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Category Archives: not-so-flawed wednesday


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one giant meadow. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we have a meadow in our basement. it’s tucked in the northwest corner. indigenous wildflowers, stacked in boxes, cardboard containers of native blooms.

the oeuvre of decades, shrink-wrapped, flowers from seeds of thought-lyrics, of melodic gestures, of teasing harmonies, of simple evocative lines.

waiting, impossibly, to return to a time of compact discs. waiting, impossibly, for the invasives of streaming to get under control, to support independent artists rather than undermine their success, their ability for forward-movement.

the meadow sometimes beckons – like a soft wind through tall grasses – waving to me, begging me to step into the bramble and thick vegetation. like most good meadows, there is no clear path. you simply must walk in and turn – 360° – looking around, stunned by all the wild – flowers and weeds, both.

the broadcast music inc royalty check arrived. it was for $60.72. though it’s likely a few hundred thousand, i didn’t add up all the counts (listens). but one piece caught my attention. its play on youtube alone totalled 15,212 counts of this piece. my total royalties for this: $1.21. (for perspective on this: even if only 5000 people downloaded this piece of music for 99 cents and listened to it as many times as they wished, it would bring in approx $3465 (there are iTunes fees) instead of $1.21. a stunning difference.)

and we have another meadow in the basement. the canvases of bloomed paintings stack against the west wall; the easel stands in the northwest corner. the digital age of download and print has entered the art world of hanging wire and levels.

canvases, paint, jewelcases, polycarbonate plastic, discography – our wildflowers in the basement. the meadows are cultivated in fields of artistry, of color, of sound, of words and notes and splashes.

robust meadows self-seed. as do artists. we create despite roadblocks, despite the undervaluing of our work, despite the stacks of antique-store-someday-bound cds and canvas. despite it all.

but just like meadows need help – to more than just exist – to eradicate the invasive species, to grow, to prosper, to thrive – so do artists.

at long last – and truly for reasons of existence – we are contemplating a patreon account – a subscription donation platform to help support artists to continue to do the work you value, the work that has moved you, the work you turn to – as we gratefully acknowledge those of you who have contributed to our buymeacoffee tip jar. this simply means a monthly donation – as low as $2/month – that helps to make up the difference that the world has thrust upon artists. some readers may consider this timely, an avenue through which they may participate. some readers may consider this self-serving. either way, we are interested in your thoughts. feel free to email us: kerrianddavid1111@gmail.com. and watch for this – a patreon – one of these days.

we gaze over at the basement-meadows and ponder what is in our hearts, what is left for us to do, what is ours to do. we are each true to our work and, in the spirit of the fault in our stars, we know that we have – indeed – done good work if we have touched even one person along the way.

“do the best you can until you know better. then, when you know better, do better.” (maya angelou)

it’s all a journey in one giant meadow. and the difference between hardly existing and thriving.

*****

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

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the tiniests. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“…and i got saved by the beauty of the world.” (mary oliver)

there are the tiniest of moments – like this one – when everything harsh, everything wrought, everything dark or full of angst, everything of challenge just falls away. like the universe took a feather duster to the worries stoked up on your shoulders and reminded you. to breathe. to feel the realness of the moment. to be hyper-vigilant of all senses. to be in it.

it could just as easily slipped by, unnoticed. the fresh air, rich colors, the sun filtered through layers of pine, the scent of a humid summer day, the gravel path. it could have been lost.

but i am grateful to have stopped. i am grateful any time i remember to stop. to have perspective. to grasp onto the tiniests. to allow myself to be saved by the beauty of the world.

*****

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

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buymeacoffee is a donation “tip jar” site where you may support the continued work of artists you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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under the i. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in downtown chicago, it is not uncommon to walk under highways or tracks carrying heavy railroad cars, the metra, the el, freight carriers.

but out on a trail, meandering alongside a river, through meadows and forests, passing fishermen and being passed by marathon-aspiring bikers, with turtles and baby snakes, heron and mosquitoes punctuating our hike, it seems really odd – and slightly unnerving – to walk under the “i”.

you can’t help but look up at the cars and trucks going 70 or 80 mph just above you. i shudder to think of the infrastructure problems that might abound. 86% of bridges in the state of illinois are considered acceptable. i just want to be sure this particular bridge is not part of the other 14%.

as i have some trepidation under vehicle and railroad bridges, my imagination is working a little overtime as i slither underneath the overpass, my eyes on the light coming from the other side. it’s much cooler under the bridge – and surprisingly quieter than before we entered – and there is a pigeon who is touting his wisdom for hanging out where it is sheltered. but most pigeons are not civil engineers nor do they really worry themselves about that sort of thing. i speak softly to it as we pass; it’s not frightened, even of us.

