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Tag Archives: at the end of the day


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daisy-path-ing. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we took off our sunhats. it was a hot day and we had been gardening for hours. the purchased plants had been potted, all the transplanting in the yard was done. it was that golden hour after all the work and before making dinner. we poured a bit of cool pinot grigio, took a tour around the yard and then settled into our adirondack chairs in the shady corner of our deck to gaze out at the yard – one of our favorite pastimes now.

the daisy path – as d has aptly named it – is slower. it doesn’t require the striding or racing around of earlier years. it is a – rather, The – sweet phase and we are trying our best to hone it. we never expect to perfect it, so we are doing everything we can to appreciate it, be grateful for it, honor it.

every night last week we sat on our patio or on our deck, just sitting. at the end of the day – after having dinner al fresco – we – truly – just sat.

and we talked. about anything, everything, nothing.

earlier in the day – on one of the days – i got ready to plant one last sweet potato vine. d had spray-painted a plastic pot and it was ready for the transplant and to be hung on the old ladder in the corner of the deck.

d asked me if he could get me a chair – as i have found that placing a chair on the patio next to the raised deck makes planting easier on my back. i thanked him and said that i was only planting this one pot.

but then i was struck by how generous this offer was. for in the middle of everything he was doing, he was concerned that it might be easier for me if i had a chair – as i had used while potting other days – and he was going to drop everything to go get me one if i wanted or needed it.

and so, it was then – one of those rare moments you remember – not because you don’t appreciate each other all the time, but because sometimes a very intentional wave of gratitude is easy for your brain to snapshot into your memory.

i walked over to where he was weeding the cracks in the patio and bent down. wrapping my arms around him, i told him how much his kindness meant to me. it wasn’t even a few seconds and dogga was there, right in the middle of our embrace, pushing his head up into the armwrap hug, his face even with ours, in the middle of so much love.

i whispered to d, “memorize it.”

of course.

we three stayed that way for at least a full minute, which is a long time for a busy aussie. it was a magical minute. definitely daisy-path stuff.

our old dogga stuck close for a bit more, to get kisses and pets and butt-butts. he didn’t see the tears welling up in our eyes as we committed it all to visual and visceral memory.

d went back to weeding and i potted the sweet potato vine and hung it on the ladder.

it seemed right that this sweet potato would keep vigil over our little corner on our deck. my sweet momma’s words, “live life, my sweet potato,” ring in my ears.

sweet potatoes and the daisy path. sunhats and glasses of wine, a checkered tablecloth and adirondack chairs. our dogga and a sanctuary of peace. love and gratitude.

the sweet phase, indeed.

*****

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

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snack-time! [saturday morning smack-dab.]

there are many days that we are a bit anxious for snack-time. we work on projects and check the clock, clean the house and check the clock, feed dogdog and check the clock. happy hour is a must and snack-time accompanies it. much like toddlers, we love snack-time.

right now i am thinking that late july chips might want to sponsor smack-dab, as we are dedicated to their organic, non-GMO, gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free, chia, quinoa, millet, amaranth and flax tortilla chips. with hummus, with salsa, in chorus with kalamata olives or maybe those tiny sweet pickles or even pickled beets that make me think of my sweet momma. there is nothing like a circa 1940s cut-glass crystal bowl filled to the rim with chips and a couple of wine glasses with our tried-and-true apothic red blend or bogle’s old vine zin. (more sponsors! we are not proud.)

there are moments – mostly the ones when i look in the mirror – when i wonder if we are eating too many chips. one has to ponder who really sticks to the serving size. i suppose a little will power would go a long way.

but i’m thinking that the up-north gang and jen and brad and 20 would all poo-poo that. “who needs will power?” they’d all say. “happy-hour-snack-time is non-negotiable!”

nevertheless, excused or guilty, we have a way of justifying snack-time. we figure at least we aren’t gorging on hostess cupcakes – you know, the chocolate ones with white filling and chocolate frosting on top with a little white swirly. at least these tortilla chips are contributing to our good health.

or not.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ kerrianddavid.com


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artists and bootstraps. [two artists tuesday]

the bootstraps are getting a good workout.

the flutter in my heart, my racing pulse, uneven breathing.

i tug at the bootstraps.

i don’t have a choice.

i am an artist. bootstraps come with the job. they are inherent. they are undeniable. they are a burden. they are a release. they are imperative.

we cannot hide from the here and now. we cannot hide from the truth, be it light and airy, be it ugly and heavy. we speak to now; we help provide access to truth, to raw emotion, to the basic fundamental sameness – and yet individuality – of humans. to where the rubber meets the road.

we pull up the bootstraps and take a deep breath.

we dive in.

“just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water,” the infamous tagline from the box office movie hit “jaws”. we are shocked by the cold water, the lurking sharks, a symbiotic ocean with underlying danger. we muster on.

the art, the music, the prose, the poetry, the dance gently ease us all into a place of rest, of reassurance. the art, the music, the prose, the poetry, the dance prod us all out of a place of mediocrity, past complacency, past laissez-faire. the art, the music, the prose, the poetry, the dance urge us into thought, into action, revitalize our fire. this is the job of an artist.

i take a breath. try to slow my pulse. feel the slight flutter in my heart. take another deep breath. i re-tie my boots. pace. glance in the mirror. look at my notes. say a quiet prayer. breathe. shift from one foot to the other. breathe. my pulse runs faster. the curtains part. i walk to the apron, bow my gratitude, take the bench. hands on the keys, boom mic inches from me, i begin to speak.

i take a breath. try to slow my pulse. feel the slight flutter in my heart. take another deep breath. i re-tie my boots. pace. glance in the mirror. look at my notes and the score in my hands. say a quiet prayer. breathe. shift from one foot to the other. breathe. my pulse runs faster. the musicians take their places. i walk to the front, sweep across the singers and accompanying instrumentalists with eye contact, appreciation and love, stand in front of the piano. hands on the keys, all at the ready, we begin to speak.

i take a breath. try to slow my pulse. feel the slight flutter in my heart. take another deep breath. i re-tie my boots. i pace. i glance in the mirror. look at my notes. say a quiet prayer. breathe. shift from one foot to the other. breathe. my pulse runs faster. i stand in my boots. i walk to the front, bow my gratitude, nod to the empty bench. hands trembling, no microphone, i am escorted out the exit.

i pull up my bootstraps.

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY