reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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two ears and one mouth. [merely-a-thought monday]

god gave you

i suspect that my sweet momma and mike would be friends. just this quote alone would qualify him.

it’s a simple premise….listen before you speak. and then, think before you speak. and it goes hand and hand with momma’s “if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all.”

in today’s outspoken world, this is not so easy. the love of candor seems to supercede the love of respect. one-up-ness rises above humility. but-listen-to-what-happened-to-me out-volumes quietly listening what happened to you. complaining-in-public tantrums over mature restraint. bullying pushes back compassion.   kindness is lost in angry, impatient words. helpful advice goes the way of competition and judgment. condemnation is mute consolation.   louder seems to be the way of the land, the horizon punctuated by harsh decibels of bitter noise. less quiet. more frenzy. less listening. more clamoring.

“God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason,” mike said. in heaven, my sweet momma was nodding, a smile on her face.

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

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this part of the journey. exclamation mark. [k.s. friday]

tpotj song box.jpg

today my sweet momma would be 98.

she was born in 1921 and saw everything change around her. she stood in a world that saw the great depression, world war II, telephones and cars, movies, televisions and news shows reporting on more wars than she could wrap her head around. her husband was missing in action and then a POW shot down over bulgaria, all while she was expecting a baby. she gave birth to their first child while my poppo was still a POW and stood in faith that he would return as that little girl died.

momma built a life with my dad, all the while navigating veteran-ptsd that hadn’t yet been labeled. but she figured it out. she held her ground, both supportive and snapping to action or to “words” as she would call arguments between them.

my sweet momma wore stockings and pumps “to business” and had housecoats with snaps, long flowing mumus and finally, at long last, blue jeans and keds for relaxing. momma drove a mean stick shift and, because they were a one-car family for the longest time, walked to the king kullen and dairy barn for groceries and milk. she turned her very green thumb over to my dad after he retired, likely to keep him out of her hair for a bit of time.

she volunteered as the girl scout president and in aarp alongside my dad. she loved wood and glass; she loved to paint with oils. she loved lists and calendars and math and writing and doing the laundry any time she was stressed. she wrote old-fashioned letters with pen and paper. she adored her word processor and then the computer and finally, her beloved iphone. anything to stay in touch. she texted, she called, she facebooked, she mistakenly took pictures of the ceiling and sent them on errant trips out to the ethers. momma loved to coffee sit and have english muffins or crumb cake or danish or chocolate chip cookies or pie. and she made extra homemade french fries every time she knew I was visiting so we could sit, drink iced tea, eat cold french fries and talk.

she didn’t let fear overtake her. she was strong in every way. she credited being from new york, but i credit just her – she just went with the flow and sort of ignored anything that got in the way, including any physical challenge that presented itself. two days after a double mastectomy at 93 she sat on the side of the hospital bed and, in good humor, sassed everyone around.

she loved that everyone called her beaky. and i mean everyone.

her journey was long, her experiences rich. she was an exclamation mark in life. she celebrated people and love and moments and I miss her.  so much.

but it is part of my journey to miss her.

each of us bring to our journey our own punctuation. sometimes i think i am an ellipsis, but i realize that applies to all of us. we go on…

if i got to choose what singular punctuation i would want to be, i would want to be an exclamation mark, just like my sweet momma. for this part of my journey. for every part of the journey.

download THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY on iTUNES or CDBaby

read DAVID’S thoughts on this K.S. FRIDAY

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THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1998, 2000 kerri sherwood


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a creation. joy. [d.r. thursday]

 

Joy copy 2

JOY mixed media 50″ x 56″

he painted this early on in the days he lived in wisconsin. a big canvas, his brushes moving effortlessly, carefully, intentionally, jars of paint by his side. and JOY came to be. i immediately loved it. equally, i loved being present for the process. i got to WATCH. a creation in the making. beautiful. he stood back and looked at his work.

regardless of your belief, you certainly must acknowledge that somewhere along the way there was a big blank canvas. a divine being named whatever-honoring-name-you-want-to-name-this-presence moved brushes effortlessly, jars of unimagined colors, buckets of stars, clouds full of rain and snow, mountains of hills and mountains, fields of fields and open rangeland, oceans and lakes full of water, gigantic test tubes of atoms and cells that would eventually turn into plants and trees, amoeba, bacteria, organisms, mammals, reptiles, amphibians, people – all by the side of the canvas. this supreme being moved effortlessly, carefully, intentionally. and the world came to be. a creation in the making. beautiful.

we hang this painting and gaze at it, interacting with it daily. we feel the joy of it, the color. we have relationship with the painting; it speaks to us and we listen. we respond to it, respecting it, hanging it out of direct sunlight, preserving it and keeping it beautiful.

we stand in the world and gaze at it, interacting with it daily. we feel the joy of it, the color. we respond to it, but do we respect it? do we have relationship with it? do we listen as it speaks to us? do we concern ourselves with its sunlight, its atmosphere, its water, its land, its living things – all of them? do we preserve it? do we keep it beautiful?

view and/or purchase JOY on david’s gallery website

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read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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JOY ©️ 2015 david robinson

 

 


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look in the mirror. stand up straight. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