of all the trails we have taken in our general area – i have to say this section hike of the river trail was the least satisfying. we were in a triangular map-section of three large highways, including the interstate. so we weren’t ever far from the noise. and noise – and general hubbub – is what we are trying to escape on a trail. nevertheless, i’m glad we section-hiked that part. it surely makes us appreciate the rest of the trail, in quieter areas, removed a bit from the ruckus of daily life.

perspective is a funny thing. there are times we get sort of lax in appreciation. we take for granted the everyday luxuries of contemporary life, the ease of movement, our connections to family and friends. we see same-same through the same eyes. it’s a theme with variations.

and then, there was the pigeon. it found its safe place under the underpass – a place where it was cool, where the river ran and it could sip, where the insects and worms might be plentiful, where passersby might toss it a morsel or two. it didn’t seem to mind that the interstate was directly above, that this spot was not nirvana for most.

idyllic is in the eye of the beholder. so is wonder. in a busy world, they are easy to miss, easy to same-old-same-old-put-aside.

so, instead of dissing the trail that went under the interstate, i’ve decided to be in amazement that we walked under a road that hosts a daily average of 1.5 million cars of people driving to their destinations. and that on the way back on our eight or so mile hike, we could stop and linger with the pigeon, out of the hot sun.

sharpening the dulled, putting new eyes on the ordinary.

*****

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

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mighty sunflowers. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and there is nothing about sunflowers most people don’t love. a brilliant statement, profound color, turned to the sun, following the sun, seeking to be nourished, supersized flowers that are hard to miss.

they stood proudly in a tall vase on our dining room table for a week – cheering us on, a direct line to the sun’s energy, the love of the universe. they didn’t try hard – they were divine without trying.

and then, just as remarkable as in their standing, their reaching up-up, they began to bow. deep curves of thick stems turning down, toward the tabletop, the disk florets invisible, the yellow-orange ray flowers starting to brown and curl, green phyllaries twisting and lifting away from the back of the disks. a graceful bow, with no effort to resist succumbing to this bending down.

there are most definitely times that we would be served well to stop standing, to stop reaching, and instead to bow down, to lower our constantly-looking-forward gaze and, instead, to rest in a moment of humility, a moment of be-here-now, a moment of gratitude.

maybe this is what makes sunflowers so mighty. they instinctively know that there will be balance. they know that they will not always be tall and upright, gorgeous and fresh, colorful and crisp. they know that they will someday be arched over, wrinkly, no longer striving to be lofty. that they will arc on their strong stalk and they will humbly move into next. they know this wilting is no less important than blooming, for it is in wilting that seeds are released and a new lifecycle is possible. they know both are ever-relevant.

right now we are standing in vases, our faces to the sun. we are soaking up whatever energy we can grasp. we are aware that time flies by on the whisper of the jet stream, on the spinning-spinning of the earth’s axis.

soon, we begin to bow, ever so slightly. we lean a bit on the next big blossom of disks and ray-petals. we wrinkle and wobble in place, lowering our gaze to take in those around us. and then, after much time has passed in the sun, we bow in appreciation. there will be many more.

and we know we have made a mark in our blooming and in our wilting. for we, too, are mighty sunflowers.

*****

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

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board by board. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

it is a distinct sound – footfall on boardwalk. and somewhere in there, echoic memory rises. and crab meadow, sunken meadow, fire island, hilton head, atlantic city all fly to the front of my mind. even a boardwalk on a vegetation-dense mountain trail in pisgah national forest. anywhere my feet had hit the boards, with that hollow suspended-above sound.

and as we start to cross the marsh on this trail on the lake michigan coast, i want to slow down, to revisit each of those other places.

i’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on crab meadow beach’s small boardwalk. it’s the place i’d stop and empty the sand from my shoes after long walks on the beach. it’s the place – other than the tree in my growing-up side yard – where i did the most life-processing.

every other boardwalk elicits particular viewmaster frames etched in my memory. the planter’s peanuts store on atlantic city’s boardwalk when i was kid, my planter’s peanut pencil clutched in my hand. fire island lighthouse exploration as a late teen, blankets and coppertone in the dunes. hilton head island and treasured family time. a christmas hike in the north carolina mountains.

the limbic system kicked in the moment my feet hit the boards. and i pause in conversation, remembering. it’s like a kaleidoscope of images, a mix-up of boarded walkways.

our deck makes noise too. as you walk across, it creaks, giving up its age, telling tales of tiny children, family dinners, dance parties, ukulele rehearsals, quiet happy hours, silent time on the steps spent staring, watching the grass grow, treasured dogs-through-time napping. it has seen sparklers and bubbles, sunset skies and meteor showers, deep drifts of snow and umbrella-ed hot sun. it has earned its creaks and groans. it joins the photo album of boardwalks.

so, i go slow across the expanse over the marsh. i take my time, drinking in the tall cattails on either side. the warm humid air partners with the distinct sound of this wooden walkway and gets stored in my brain.

and one day, the next boardwalk day, whenever that is, the dopamine will rush forward as i – in the present and in magical memory – walk, step by step, board by board.

