reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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new eyes. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

seasons through the tree copy

“the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”  (marcel proust)

sage words.

i once found an unwritten card in a drawer that had this saying on it.  i wondered how it had gotten there.  i revisited this card from time to time,  trying to take in these words of advice in a time i needed words of advice.

in a society that always seeks the newest, shiniest, most chic, it is easy to fall into the trap that new is better, that new will be satisfying.  in a society that is seemingly full of consumable products, replaceable employees, expendable friendships and relationships, we need be reminded that the new will not continue to be new; it is not new instantly  – the moment – after it was new.

were i to stay in front of this tree and look through the knot-hole in its trunk and only see waning lifeless brown, dried late-fall, believing that my little view was static, i would miss the blink of an eye in which this knot-hole lens turns the scene into rich verdant green, hope-filled.

the same landscape.  the same work.  the same relationship.  the same thing, day in, day out.   the same old same old.  but is it?

sage words.

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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©️ 2019 kerri sherwood & david robinson

 

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ducks in a row. [two artists tuesday]

ducks in a row copy

i am a list-maker.  i come from a long line of list-makers so dna is definitely involved.  with the layer-cake of jobs that comes with being an artist – performing, visual, any kind of artist – lists are a necessity.  i use paper calendars, old spiral notebooks with kirsten or craig scrawl on them, pa pads that my sweet poppo made, composition books.  sticky notes, pencils, highlighters and sharpies rule my office-supply world.  i am analog.  and i love having all my ducks in a row.

we were on our way to hike late one afternoon when we encountered these ducks.  walking the crack in the street, all in a row, i heard in my ever-present-soundtrack-mind, “quack, quack, waddle, waddle, quack, quack, waddle, waddle (from an 80’s mcdonald’s commercial – watch for 0:54).”  they seemed unperturbed by our approach.  we stopped to let them pass and get safely to the side of the road.  i’m positive i saw the last one carrying an office max bag.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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blueprint for my soul. [k.s. friday]

bp box

BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL was my second album.  it followed on the heels of RELEASED FROM THE HEART, just a short year later.  RFTH wasn’t my first recording.  back in the late 70’s i recorded three songs in ny, all vocal songs.  i toted those, to no avail, around nashville’s music row,  along with a few others that i had penned and recorded in the mid 80’s.  but things don’t always happen in our own timing, nor do they happen the exact way we envision them.  architects use pencils with erasers for a reason.

fast forward a few years.  well a decade, actually.  the story behind the story, which i told in my 19 years ago today post (written five years ago now) is a story of the blueprint…the one we can’t see.  we seek out what we think we want, we pray unceasingly for that thing we are hyper-focused on, we worry and wring our hands, trying to force IT to happen.  (ask us.  we can speak to this.)

but sometimes what we think we want isn’t what we are really seeking.  and sometimes unanswered prayers are a gift.  and sometimes worry will just beget more worry and anxiety will just make you miserable.

the blueprint, the design, the plan.  all with options.  all with freedom of choice.  mostly, all, thank goodness, with grace.  those pencils with erasers come in handy.

“sometimes people and things have an obvious fit with you.” (liner notes, track 2)

download BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL on iTUNES or CDBaby

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

 

 


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sweet sleep. [d.r. thursday]

David Robinson 4by4 copy

i write this with a sound-asleep babycat tucked up next to me.  he is snoring, deeply sleeping, curled up, his paws tucked in, one under his little head.  it is sweet and i savor this moment of his complete trust.  he is obviously in bliss.

i envy his blissful slumber.  i am not as good a sleeper as he.  this middle-age-menopause thing wakes me every night.  and every night, despite my urging to the contrary, my brain, clearly wildly uncontrolled, starts to think.  lists accumulate, calendars form in my mind, my worry starts.  and that’s it.  i am lost in the weeds of insomnia.

