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

our lakefront is really quite beautiful. the city does a remarkable job with the gardens; flowers are everywhere. the harbor and the pavilion at the park are sites for many a photo shoot – anything from proms to family reunions to weddings to quinceañeras. just a few days ago we walked past a bride and groom and their stunningly-dressed wedding party celebrating over by the beach, just beyond the ribbon-wrapped-chairs in the garden.

i imagine this sequin-lace-tulle butterfly is from either a quinceañera dress or, less likely, a prom gown. somehow it took wing and flew from the hostess’ frock, this froo-froo landing on the harbor sidewalk where we walked by it on a hot summer day. though i snapped photographs of it, we didn’t pick it up, thinking that maybe a little girl or boy might pass by and claim this magical butterfly, seemingly waiting for them. i can dream a little.

though i have a few sequins – concert performing clothes – i haven’t worn any in quite a while. these few hangers have been relegated to a side of my small closet – things that hold no current relevance. even most concerts didn’t merit sequins. not because the audience didn’t merit them, but because i am not really a sequin person and i like to perform authentically.

we just aren’t fancy-schmancy people.

20 stared at my flipflops the other day – wrinkling his brow and grimacing with a few words, “expensive flipflops, eh?” and “i don’t like flipflops”.

old navy flipflops have pretty much been our standard fare in the summer. though age and knees and hips and such have made us hike in actual hiking sandals. nevertheless nothing schmancy. i wrinkled and grimaced back at him.

i have to say, though, that i have taken a liking to fancy bandaids. because i am having some sort of toe issue – i injured my toe and the nail fell off – i know, ewwwww. i have taken to wearing a bandaid over my toe to protect it.

now, i am a toenail polish girl – mostly because i inherited these enormous toes from my parents and painting them makes me feel better about their gigunda size (and also distorts my reality by making me think that they look smaller, more dainty and feminine with merlot-colored toenail polish on them). in real life, i suppose no one is really looking at my toes – though they might now that i have drawn attention to them. regardless, a plain beige (plastic or flexible fabric) bandaid on my big toe is gauche perched next to my other toes with self-painted merlot. (some of the perils of womanhood are grander than others.)

and so, i went on the search for fancier bandaids.

funny. most printed bandaids are for children. they have tons of options. not so much for adults or – specifically – a woman trying to disguise a non-nailed toe amidst her other toes, which aren’t so cute to begin with.

i did find a box of wildflower bandaids. the distribution of sizes is a challenge. they parse out 15 tiny bandaids, 10 medium bandaids and only give you like 5 bandaids of the largest size – the size i need for my nailless toe. (of note – in case you need this information: large wildflower print does nothing to tone down a large toe. small wildflower print helps minimally.) i honed my skill at layering a plain bandaid with a fancy-schmancy one and bought a second box just in case. lord knows how long the grow-out might take. and what if i have to go to something fancy-schmancy in the meanwhile…something that requires cute sandals and a sundress or the flowy overalls in my closet i like to wear with flipflops that have a little slanted platform (also old navy and so many years old now that i dread their demise)…

if, perchance, you are worried about my wearying of this one print of bandaids (two if you count the layering approach), i certainly welcome any and all suggestions of other schmancy bandaids you have found.

in the meanwhile, i could always wrap my toe in tulle, sequins and lace and call it good.

ahh…the saying “you can dress ’em up but you can’t take ’em anywhere” comes to mind.

*****

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

i don’t even know if it is necessary to add anything to this quote, circulating as a meme with an unknown author.

though there is so much potential for us, for our country, and for mother earth, we are living inside their sickness, a sickness that clearly must not be able to grok bursting life, bursting love, a sickness that wipes out sense and conscience and all manner of compassion, a sickness that threatens all we hold dear, a sickness that is a quicksand eddy of all the worst things, a sickness that pulls a curtain on the existential questions of future.

so i’ll just leave it here for you and say that i get it if you are feeling this way. we are sad together.

