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Tag Archives: not-so-flawed wednesday


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asphalt illusions. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“i’ve looked at life from both sides now
from win and lose and still somehow
it’s life’s illusions I recall
i really don’t know life at all

i’ve looked at life from both sides now
from up and down and still somehow
it’s life’s illusions I recall
i really don’t know life at all”

(joni mitchell – both sides now)

puddletrees. they were right there, waiting. trees out a window. trees in a snowstorm. trees in front of us. illusion. reminding me – in the taking of the photograph – that things are not always what they seem.

it’s like story. things are not always what they seem.

“but in this song there are only two sides to things… there’s reality and i guess what you might call fantasy. there’s enchantment and dis-enchantment, what we’re taught to believe things are and what they really are.” (joni mitchell – at a performance 1967)

two sides. we’ve been taught to remember that there are two sides to every story. we learn though – somewhere along the way – that there are often many more sides than two. story is a multi-faceted creature, amorphous enough – and pliable enough – to take on the shape of whatever the storyteller – or the listener – wishes. this is not just dependent on details or fact; this is not simply dependent on reality. this is dependent on intention. even with the truth-telling of true story – with ample substantiation – there are others who will warp story into their agenda. reality and the flipside. brutal.

and so sometimes the don’t-know-clouds, don’t-know-love, don’t-know life takes on monumental proportion.

but there are puddletree moments. pared down. and these are not win or lose, up or down moments. they are simply suspensions of time – when we marvel at the reflection of trees in puddles or a single snowflake on a leaf or the survivors in scorched earth of a controlled burn, when we linger in the harmonic of a ninth or the color of the peony, when we pause in the middle of mayhem to look around us, when we know that just a little beyond reality is dream. and we can see it from here.

life’s illusions in an asphalt puddle. we really don’t know life. what it really is. at all.

“well, something’s lost, but something’s gained
in living every day.”

*****

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

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shabbat shalom. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i don’t have track one on repeat – yet – but soon.

george winston’s thanksgiving from his december album…exquisite. a meandering of thought, a creek of familiarity. listening to that piece float around me is the same as hiking this trail – so well-known, so beautiful, so close i can feel it when i shut my eyes.

it is snowing as i write this. i am under a quilt and can see outside – the squirrel on the birdfeeder, the grasses bending from the weight of snowfall, barney’s keys covered. everything is quiet. there is peace – for a few moments at least – while i listen inside to the trail and the reverb of george’s piano.

she said, “it’s time for you to rest. find a way. a sabbath.”

sometimes shabbat is easy to find – when all is lining up in the world. sometimes, this rest is harder to find. we are embroiled in all life’s angsts, all life’s slights, all the uphills, the sudden falls. to take the time seems self-indulgent. we are wary of the judgement of others.

but tired is tired and it is neither needy nor indulgent nor irresponsible to – metaphorically – lay one’s head down.

the trail – particularly in its known-ness – grants rest. it teases with ever-so-slight changes – the turtles which were once sunning are burrowed, the meadow-flowers which were once bloomed are dried, the trees which were once leafed are devoid.

george’s thanksgiving – in its known-ness – grants rest. it teases with a pause here, the lingering of a harmonic there, melodic gestures of lift.

both – individually and in repetition – grant shabbat shalom. sabbath. and i am grateful.

*****

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

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

it becomes clear looking down the trailmarker. the clearest place – with the most clarity in focus – is the very middle. it blurs on the edges, in the foreground and that section which is furthest away. but the middle. clear enough to see the drying grain of the wood. clear enough to see the tiny spores of lichen. lichen in the foreground. lichen furthest away. all blurry. but clear – there – in the middle.

lichen is a symbiotic partnership – it is a mutualistic relationship of fungus and algae, living together. lichen are not parasitic – they thrive, but do not feed on others. instead, they depend intimately on each other for survival, getting nutrients from the air, trapping particulates, absorbing small pollutants – their very presence an indicator of air quality.

lichen are tolerant of extremes and resilient in growth. they are considered a biomonitor in assessing the health of the environment in which they dwell.

we approach the trailmarker. it’s a sunny day, beautiful really. we are on our way back to the trailhead. it’s been miles of hiking.

