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the path back is the path forward

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yeah. now what? [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

the monday-morning-armchair-quarterbacking is over the top. there is no one excuse for these election results. to be real, there cannot be enough reasons for the despicable – what the majority of voters voted for.

in the aftermath – afforded from even little to no doom-scrolling that highlights the absolute tsunami of finger-pointing, blaming, history-touting, policy-pummeling, we now see that the maga-voters voting for all the maga-sh*t did not quite understand what the maga-candidate’s maga-agenda really meant.

many of them had tuned into fox news where they learned – and clearly believed – things like people were eating other people’s dogs and cats and you could send your child to school and they would arrive home the opposite sex.

despite all the information to the contrary, they didn’t understand tariffs nor did they understand what “authoritarian” meant. they didn’t realize mass deportation meant their relatives.

and, worst of all, they poo-pooed any talk of the abject cruelties of project 2025, jumping on the he-doesn’t-really-mean-that-he-wouldn’t-really-do-that bandwagon.

weren’t they surprised when – post-election – all the maga-cronies paused very few milliseconds and posted what would amount to a naa-naa-nah-naa-naa, stating that it was the actual agenda all along.

adding fuel to the what-the-hell fire, “…catherine rampell and youyou zhou (washington post) showed before the election that voters overwhelmingly preferred harris’s policies to trump’s if they didn’t know which candidate proposed them.” (heather cox richardson – american historian, professor of history – boston college, previously MIT, university of massachusetts amherst )

if you don’t fact-check, if you don’t ask questions, if you don’t care about any potential work in the aisle or if the country’s democracy could be decimated, if you don’t worry your little head about character or details of a candidate’s experience or qualifications or with whom they choose to surround themselves, you have chosen to be a voter voting on whatever your rage is, you have voted to follow the lemmings off the cliff.

amanda marcotte (senior politics writer – salon) opined, “a lot of voters are profoundly ignorant. more so than in the past.” ya think??

so, yeah. now what?

i’m going to clean out my closet, take a hike, hydrate and try to breathe.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING


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gutted. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

no air.

there has been little air in me these last days. like many of you – but clearly, not all of you – i feel gutted.

i, too, watched as this nation elected what it elected. and, like you, we all know what that means, voting in cruelty, burying compassion, damning moving forward and any what-could-have-been’s.

someone dear to me texted me on election day, writing: “and the thing is, people will never not know who they [others] voted for and supported.”

exactly. we cannot un-know what you voted for.

as I quoted yesterday, you are who you elect. (michael ramirez – the washington post)

i woke up yesterday, my eyes still swollen – like yours – feeling strangled by the results of this election. it was as if color had escaped, as if texture had been jackhammered away, as if air was only to be found in shallow hyperventilated gulps. my children, i kept thinking, pondering their future, my daughter, my son.

there is much to do. and I don’t even know what that means right now.

we took a walk in the woods.

there was the simplicity of our footsteps – one foot in front of another – step, step, step. boiling it down. movement.

it was quiet but for rustling squirrels, blissfully unaware of the election, merely gathering for the fallow that will soon befall the forest.

there was beauty. inevitably. and, for a bit of time on our hike – the time when we weren’t spilling our grief on the path – i got just the tiniest bit lost in it.

i fear that things, that living – for the rest of my life – will never be the same again. that the darkness – darkness which people we all know have chosen – will engulf everything.

so i know that there is much to do, despite the utter grief and despair i feel right now. there is much to do to bring back the light.

this morning i woke when the sun was just coming up. dogga jumped on the bed as soon as he knew we were the slightest bit awake. we were quiet as the light began to stream into our room. we sipped coffee.

we will clean the house. we will go take a hike. we will attempt to breathe. we will be aware of beauty. we will study it – its astonishingness – and i will try to figure out how to bring it to this aching world any way i can.

and all the air will circulate ’round – the wind of next days and next days – filling our tired lungs, drying our eyes, helping us take one step after another, so that we can do the much that needs to be done.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY


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we voted for democracy. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the canvasser walked up the driveway toward us. “well, there’s no doubt who you are voting for,” she stated and then continued, lifting up the democratic presidential candidate who had inspired her to hit the sidewalks, to knock on doors and talk to people.