*****

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

“these incredibly brave survivors speaking out about unspeakable things. it changes your entire f—ing life” (valerie bertinelli)

they were walking toward us slowly, pushing a walker, every now and then stopping to dance a little in place. it is hard not to jive to the EDM music – it sets your spirit free and makes you dance. our son and his collaborator were lighting a fire under a massive audience dancing on waveland and halsted at chicago’s PRIDEFEST.

i noticed their shirt. “i am somebody” it read. i nodded.

it was clear that this person was struggling with something that physically debilitated them, their gait awkward, their pain visible. still, they danced and smiled and fistpumped the air and all of us around them cheered. yes, i thought, you are indeed somebody.

yet this country is working on eliminating all kinds of help for the disabled: medicaid, healthcare, food assistance, education. conniving to make somebodies into nobodies.

the guy in the crowd was visibly upset. he didn’t just hug the people nearby, he clung to them, crying. something was moving him profoundly. i don’t know what it was. but every person near him was acknowledging these moments of catharsis, these moments when he – this somebody – needed their support and love.

i weaved through the tight crowd to get to the front of the stage while we were at milwaukee PRIDEFEST so that i could get close-up photographs of our son on stage. once at the edge of the stage – smushed – i started snapping pictures. the guy next to me turned and looked at me as i was feverishly snap-snap-snapping and said, “this is my first time at pride!” he was elated, joy beaming from his face. it clearly meant the world to him to be there – celebrating – for the first time – maybe being openly authentic in public – for the first time. i was thrilled for him and we hugged. he took out a big handheld fan and fanned me while i – in the humid heat of the pavilion – took more photos. he sought me out in the crowd a few more times, every time this somebody glowing, this giant crowd of people embracing him.

and the administration of this nation – in a disgusting display of homophobia beyond the pale – is going after the very rights of the LGBTQIA community, rabidly seeking to foist their own version of love and sexuality upon all.

in recent days i have read a post with passionately evil words beyond what i can even describe nor care to describe. it was written about alex pretti and renee good. both somebodies who were doing the right thing against horrifically extremist deportation intent. these young people – the same ages as our daughter – lost their lives at the hands of this government. these somebodies who deserve to be here still, living, breathing, celebrating and – yes – constitutionally pushing back.

and now – beyond the evil intentions already in place – in an unconscionable decision by the supreme court, hundreds of thousands of real-live somebodies will likely be hunted down, merely for the beautiful brown color of their skin, a product of where they are from, where they have escaped, from which they have sought legal asylum.

and the statue of liberty in the new york harbor reads, “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”

your somebodies.

i just read an article about a woman in texas suffering from a miscarriage. she sought medical assistance only to be turned away twice at hospitals afraid to treat her because of the unbelievably extensive abortion ban. doctors were fearful to help her. her condition worsened and, though it is not hyperbolic to say that many women can experience acute distress from the complications of miscarriage, they still did nothing.

this nation is actively seeking – and succeeding in – limiting the rights of women as they seek care for their own bodies, unconscionably imperiling them. somebodies.

i have watched the epstein survivors many times now, speaking out about the atrocities they endured – at the hands of so many heinous people who have not been brought to justice, whose culpability slips into oblivion as institutions – with twisted mission – protect them. i could feel their pain, their frustration, their horror at the culture of complicity, of silence, of irresponsibility, of unconcern, of sloughing them off. and in those moments i have whispered to them how very much a somebody they each are and how very much they count.

“it happened. it was wrong. it matters.” (deborah tuerkheimer – credible: why we doubt accusers and protect abusers)

i can so relate. i, too, am a somebody.

“…brave survivors speaking out about unspeakable things…”

so many unspeakable things.

changing entire lives.

it’s all too much.

we are ALL somebodies.

“we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. –that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” (from: preamble to the united states declaration of independence)

somebody.

somebodies.