*****

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

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seeds. [two artists tuesday]

and the beautiful flower – with tiny white petals – its seeds were ripening. slowly, it began to wrap its inflorescence in, protecting. and the tiny bird’s-nest-shape remained, wound around, parenting, holding dear until the dried seeds, ready, release and go off into the world.

nature repeats itself. its stories – from one species to the next, one genus to the next – seem inordinately similar.

we – now adults – have left our own green-bird’s-nest years ago. it was a haven of sorts, but only for a time, as we grew. and then, suddenly, we are out and about in the world, riding the jet stream, surfing the tide, subjected to scorching sun and bitter cold. we trust the world to carry us safely. we are innocent seeds.

we learn – in different stages of our growth – that though we are held in unconditional love by some, there are others who will not tend us gently. we begin to discern the difference. we choose those who support us, whose inflorescent arms wrap us lightly, tenderly. we are buoyed, encouraged, picked up, bolstered by these arms. the others – the ones who aim to dilute, push down, disempower – they are loud voices – righteous and suffocating and dispiriting.

but – amidst either – we are still seeds as we continue on, other seeds also on this way.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – once held gently and released – always with the knowledge that there are nurturing tiny and big blossoms out there, sharing the universe with us.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – to, similarly, hold gently and release – with empathy our north star as we float and soar, celebrating every single other seed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

(composers pat alger and ralph murphy)

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forest periscope. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

there are metaphoric moments like this.

you are surrounded by the forest – dense, unyielding, a bit dark. though there are paths, they are still shadowed by big trees, overgrowth that doesn’t seem to allow in the light. and then – as you are plodding on and on, making an effort to maintain your equilibrium, to stay in center, you come to the tiniest clearing. and, looking up, there is sky. clear blue sky.

a periscope to the universe.

and suddenly, your worries and angsts, your doubts, your lost road are scaled down, lessened to tiny pinpricks of stars, unseen in the day-sky, though ever-there, allayed in the bluest-blue, soothing hope in the periscope, a reminder of perspective and time and expanse and right now.

and you stand, with all the creatures in the forest, and look up – for minutes and minutes unblinking until you are slightly dizzy from your stillness. and you lower your head, stretching your neck, your gaze-to-the-heavens broken.

but you are moved. you are reminded of your tiny-ness in the vastness. you remember you are part of this universe and, that just as you are not alone in the light that the leaf-periscope offers, you are not alone in the dark either.

you breathe. a deep breath. a prayer. a gratitude.

and you walk on in the forest, knowing, for certain, that you will find natural clearings with big spaces of light. knowing, too, that curling your hand into itself and peering through – like a hand-periscope – you can focus on smaller bits of the forest and within it, find the bits of light between the leaves.

*****

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

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allendale’s corner store. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

ann’s corner store – forever in my mind fondly known as ‘southport pantry’ – keeps us in ice.

for some reason, and i know it’s a popular problem, our fridge has refused to make more ice. not another cube! not even a shaved kernel. none. it’s not an old fridge – well, it didn’t feel old until a moment ago when i realized i purchased it in 2013 – but, wait…is ten years old for a fridge now? hello? kitchenaid?? anyway, it’s not as old as any of our other appliances, so we sort of expect it to work a tad bit more, say, maybe, completely. it also has this other problem. it’s a bottom drawer freezer and under the drawer a skating rink of ice forms and then, the reason unbeknownst to me since fridge and freezer both imply COLD, it melts tiny puddles onto the floor from time to time. so, from time to time, i defrost this sheet of ice – trying to make the pieces as big as possible – kind of like when you are peeling a (i’m dating myself here) drake’s yodel cake or a sunburn (ewww, you say!). and then, the clock starts all over again.

even now – as i write this ahead of time – muggy humidity is streaming in the open windows raising the “feels like” temperature and lowering my sense of humor. post-menopause is not necessarily synonymous with “loves to be hot”. i am picturing myself high on a mountain or maybe in the northernmost reaches of maine. (and i’m not even in the absolutely brutal southwest or southeast.) what that means is – we need ice.

