it is growing and how healthy it looks.

a quick google search reveals that peonies symbolize romantic and non-romantic love, as well as friendship and happiness. ours, blooms waiting, was a gift from dear friends, transplanted from their yard, a haven of flowers. it is stoking up energy; its gorgeousness is innate.

there is a new baby coming into the family. a baby girl. the other day i had the absolute delight of seeing the ultrasound of this baby merely four months from her premiere appearance. stoking up energy, dreaming about wearing hot pink onesies and puckered vintage polly flinders dresses. yes. wondrous stuff.

i remember that feeling. thirty-three years ago yesterday my daughter was born. pink quickly became her color. i know now’days there is a movement to have babies in monochromatic tones, beiges and earthy tones, greys, muted colors, gender-neutral. but back in the day, i celebrated this beautiful beloved baby girl with the pinks of the rainbow.

and so, each year, right about the time the peonies are getting ready to burst forth, i am celebrating her birth-day, celebrating the hot pink of her zeal in life, celebrating the opportunity this universe gave to me – to be her mother. to be the mother of her little brother, whose toddler color was blue-jean-oshkosh-overalls. the fragile blooms a dominant force in our yard, their presence in the world a dominant force in my heart.

peonies and babies. miracles.

*****

listen to car, the garden’s instrumental interpretation of PEONY.

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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dale of allendale. [two artists tuesday]

dale is a pretty good name for a turkey. but then, so is allen. we decided on dale. (even though i am now, post-visit, thinking allen is funnier.) regardless, dale strutted his stuff around our allendale neighborhood for a few days, acting like he belonged here and we were the aliens.

the first afternoon we saw him, we stopped the car and pretty much just stared at him walking down the sidewalk. he gobbled at us watching him and then harumphed into the street to get to the proverbial other side. then, walking around littlebabyscion, he kept heading west. we saw him another time or two wandering about but haven’t seen him now for days. maybe he moved on or maybe he heard about forest park and headed there – a neighborhood west of us that a turkey named carl called home for quite some time.

i suppose it’s easier to change ‘hoods when you’re a turkey. it’s not like you are carrying much baggage with you. unless he had them stuffed under some bushes somewhere, he carried no suitcases, no boxes or plastic bins. he didn’t have his offspring’s elementary artwork or handwritten stories, the driftwood he found on the ocean, heart rocks he collected on trails, photo albums dating back decades. there were no pots and pans, no spices-in-a-box, no favorite jeans or boots or that old ratty flannel shirt he couldn’t bear to toss out. he had no bill folder, no cellphone, no ipad, no coffee grinder or french press. no cds or dvds or canvases or paintbrushes or pencils or paper.

dale had just nothing. yet he looked as though he was completely confident in the world, wandering, exploring, warbling in that gurgling kind of way. apparently, male turkeys do that most often in the spring when they are looking for love. he must have thought that (one of) thelovesofhislife might be in allendale.

a friend of mine is moving from her home of decades. the decision to move was pragmatic and the move will be generative for them. and yet, there is the whole moving-from piece of it. sometimes i think about that. i understand the need to run and touch every glass doorknob, to brush the woodfloor with one’s fingertips, to wander from room to room, deep in memory. when i think about moving – i know that there would be much stuff to go through, dispose of, to give away. but it’s this place – this house – that holds so many emotions. it’s a mixed bag. after all this time – this town feels like home. after all this time – this town doesn’t feel like home. both are true. the dichotomy of these truths wakes me in the night sometimes and i ponder staying, going.

i used to tell the kids – when they were making a decision – to imagine themselves having made it one way and to feel what that feels like. then, imagine making it the other way and try to immerse in how that feels. it’s not always possible, but sometimes it’s an exercise that helps. in the middle of the night, it’s a seesaw.

what i do know is – as i look around this cherished home – that i must turkey-down. not so much on the main floors, but most definitely in the basement where the bins and boxes are stacked, waiting maybe for dale to come and retrieve them.

ahh, but dale is footloose and fancy-free and he has no interest in such baggage. he’s got places to go and things to see. he’s got a world to love. he blows a kiss to allendale and moves on.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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