“…you are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here…(max ehrmann – desiderata)

*****

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

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

this reminds me of the song lyrics: “what goes up must come down/spinnin wheel gotta go round/talkin ’bout your troubles is a crying sin/ride a painted pony, let the spinnin’ wheel spin….” (david clayton-thomas). spinning wheel is a late 60s song – popular by blood, sweat and tears.

john denver’s quote is likely from ten to twenty years later: “things go up and down. if you can survive the down it will come back.”

both encourage holding on for the long haul – which is precisely what we need right now. to survive.

though as i write this, i am pondering the wisdom in simply riding a painted pony and letting the spinning wheel spin. we need something different now. inaction in these times is not survival. it is how a democracy perishes.

it is a bit like the recent flippant current-administration quote “just sit back and relax. it will all work out well in the end – it always does.”

for who?

that makes my skin crawl.

every single day the new news astonishes us and, yeah, doesn’t astonish us. it’s always more of the same – gluttony, cruelty, bigotry, corruption – exhibited and acted on by people in positions for which they have no credentials but for sycophantic loyalty.

sitting back and relaxing because it will be well in the end is merely complicity. it’s going down with the ship without even trying. to go down and to not come back.

the words “it will work out well” are suspect. they are the cavalier words of a dictator. and, in a twist of twists, these are the words – the recommendation – of the leader of the free world.

is this really where two hundred fifty years has brought us?

*****

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

“hidden in plain sight.”

this is practically too relevant to even write about. too obvious. too painful. too cavalier. too pompous. too arrogant. too irresponsible. too destructive. too, well, hidden in plain sight.

and you probably think i’m referring to the current corruption that is the current chaos that is this country.

but i’m not. not at this moment, in this writing.

though – i must say – in THAT vein – the current corruption that is the current chaos that is this country – it is waaaay too relevant, too obvious, too painful to even begin to write about as well.

it’s widespread, this horrific hidden-in-plain-sight stuff.

suffice it to say – when an institution/organization/government chooses to behave sans-truth sans-culpability sans-transparency-of-intention sans-acknowledgement that literally-everyone-can-see-what-is-going-on, it is most definitely an intentional kick-in-the-teeth we-freaking-don’t-care act of skanky dereliction.

too relevant. too obvious. too painful.

in plain sight.

*****

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

it sits on the dashboard of littlebabyscion – the vestiges of a single daisy. it is now thirteen years old, this daisy. and it has been right there for all thirteen years, its seed coats still hanging on, though toughening by the day.

because we had never met when we met, i brought a daisy with me to o’hare – to distinguish myself from all the other people waiting at baggage claim, to be clear that it was me – there – waiting to meet him – arriving.

i told him that i’d be the one holding the daisy because i thought it better than a sign and because daisies are happy. i stopped at the florist earlier in the day to get my one daisy while in the middle of perseverating over what to wear.

in the end i wore jeans, boots and an oversized black chenille sweater and i felt like me. which is a good thing, particularly when you are meeting someone you have never met.

we had written for about six months. every single day. emails would arrive in the evening or in the wee hours and i’d lay awake devouring it all and writing back about my own life, candid and vulnerable – honestly typing it all to this new friend with whom i had only had one phone conversation.

we discovered that life – as artists, even in different mediums – had some parallels to which we could easily relate. we discovered that life held some of the same mysteries for us. we discovered that life’s challenges were, well, challenges for both of us. we discovered we could see that life’s joys were swinging on a star…or two….or a zillion.

i was sort of aware of people laughing when we skipped through the airport to get on the escalator. but it was more like a slow-motion movie happening outside of me, one of the people skipping. slightly dreamy.

but it wasn’t all dreamy.

and though we found our zealous friendship evolved into something much, much bigger, something where two hearts melded together, something where love was undeniable and where we found we made a good team, it had many moments that were less than dreamy.

because life is like that.

this year it was thirteen years on the thirteenth. thirteen years since that veryfirstday we set eyes on each other – two artists scanning baggage claim, both in jeans and boots and black – both nervous, both excited. the next day we got big star drive-in burgers and fries, had a little champagne. this year we got big star drive-in burgers and fries, had a little champagne. a celebration of a big day.

back then, thirteen years ago, on the way into the airport, a girl asked me why i was carrying a daisy. i told her why. we ended up going to the same baggage claim. she was meeting her fiance at baggage claim because he was flying in. it was their wedding weekend. we saw each other in the ladies’ room a couple of times, nervously fixing our hair, pacing.

she looked at me and said, “he’s going to be your soulmate, you know.”

i laughed and said i’d be happy if we even turned out to be friends.

she was right.

and so was i.

thirteen years since the first day i laid eyes on him now.

and we were both right.

and the daisy sits on the dashboard of littlebabyscion, the eye keeping an eye on us with still so many seeds for the future.