“we already voted,” i smiled and told her, so she could breathe for a moment, replenish her energy and move on to the next house, with the hope that she could make a difference in this unparalleled election, an election of utmost importance to our country and its populace. i thanked her as she smiled wearily, turned and walked on.

yes. it is obvious who we voted for. we have zero need for this choice to be secretive.

we exercised our right – to vote – granted by amendments to the constitution of these united states.

we exercised our civic dedication – our duty – to democracy, voting for the most appropriate candidate to be president of these united states, the candidate who will uphold and protect that very democracy.

we exercised our right to vote to protect those rights, our freedoms, the constitution, its amendments, to protect these united states.

yes. we voted for kamala harris and tim walz. with gratitude for them.

because any other vote is a vote to undermine the privileges of freedom we – every single one of us – have in this country, to undermine the compassionate humanity we all share, to undermine the democracy of america.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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pollen is pollen. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“garden??? what garden???” with a particularly-yellow pollen-nose and infinitely sweet amber eyes, he looked at us – after trouncing through our dear westneighbors’ ragweed garden – and insisted, “i didn’t go in the garden!”

oh, dogga.

every time he goes on errands with us, it is his ritual to jump out of the car and beeline down the driveway to the ragweed by the fence. every single time. we expect it. this time – afterwards – it was just a tad bit more obvious. there was evidence. and, even with his i-didn’t-do-it-i-didnt-eat-the-cookie-out-of-the-cookie-jar bright-eyed and happy expression, there was no denying it.

we laughed and told him, “you can’t fool us, doggle-dog.”

despite his best effort at gaslighting us into thinking he had not trampled the raggy ragweed, there was evidence to the contrary. and – facts are facts.

now, surfing in on the facts-are-facts wave, i suppose i could launch into an entire political diatribe about what is happening in this election climate – how, apparently, gaslighting attempts are successfully taking over the good brains of people – despite, well, facts. how treacherous it is to believe hook-line-and-sinker the maga stuff that’s out there, the conspiracy theories undermining good sense, the outrageous lies keeping everyone distracted and placing people now – and in the future of this country – in danger. it’s all in plain sight. and it’s insanity.

but yellow is yellow. and pollen is pollen. it is easily identifiable. it is what it is. and when you see it, you know that the dog has been in the garden. no doubt about it.

*****

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

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seeing. not seeing. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i wear one contact lens. it’s in my left eye and it is to correct minor nearsightedness. wearing only one contact allows me to use my other eye to see close-up – to mostly be able to read without the aid of readers. somehow my brain figures this all out and i don’t have to close my right eye while driving or my left eye while reading – because all that would be awkward and weird.

clear vision – particularly at night in the rain with orange construction barrels and no streetlights and lane lines worn to little or no paint – is essential. it’s my least favorite set of circumstances to drive in, discounting white-out snowstorms and ice. it’s nice to be able to see.

and for those days when contacts are not working – the days of allergies or tired eyes – i have a pair of backup john-denver-glasses to don while driving. because it’s essential to see.

we just read the little prince aloud together. i don’t remember crying at the end any other time i have read this book. but this time i did.

as the prince’s soul was whisked away – his body dying on the earth by snakebite – back to his tiny planet where his tiny beloved rose waited – i wiped tears from my eyes.

this simple book – supposedly a children’s book but so much a necessary read-every-once-in-a-while adult’s book – was just the thing. the nature of love. of relationship. of responsibility toward each other.

the louisiana governor just declared that the ten commandments shall be displayed in every school in his governance. for heaven’s sake. how is it that we have become this narrow? for starters, how audacious he ignore every other religion’s tenets. this is not visionary. this is not seeing.