that brings me to ann’s little store – morelli’s deli. because ice melts – a natural phenomenon – we try to buy it close and race it home. even with a cooler, it has the possibility of turning into one large lumpy lump of ice rather than chunks of broken up ice, so one must be ever-thinking when one purchases ice. so we buy it at ann’s. i’m pretty sure we are not keeping ann’s corner store going with our ice purchases, but if everyone in the ‘hood were to buy something there – often – it would surely help keep this family business going. it was pretty exciting the day we realized she added wine to her wares, stocking many labels, many varietals. it meant we could take a long walk around allendale and the lakefront and stop and purchase a bottle of wine for happy hour – without getting in the car. all the adult beverages at our wedding were provided by ann, so we do have a soft spot for that place.

there are many places in our travels we glance over at a shoppe and wonder aloud how they are able to keep going, to pay the overhead, to make a little money, to stay open. it’s been a crazy time and i suspect that the craziness – financially speaking for middle-class americans – is not ending. soon, student loan payments will be restored and, i suspect, the power companies will raise their rates again in time for winter. the cable/internet/phone company – with whom i have spent several hours of my life in the last week – will perk up its billing with some additional package fees or the unpromoted end of promotional deals and the health insurance EOBs that arrive in people’s homes will surprise households with uncovered expenses.

so, it’s no small wonder that ann and tom – in their zeal to run a family store and keep allendale in italian beef and homemade soups and guac, chips and kringle, coffee and spirits – are succeeding one baby step at a time. their business challenges must be grand, like so many of us who own a business. but their commitment to this community has been and is commendable and heartwarming and we are fiercely dedicated to their success. they know practically everybody. and still remember tiny craig running in with the car change purse to buy donuts.

and so, for however long it is that our freezer just refuses to freeze water into icecubes, we will get our ice from ann’s. and then, if we are lucky enough someday to have an in-fridge icemaker that works, well, we’ll get other stuff there.

because not everyone is lucky enough to have a corner store around the corner and down the block. but we do. and we love going there.

*****

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

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dazzled. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

“still, what i want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled—
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
i want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.
i want to believe that the imperfections are nothing—
that the light is everything—that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and falling. and i do.”
(mary oliver – house of light)

truth be told, i am pretty easily dazzled.

diamonds on the lake, owl feathers on the trail, first fireflies, an unsolicited kiss from dogdog, the rising moon, constellations pinpricking the sky, tightly-wound buds, wide-open-blossom fragrance. catching my beloved’s eye, the gesture of hand to his heart, the ninth in harmony, the sinking sun through a forest of trees, birds gathering at 4am, sunrise, surprise texts from my grown children, squishy pillows, the first coffee, a bold red, a new thermal shirt, snowfall, the first glimpse of the mountains.

as everything changes – my body, my work, my impact, my voice – it is easier to float above the difficult when dazzled a dazzling number of times a day.

i don’t know who to credit with my easy-dazzability. i suspect it’s my sweet momma. she did not have a high bar for ecstatic. she cheered on the tiniest event, she buoyed even those she did not know. her gaze took it all in…it became fodder for extraordinary within the ordinary.

but, oh, the practice of being astounded, of having your breath taken away, of being startled by that which you’ve seen many times, of holding the horizon loosely like the reins of a horse – without restraint, your knees signaling “gallop”. full-fledged immersion in possibility, unabashed glee, awed.

when the lake glitters, it feels as if the day itself has reason to shimmer.

i realize now – already – and at long last – the shimmer – of light – is always there. no matter.

*****

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

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peaches. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

in the category of fruit, you can kind of draw a dividing line. there are the people who love peaches and the people who love nectarines. it’s a more distinct line than you might think.

for many years, i solely bought nectarines. the smooth skin of this sweet fruit was preferred in our house back then and so, respectful of the tactile-lips-to-fruit-skin-touch-aversion, i skipped over the fuzzy peaches and went directly to nectarines.

it’s taken many, many years of nectarines, but – just the other day – i bought my first peaches in a very long time.

it did not go unrewarded.

sweet peach juice, the perfect ripeness. it was an exquisite peach. it reminded me of the scene in city of angels where meg ryan is trying to describe – in words – what a pear tastes like to nicholas cage. maybe, were i to describe the peach if would be too intimate, too descriptive. instead, i’ll say it was glorious. it was a reawakening. the next time, i walked past the nectarines.

in a time of feeling a little bit fragile, a little untethered, somewhat insignificant, the peach brought me instantly to the moment. with no guarantee of next and with the dissipating condensation of the bursting bubble from before, it was – a moment of standing in gravity on a spinning-spinning globe – an arrow pointing to right now.

nectarines provide more vitamin a, vitamin c and potassium than peaches. but the up-and-up present sweetness of a peach will stop you in your tracks. savoring. it will make you think of every sweet thing in your life. it will possibly drip down your chin while you reach for a napkin, willing the drip to stop before it hits your shirt. it will astound you.

and i wonder what could be better than being astounded on an ordinary day.

*****

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

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