 

red cup mirror

successories built a business on reminders. powerful, thoughtful, inspiring words that encourage us, motivate us, reassure us, remind us. we hang them in our offices, in our homes; we have daily mini posters on our calendars or our apps; we have mugs with words. we need reminders. in this world of challenges, worries, failures among the triumphs, our tender hearts need to see snippets that keep us going, keep us moving forward, keep us in grace.

i walked into the restroom at the red cup, a sweet coffeehouse on washington island. on the mirror were these words: “you are so cool and intelligent and strong and fierce.” my face stared back at me, right next to these words. a reminder. stand up straight.

to be honest, i suppose the first thing i thought was, “i’m not really cool,” a leftover from high school a million years ago, where i was definitely not in the cool crowd. (i never cut a class. i always did my homework. i practiced the piano. i rode my bike or drove my little vw bug to the beach all year round. i wore lots of hand-me-downs. i never smoked or attended a high school drinking party. i didn’t run with the cool group.) interesting how i still react to that ‘label’ and how it still plays inside me. this stuff hangs on; images we have of ourselves long-haul stick with us.

my next thought – in the restroom – was that we need these reminders. you and i. we ARE cool – in our own distinct ways. we are intelligent. we are strong – stronger than we know. and we are fierce…ready to stand firm for our children, our families, our friends, our beliefs, our selves.

it doesn’t hurt to be reminded. every day accosts us with new problems, complex seemingly unsolvable gordian knots, new reasons for our self image to take a blow, to feel less-than, to fail in this competitive world.   every day presents with a new chance to remember all we have done, all we have risen above, all we have helped accomplish. a chance to see how cool we are, how intelligent. a chance to, yet again, be strong and fierce.  look in the mirror.  stand up straight.

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

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a familiar sight. [two artists tuesday]

jelly jars & sunset

this will become a familiar sight. sunset coloring the lake, an island populated by waterbirds in the distance, jelly jars in hand.  we have arrived.

fog dawned this day, which somehow seems apropos, considering.   dogdog and babycat are struggling to adjust – a different house – the “littlehouse” as opposed to “home”.  we are surrounded by bins and artwork and happy lights and a bulletin board full of photos. we have our picnic basket and our nespresso, office supplies and our peace signs. we’ve hung an old window frame and the chalkboard from our wedding. we have a vintage road-worn black suitcase just waiting to be filled with the stuff of this adventure. we have beach buckets with sunglasses and paintbrushes, kitchen utensils and a bottle of wine. we brought our cloth napkins, jelly jars and a set of our favorite bowls, our hydroflask coffee mugs and water thermoses, our lidded yeti wine tumblers. we have dogdog’s penguin, his lion, his candy cane and babycat’s chase-the-ball-in-the-circle plastic game. we have candles and clipboards, ukuleles, lawn games, and various devices that play music. we have threadied us up.

and it all boils down to this one thing – in my pocket now every day since jen gave it to me – a silver token that says PEACE.

right now, these thready things embrace me. they help with that peace I’m reminded of by this little token.

but this will all become a familiar sight. i know that.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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connected. [k.s. friday]

connected songbox

“wherever you are, that’s where i will be…” the framed needlepoint hangs next to my dresser.  every day i see this message, a message of unrelenting connectedness.

life has a way of taking us near and far, to and from the people we love. children grow and fly free.  siblings scatter around the world in pursuit of their dreams.  parents age and leave this plane of existence.  friends are close; friends move far away.   i can speak for those of us who are particularly extra-ordinarily thready – these are tough challenges.

on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART, this piece CONNECTED follows the piece i composed called MISSING.  it was a self-reminder when i placed the track order that way.  the connection between us eclipses the missing.  our connections guarantee that they will surpass missing and wrap around us like soft blankets right out of the dryer.  we have to just stand still and feel them.

we had the blissful opportunity of being together with both My Girl and My Boy under the same roof at the same time for a period of days.  my annoying-mother-ness took lots of pictures and memorized moments, from hilariously funny to touchingly heart-full to painfully real.  the first moments i saw each of them deplane at the tiny island airport will be indelibly sketched in my mind.  pure joy.

we are connected.  despite our proximity, despite distance from one visit to the next, despite time between, we are connected.  i will – comfortingly, reassuringly, lovingly, supportively, annoyingly, and yes, unrelentingly – always be there for them.  always.

that is what connection is.

download RELEASED FROM THE HEART on iTUNES or CDBaby

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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CONNECTED from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood


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something familiar. [d.r. thursday]

 

NapMorsel

 

NapOnTheBeach redux copy

NAP ON THE BEACH, 25″ x 55.5 “

we packed it.  this painting.  i will need things that are familiar around me and this is one of those things.  familiar paintings, peace signs taken off the wall from home, comfort-comforters and quilts, the dog and the cat and their paraphernalia, favorite kitchen items, and so much more; all will keep me surrounded by the familiar in the unfamiliar.

we are going on an adventure and i will need the touches of home…to keep me centered, grounded, feeling forward movement.

this painting now hangs in that living room, its horizon gazing out on a horizon also of water, of expanse.  its solace echoing the solace we will bring for each other, two together in a strange land.

NAP ON THE BEACH will hold court over that living room, that different home, and remind us that this new adventure is indeed together – absolutely, positively together and we need not worry or fear.  in the familiar there is comfort.

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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NAP ON THE BEACH ©️ 2017 david robinson