perhaps he would be better served to declare the little prince essential reading. he would be better served to encourage his populace to look with their hearts, to value the basics of goodness and fairness and loving one another. but in these days of politicizing every single thing, i guess he just decided to go with narrow bigotry to see where it might get him. narcissistic power is on the rise. as is the popularity of meanness and aggression. and the little prince shudders.

i’m pretty sure the little prince made me cry because of just that. there is so much – out there. we are hearing every single horrid thing. media is having a field day and it’s horrifying just to phone-scroll the “news”. what we see…what we find there…unconscionable.

instead, we will find the richness in the elderly woman pushing her walker on the trail, her son by her side, chatting. we will find the generosity in the gift of a garden flower. we will find kindness in the invitation of inclusion. we will find concern in the check-in text of an old friend. we will find hope in the little-less-lonely uplift of voice on the phone. we will find resilience in the planting of trees, the naming of stars, the grieving expression of loss. we will find forgiveness in time spent together. we will find healing in turning toward and not away. we will find love in another’s eyes.

the little prince – tiny, tiny. but with a giant and sighted heart.

we need to really look and see – what is transparent, what is truth, what is life-giving, what is equitable and not limiting, what is sustaining, what is fair, what is kind, what is loving – with clear eyes and whatever wisdom of the ages we might summon. we need to ponder and sort and be honest. what we may lose otherwise are the essentials. the basics. the geared-down actual heart of humanity.

read the little prince. you’ll likely weep a little.

*****

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

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now. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it doesn’t take a lot of hoopla or rigamarole or pomp-and-circumstance or hullabaloo for us. though it works for others, we are not pinky-out-martini-sipping-country-club-types or fancy-car-driving-cruisers or retail-zealots.

we sat yesterday – for the longest time – on our deck – in a perfect-temperature-world-morning with my sweet poppo’s old binoculars, watching the crows tend to their young in the high nest a couple yards over. we were enchanted with this sweet fledgling moving about, hopping on its nest and pushing the envelope of independence.

the day before, there were three turtles on our path. we hiked the long out-and-back trail, not intending to finish it. but the day was glorious and we were alive and we kept going. we stopped at each turtle to photo-shoot and have a little conversation. the message seemed clear…over and over. “patience and endurance”…from the bob marleys of the reptile world. “every little thing is gonna be alright,” they snap when we question them. “ok, ok,” we retort hesitantly. and then they line up another turtle further on down the path to try it again…“eventually,” the turtles think, “these dense people will get it.”

and mostly, we do.

about time – the movie – has an inordinate number of tenderly-wise moments. it is a mash-up of the-best-enjoy-life-lessons. it culminates with a quote from leading character tim who has the ability to travel back in time, “the truth is i now don’t travel back at all, not even for the day. i just try to live every day as if i’ve deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.”

every time it makes me weep. really, both of us.

because dark chocolate chips (which morph into strawberry bark), turtles, bob marley and tim in about time don’t get it wrong. they clearly all get it right.

enjoy life.

now.

*****

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

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pro-patina. [ kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the solid wood door leading to the basement has a permanent arced groove worn into it. it’s where the chain (for the chain door guard) dangles and it has likely dangled there for decades upon decades. it’s been there the entire time i have lived here – so 35 years. likely installed long ago to prevent small children from opening the door and falling on the steep stairs, back and forth it has swung when unlatched, wearing off the paint and into the wood. it would take some serious spackle, some sanding and a few good coats of paint to make this door look like new again. but we won’t be doing that. it’s the patina that matters.

the old back screen door has a similar worn-in arc. that one is from when i installed a hook and eye latch on the door a number of years ago to help prevent our babycat from pushing open the door and exiting the house. because the old door handle doesn’t always completely catch, the hook and eye was a guarantee to keep the door closed. once again, the hook has worn off the paint and worn into the door. it’s not a pristine door, but it tells a story. the patina matters.

our house is like that. one patina after another. it is not new construction – or even relatively new construction. it will be 100 in just four years and i’m already thinking about its centennial birthday party. we are not worried if there is another scratch in the old wood floors or a glitch in the paint or an imperfect ceiling. our house is not unlike us that way.