after we had spoken about it a day or so prior, dan told me one morning that he had been awake thinking of our under-the-sink plumbing problem at 2am (!) and had, at that hour, come up with a solution.  truth be told, he didn’t really have to wait under the next day; i’m quite sure i was awake and could have had a plumbing-solution-guru-text chat in the wee hours.  wendy and 20 have both teased about texting me in the middle of the night when they are awake.  i am not alone in sleep deprivation.

this painting is like looking at babycat.  a sleep that is uninterrupted, peaceful.  it evokes younger images of small children on mats during naptime.  it is serene.

babycat stretches and rolls onto his back.  he is tucked under the computer cord, laying on top of papers.  but he is content.  and back to sleep.  sweet sleep.

babycat sleeps

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

drc website header copy 2

babycatContemplating website

4×4/SLUMBER ©️ david robinson

 

 


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a beautiful day in the neighborhood. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

the moon and first ave copy

when fred rogers aka mr. rogers used to sing, “it’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood, a beautiful day in this neighborhood.  …  would you be mine?  …  won’t you be my neighbor?” i remember singing along.  it seemed he was from a different time.  a time when neighborhoods were truly communities.

we are lucky to live in a neighborhood that includes neighbors who are friends.  dear friends.  we gather on back patios and back decks, inside around dining room tables, huddled next to firepits and in each other’s kitchens.  we talk, we laugh, we try to solve the world’s problems.  our neighbors aren’t all the same ages, so we are at different times in our lives, which adds wisdom and perspective and good learnings to these times we spend together.  i have no idea what we would do without these wonderful people.

last weekend after linda and jim’s impromptu gathering, we walked down their driveway.  lighting our way was this moon, shining across the water, over the rocks, directly to us.

yes.  it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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co-existing. [two artists tuesday]

co-exist

the dried bones of the cornfield are beautiful. we have watched the field change through the seasons.  last summer when we couldn’t see beyond the stalks in front of us, lush and green and full of life.  the fall when, as the field browned, we would find cobs on the trail, feed corn for the deer and other gluten-free wildlife.   (just making sure you are paying attention!)  the winter, when snow charmed the tall stalks. and finally, early spring, combine-blunt-cut-short stalks remain in this no-till field, sharing the rich soil with the promise of spring.  dandelions and corn.  co-existing.  apparently, dandelions are easier to control in the fall than in the spring.  they store up moisture and nutrients in their roots and so are pretty hardy in these may-days.  they were there all along.  co-existing.

we don’t disparage dandelions.  we have dandelions in our yard.  co-existing with grass. we aren’t pro-active about gaining their presence, but neither are we terribly pro-active about eliminating them.  we don’t spray chemicals that would be harmful to either domestic pets walking by or to wild animals that roam our area.  we do have neighbors who are deeply invested in their removal, so we try to be good community stewards and pull some out so as to not spread them.  but dandelion-removal isn’t a passion of ours and we really don’t mind too much the co-existence of dandelions with grass.  besides, we can always blame it on last fall.  they’ve been there all along.

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read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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baggage. [merely-a-thought monday]

your past

“your past should not dictate your future.”

we carry it all with us.  baggage.  baggage upon baggage upon baggage.  i once (poorly) drew a graphic of a stick person with an “outbreak of baggage”.   rollie bags and attaches, spinners and hardshells, suitcases and totes; i depicted a person with multiples of these, pulling and dragging and lugging them everywhere. each experience shoved into the depths of some piece of luggage; more and more loaded into expandable bags, the zippers stretched to the breaking point.  we lose sleep, perseverating over all the baggage we have.  the wee hours of the night nag us; we miss the hope of the sunrise.

but the sunrise happens nonetheless.  and the grace of a new day is gifted to us.  just as the tide-wave rushes in to the shoreline and cleanses the beach, washing away the footprints of the previous day, smoothing the rough edges, so does the new day grant us another chance.  we stand – present – right now, feet neither in yesterday nor in tomorrow.  our load is lessened, our baggage drops away.  we are freed to step lightly into next.  for our past does not dictate our future.

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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