*****

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a pesky weed or? [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

if you purport to be a weed – and only a weed – growing helter-skelter- invading lawns and gardens everywhere – then it is likely that people will see you – perceive you – as a weed.

if, instead, you believe you are vital early-spring nourishment for pollinators, recognized as a nutrient-dense food source, then it is likely that people will see you – perceive you – as beneficial.

it is all in what you believe about yourself and – here’s the tricky part – what you actually do about what you say you believe.

and why is that tricky? you ask.

i’m pretty sure you have stumbled across the vast hypocrisy – out there – that rears its ugly head from grandiose and magnanimous mission statements of organizations and institutions – even the current government (you don’t say!). these places that purport to be about, say, one thing or another – to stand for something.

i’m pretty sure you have been gut-punched – at some time – by the sheer hypocrisy that you have seen – that exists when push actually comes to shove – when the rubber actually meets the road – when the chips are down – at the moment of truth – that stubbornly squelches any culpability for what-they-say-they-believe – that atones in words but not in deeds. ohmygoodness, it is too prevalent to count, to even begin to depict.

human rights, the lgbtq community, racial divisions, birthplace bigotry, gender discrimination in the workplace, sexual abuse survivorship, places that foster accountability – the list of possibilities goes on and on. and yes, the hypocrisy goes on and on.

it all begs the question – what do you really believe?

and isn’t that just incredibly sad?

because how hard would it be to state what you believe in and then be what you believe in so that the statement “we are what we believe” would be a truth, a consistency in your business/organization/institution, something positive, life-affirming?

i guess the fact of the matter – in the end – is that just because you say you are what you believe doesn’t make you what you believe.

you have to live what you say you believe in order to be what you say you believe.

are you a pesky weed or not?

*****

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

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

“sometimes you have to listen harder to hear it, but the music is always playing.” (rob shaver – the life we have)

there have been plenty of times i didn’t listen hard enough.

i wonder. maybe it’s different if music is what you do, what you are. maybe sometimes it’s harder to hear because i have so much invested in it, because it winds around everything. maybe sometimes it’s harder to listen to because it sits heavier on my heart, with imperative and expectation. maybe sometimes it’s harder to hear because it is mixed up with cellular strands of pain, with the memory of the painful, with reinvigorated pain. sometimes i choose not to listen.

in those times it is quiet i seek. there are no melodic gestures that invite me in, no harmony, no beat pattern of rhythm. it is blank staff paper. skeletal. it is silence.

and then – like now – i begin to discover – rediscover – that it was there all along. it was the thing that carried me from one measure of rest to another. it was the beast of burden that enabled me to rest in the rest, to climb when necessary. it was the universe that offered it up – always playing – as breath. healing. not a bandaid kind of thing, but a gut-punch of adrenaline, a reminder of melody-flits in my mind, a few keys on a piano i can feel in my fingertips – prompts for an intuitive artist, shoulder-taps, a wistfulness i can’t avoid.

and every sound becomes a symphony, ready for my own ovation. every chance at a riff, an arpeggio, a singular line of potentially-exquisite melody is the divine. it plays always – off to the side, in the wings of our individual stage, just waiting for the curtain call, for the downbeat, for the crescendo, for the fader to bring up the volume.

sometimes i have wished that my work was left-brained, measured, predictable, with less of a low-tide-tidal-wave spectrum. but the spectrum – the kaleidoscopic roller coaster – is my continuum and i know – particularly now – when one note arrives at a time – that i wouldn’t trade it.

if you listen you will hear it.