we are refreshed and tired, both. we are happy to be together on this path. it is familiar and, this time, we don’t need the marker to know where we are or how far we have to go.

but the markers are there – in most of the trails we hike. some are less obvious, like cairns in the high mountains. they help us find the way, help us know – more clearly – where we are. even if what was before is fading and what is ahead is blurry and unknown, the trailmarker gives us a bit of certainty in the moment – the only certain thing.

the lichen draws my attention – soft greens and mustard yellows. i wander over to the marker to photograph it. i don’t know a lot about lichen so i google it later.

their place in the world – these tiny organisms – is astounding. their ability to co-exist, their thriving together, how integral they are in giving back – all inspiring.

apparently, they are a little more pure, higher up on the love-one-another chain than humans.

*****

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

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herbs and children. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

parsley and rosemary. in what would seem their prime, it was time to harvest, for another frost might damage them and a freeze most certainly would. we covered them – along with the basil and the mint and the lavender – but it’s november and it’s wisconsin, so it was time to make some other choices. because it’s what we do, i researched. and then, with snippers, went out and snipped off stems, laying them gently on a cookie sheet so that i might freeze them and pull them out mid-winter to use: fresh herbs in the winter from our own potting stand will remind me that spring will, yes, arrive again.

and yes, i know it’s simple to run to the grocery store and pick up a fresh bundle of parsley and one of those little plastic containers of rosemary. but there is something to be said for these herbs that we grew, that gave us so much joy to watch as they flourished this summer. we simply bought them at lowe’s, planted them in good soil in good old clay pots, placed them in the sun, watered them as needed. and we celebrated them as they grew. mighty and strong.

it’s a little like children. you try your best to plant them in good soil, in solid but permeable pots, expose them to the sun and nutrients as they need them. and they flourish. and one day you are watching your daughter fly down the biggest mountain run in summit county – one of the highest inbound ski terrains in north america – on a snowboard, her skills generously coaching and instructing others. and another day you are watching your son’s hands fly across the mixer board, spinning electronic dance music, bringing elation – even rapture – to beautiful people expressing the freedom and joy of living. and then another day and another and another…mighty and strong.

it’s good dirt, a good pot, sun, nutrients. celebration.

and a whole lot of love.

maybe next year we’ll also plant sage and thyme – to complete the old folk song that goes through my mind every time i think of parsley and rosemary.

*****

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

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in every season. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

the ornamental grasses weren’t there – out the window – when the studio was the nursery. instead, there were hedges – ancient hedges lining the front of the house, thick hedges lining the driveway, dense hedges in front of the old brick wall. it looked completely different all hedged in.

i’d sit in the rocking chair in the nursery with my babies and watch the seasons go by out the window. rocking them to sleep, reading a book, nursing, we spent many, many hours in that rocking chair. and i spent many hours with sleeping infants in my arms gazing out the window, pondering the season out there and the season inside. somewhere there is a recording of my song rocking chair seasons, but i’m not sure where.

it is evident from the grasses what season we are in. looking out any front window – or back, for that matter – there are grasses answering to the dance of the calendar. they sprout out of the ground in later spring and then rise skyward. stunning in the breeze, they are tall and willowy in hot summer sun. and then, the plumes. gorgeous and feathery. and now, the grasses are golden orange, a showy nod to the cool of autumn. even later they will stand in the snow, catching the winter winds. all just out the window. a timeline of life.

the rocking chair is now downstairs in the basement – one of two in david’s studio. the crib and the changing table and all the babystuff is no longer in my studio, though just outside the door hang tiny shoes on a doorknob which were my girl’s and my boy’s when they were little.

sometimes i stand by the window in the studio – at the same angle that the rocking chair sat – and look out. it is easy to get lost in the memories that flood in.

the seasons have changed. they are all-grown-up and living creative and independent lives, strong humans in this world.

i’m still right here – and always will be for them, waving my plume in the air, rooting for them at every turn, in every season.

and i look at the grasses in their perennial transition as time passes and realize it is all the same.