the old building in breckenridge drew me closer, inviting photograph after photograph of textures, the juxtaposition of wood and metal and brick facades. this copper hinge – in its march through time – in the green oxidation stage – beautiful. though i suspect there might be people who would prefer restoring it back to its original glory, i prefer the mark of the passage of time, the nod to aging, the stories that accompany its transition. the patina counts.

we love to watch hgtv househunters and we love to pick up real estate magazines in distant places. it’s always the old houses that are the most intriguing for us. never the perfectly-perfect new houses with perfectly-perfect paint and perfectly-perfect trappings. it is difficult to visualize us in a house like that. i’m not sure what that says about us.

maybe by appreciating – and truly loving – the old stories, the wear and tear of these old houses – the arcs of time passing by – we’re just sticking up for our own personal patinas.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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picture-of-the-day. [d.r. thursday]

i haven’t stopped. since march 2020 when my son – at the beginning of the pandemic – in an effort to help me feel connected to him and my daughter – suggested we have a shared text with photos taken in our day. a picture-of-the-day. and every day, not-failing, i have sent one since. i am in absolute delight when they now share a photograph on this thread; i know busy-ness and work and life have picked back up some time ago and picture-of-the-day is no longer on their radar. but, because i am a mom – and i know moms everywhere can relate – it’s still on mine. i look for something that somehow represents my day, every single day.

i have to say – this has been a good thing, this intention to seek and snap the picture-of-the-day. i take lots of photos, so some days this is easy. but there are others when my photo is of mashed potatoes or chicken soup or the accuweather tornado watch or glasses of wine at the end of the day. some days are just life. normal, regular, not supersized, life.

the trillium placed itself in front of the fallen log, clearly, on purpose. ready for its photo shoot, its bud profile at this stage resembling a mighty tulip, the toadshade waited for someone to come along and take its picture. and there i was.

that very day i ended up using a graceful fern in our backyard as my picture-of-the-day. the composition was just a little better, the curve of the fern beautiful. but the trillium knew it would end up featured. i had whispered thank you to it after my baker’s dozen shoot. it stood proudly as we hiked away, knowing.

paying attention – to the littlest details of a day – requires intention. i know i could get lost in the other details of our life, the more pressing, the more complex, the minutiae and nuances of moment-to-moment adulting.

but one text from my son changed that and offered me a continuing reminder to find something – any thing – big or little, positive or disconcerting, dreamy or a little bit scary – that was a real piece of my day. it also offered me a chance to physically let them know i was – at that very moment of sending – thinking of them.

i know there are days – i don’t want to think about how many – that my grown children look at their phones and – in unison from 1400 miles apart – roll their eyes as my picture-of-the-day drops in.

i just want to thank them. ❤️❤️

and this trillium.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the portholes. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

there was this knot-hole in this tree on this trail. i used to stop there each time we hiked – to gaze through it…stand and take in what i could see through the tiny porthole in the woods. always, it was a reminder of the fluidity of time, of ever-present change, of nothing standing still.

the porthole i found in the milwaukee art museum – through one of barbara hepworth’s sculptural pieces – had the same impact on me. bending down, i focused only on what i could see through that porthole. on a different day, at a different time of day, in a different month or season, never static. even minutes from my peeking-through, the wind picked up and the lake’s surface roiled a bit and all from before was erased.

late-late on sunday nights – into the wee hours – we stay awake to listen and watch our son livestream mixes from a club in chicago. he was away for a couple weeks and we missed these late dj nights. they are our porthole – our tree-knot-hole – into what he is creating, producing, learning, feeling. every midnight-hour-sunday we see the changes in the new seasons of his work, his growth, his zeal, his poise at tech controls that evoke curves of mood, layers of sound, textures of music we may not have accessed otherwise. we see his joy.