*****

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

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through the viewfinder. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i suppose it depends on how big your viewfinder is. looking through the viewfinder of a handheld camera brings your rapt attention to whatever direction you have aimed it.

as you know, we often watch the youtube videos of hikers on trail at night, before sleep. we hike the trail – vicariously – through their eyes and it is fascinating to see how the trail changes – and how the trail stays the same – through a multitude of viewfinders.

it is particularly helpful to be on the trail “with” these hikers, for their cellphones and gopros are our eyes until that time when we are stepping the millions of steps on a thru-hike path with a hulking backpack and – hopefully – a lovely mule carrying it. (ok, just kidding – about the mule.)

we just read each other our posts from an earlier day, as is our custom. we write from an image but don’t share until after we are done. it was during the reading of one of my posts that we just stopped – full stop – and said how very fortunate we are…despite everything.

though there is much that would need be “shut out” in order to achieve serene peace, we focused for a few minutes on what is a part of our personal viewfinders.

for a while – years, maybe – i carried a white cardboard square slide frame in my wallet. my dear friend crunch had told me that there might be times that holding the slide frame up in front of me (not close to my eye), closing one eye and focusing on only what i could see through it – while blocking out everything else – might help my perspective. one thing at a time, not the whole picture. sometimes i have found that is necessary.

“just look through the viewfinder…” and the peripheral stuff falls off. at least momentarily. we all have it – all that peripheral stuff, some of which sets the entire somber tone for the entire country, even the whole global world, some of which is personal and keeps us burdened and struggling, some of which is just the picayune detail of life and living, some of which is a bit lighter, less difficult to carry.

years ago my beloved teacher and friend andrea wrote to me, “nothing is idyllic. i think we have idyllic moments. we have to take time to savor what is around us.”

the viewfinder keeps us in the moment and doesn’t let us forget to acknowledge the right now. it keeps us appreciative of the way it feels to smell the coffee in the morning or hear the earliest bird calls. it’s perspective-arranging, gives us a breath when we can hardly breathe. it helps us see the glimmer on the water, the mica right around us. it is life-giving, even if just for a small bit of time.

it gives us what we need to then leave that narrow focus and, once again, look at the whole horizon and all of that which is there.

****

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

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the so-called NYM. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

though they would have you believe that everything happens fast in new york city- that it’s all “in the flashiest flash”, that it’s all practically instantaneous – i would offer up driving across the george washington bridge or a spin on the cross bronx or the cross island or maybe the long island expressway – as counterpoint to that point. nothing happens fast in or on any of those places. it is slower than molasses and any pretense of traversing across the waterways to get to the other side – rapidly – would be dispelled as soon as you plant yourself in a vehicle somewhere near the gwb.

the thing about being on a bridge for a long period of time is that you are on a bridge for a long period of time. you can actually feel the sway of the bridge, the movement of the bridge, the other thousands upon thousands of vehicles on the bridge. it can be alarming if you are bridge-phobic, height-phobic, traffic-phobic, noise-phobic, phobic about going too slow, phobic about being late, phobic about big trucks surrounding you (if you are upper level), phobic about dark places that are underneath a whole ‘nother level of vehicles suspended on pavement and traveling above you (if you are lower level)…many phobias, so little time.

the problem is – this is the way there. to get to long island from new jersey – coming from the west, one must cross a bridge. you have a choice – the gwb or the verrazano. you can cross staten island or you can cross manhattan. the choice isn’t exactly favorable either way.

but – those are your driving-your-car options.

we thought about leaving – heading west – a different way…maybe driving north up along the hudson and crossing at the tappan zee, taking the ‘high road’ so-to-speak and bumping up into rockland county, taking a roundabout route to try and achieve that infamous new york minute stuff.

we chose not to, though, and went the “traditional” way, hoping we had timed it well, that – this very day, this very hour – the planets would align and conditions would be different and we would sail right through.

ahhh. no such luck.

maybe, in the end, the new york minute IS actually a thing. because anything – in comparison to the sloth-inspired-turtle’s pace on the roads to the city, through the city, across the city – would be faster. and a new york minute – that blink-of-an-eye-jiffiest-jiffy takes on different meaning.

*****

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

life in the fast lane

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