*****

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

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a little decadence. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

and we finished with an exquisite slice of flourless chocolate torte. it was as simply beautiful as it was scrumptious.

we never order dessert. we hardly ever order anything we don’t share. to cut to the REAL chase, we hardly ever go out to dine.

so this was a pretty special day.

we had hiked about eight miles that day, the day before about nine. all told, in three days we hiked about twenty-two miles or so. it was the day after our anniversary. we finished our hike and arrived back at littlebabyscion starving. and, completely out of our frugal character, we spontaneously went to the cool pub nearby.

in an extraordinary move, we ordered two glasses of wine and three appetizers to split – not just one and not even just two. three! it was absolutely remarkable! we could tell that the waitstaff was amused by our complete glee and they each were sweet and solicitous, filling our water glasses and checking in on us. we felt like royalty. but, really, we were just two people on barstools engrossed in an experience that is now as rare as it is wondrous.

“a little something sweet,” we spoke aloud, as the server handed us the dessert menu. we shooed away any thoughts of over-indulging. we even giggled as we ordered the torte.

a smidge of rejuvenation, a nod to our own worth, balm to troubled hearts. it was an amazing afternoon on those stools, feeling like the world and possibility were at our fingertips.

a little decadence goes a long way.

*****

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

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buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” donation website where you may choose to support the continuing ability of artists you love to create the work you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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a village. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

laughter.

if you asked me what word best describes our up-north trips, it would be laughter. pontoon boatrides and utv drives, hikes in the woods and lots and lots of food and drink and snacks, and it is still laughter.

there is nothing – truly, absolutely nothing – like being with other people who are in the same – ummm – age bracket you are in.

i remember my sweet momma and poppo gathered around their pool in florida with multiple other couples. yadayadayada they’d go on and on about their trials and travails. i was stunned back then by the ordinariness of their conversations, by the chapter of life.

but i tell ya, they had nothing on the up-north gang. we will literally talk about ANYthing. any sordid detail, any grimy description, any mighty middle-age challenge, any blahblah that floats into our brains. we share life, we tell stories, we compare notes, we make suggestions, we google and sort and — yes, laugh.

the other day we took a walk in our neighborhood and met up with a couple friends walking the other way. after the initial hellos and whatchabeendoins, we took the fast track to a fascinating conversation about – drumroll, please – medicare. never would i have ever thought we would have stood on the sidewalk chit-chatting about medicare plans, but there we were – for a long time – the waves crashing on the shore next to us – comparing and contrasting information about supplemental plans and advantage plans. thrilling, eh?

it actually was. thrilling, that is.

because everyone needs to be surrounded by people who “get it”, who “get” where you are in life, “get” the tribulations, “get” the worries and the stuff you have to figure out, “get” the aches and pains and physical morphing that seems to be happening to us. together we can do this.

it takes a village to grow old, i say.

*****

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

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

we are clearly the three musketeers together…20, d and me.

our discussions range from ridiculous kidding to profound artistic center to current events. we cook together and spoil dogdog together. he has been a constant – for thirty years – and our friendship is cherished. he is my brother; after my own big brother was on the other side, he chose 20 to be so.

he has a thing about faces. and so, because he sees them everywhere, so do we. happy faces, silly faces, sad faces, worried faces, upside down faces. i have stopped in my tracks to snap a photo of a face – regardless of the place – just to send to him.

and then, at the coffeehouse in madison, there was this face on the door. 😐 d was engrossed in something else, but 20 and i went off into fits of laughter – talking as if we were the face on the door. it doesn’t take much to entertain us.

it’s a good learning.

because – really – isn’t that the point? to see the tiniest thing with someone you care about and laugh the biggest guffawing-snorting-tears-running laugh. to admire the tiniest thing with someone you care about and be awestruck with the biggest swelling heart. to share the tiniest things – and the biggest things – with someone you care about and know – deep in your soul – they are standing there with you, every fiber.

i’ll always stop for faces now.

well, faces and hearts.

because they’re important. 🙂

*****

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

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buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” donation site where you may help support the continued creations of the artists you care about. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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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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buyeacoffee is a donation “tip jar” site where you may help support an artist’s work that has touched you, helped you, moved you. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you so much. xoxo

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