it’s the same reason i took my first snowboard lesson. at that time, it was a porthole view into our daughter’s life – a peeking window that allowed us to feel the smallest smidge of her professional work. watching her fly down mountains, picking up speed and agility and ever-more skill through our tree-knot-hole on the sidelines and touching her joy-magic with our own feet on a snowboard on a hill.

we can assume things about others. humans do it all the time. broad sweeping generalizations about people and peoples – different because of race or color or gender identity or ethnicity or country of origin or age or disability or socioeconomic status or politics or religion or whatever the prejudice-de-jour might be. we glance over at “them” and form opinions; we claim to be “open and affirming” yet we slam closed the porthole that might give us a true look into their life. we scrub away the transparency of truth and apply the balm of our agenda – totally missing perspective, the possibility of commonality, the gift of community, the connectedness of us all as a species attempting to just keep on keeping on.

were we – perhaps – to notice, to step forward and take a closer look, to shield ourselves from inevitable human failings of assumption and instead to breathe deeply and gaze – we might have a view into the sameness of us all, the things that unite us, the things we need honor and hold in high regard….that we are all one under the sun. that while we cannot walk in another’s shoes, we might learn by looking through any and every tree-knot-hole we can find. that new eyes, new focus may also mean new learnings and new appreciation and new grace. that we should stop and peer through portholes whenever we can. there’s no time to waste.

*****

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


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coffee mug viewmaster reel. [d.r. thursday]

inane information moment: i am drinking coffee out of this mug right now.

in a small shop on the main street of frisco, colorado (elev. 9075′) these mugs sat on a shelf and waited. since we are bring-back-a-mug (or cloth napkins or a rock or a big branch) people, it seemed destined to go home with us – a black mug with trees and the word “colorado”. how much more perfect can a memorymug get?

it’s visceral drinking coffee out of this mug. it makes me want to walk down main street, jaunt into the bookstore, find the trailhead at the end of the road. i merely have to hold it in my hands and i am in the high mountains, squishing the goodness out of every single minute we get to breathe in that air.

there are quite a few mugs in our mug cabinet. and this is after we pared them down, bringing cups to the church we used to go to for their coffee hour, which had a huge collection of people’s memorymugs. you’d wrap your hand around a floral mug and wonder who gave it to whom. you’d cup hot coffee and laugh at how many i-love-my-teacher mugs had been options on the rolling cart with the coffee urn.

there are some mugs that i simply could not have let go. a peanuts mug from the 70s, a mug from the cape, a handle-less clay mug from a potter in the north carolina mountains, two round glass mugs from which my sweet momma and dad sipped coffeetime, a charlie brown mug from h, the shayne mugs from my sister, our breckenridge cabin coffee mugs, the remaining unbroken snowmass mug, a couple mugs our girl left behind a few summers ago.

i guess that the point is what each of these conjure up nestled in my hands, steaming-coffee-ready. they are like a timeline of life, the viewmaster of the coffee world. click – another slide. click – another slide. choose your mug, choose your reel.

coffee is never just about the coffee. at least that is what i have learned in my life. it is always about the moments and, at risk of hyper-redundant-emotion-waxing, presence is what counts. for there is simply nothing better than sitting here – this very minute i am writing this – early morning, with coffee, under the quilt, dogga at my feet and d next to me, my mom’s old glass nighttable lamp on by our side, snow falling falling falling outside the window, holding every frisco memory in my hands. even if i have forgotten the tiny details of the trip, i can feel the majesty of the mountains and the way it feels to look across lake dillon and catch my breath.

the gift of this mug in my hands is that it delivers me there – just by opening up the triangle cabinet in the kitchen, selecting this mug and pouring coffee. though we are right here – at home – we are also right there. in summit county.

when we talked to 20 on the phone last night he told us he had only one thing of note he had saved recently that he felt worthy. expecting it to be a helpful hint of some sort, we waited. he paused and then quoted, “by replacing your morning coffee with green tea you can lose up to 87% of what little joy you still have left in your life.” (shah of blah tweet)

i suppose you could drink green tea out of this mug too. but why would you do that?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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