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Tag Archives: slow down


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pinball or life. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“the now is all we have.” (sue aikens)

it feels like we have been barreling through time and space – bouncing off broadcasts and pundits, headlines and breaking news – as if in a virtual pinball machine – not too much control but a lot of noise.

we have decided to get off the ride. as a person who is easily motion-sicknessed, i am weary of the political nausea, the tiltawhirl of these times, the roller coaster of insanity, the cauldron where people have tossed their morality. it’s time to step to the side and not watch every single ball hit every single paddle, bounce off every single bumper and slide down every single ramp while ineptly working the flippers.

because, really, sue aikens is right. the now IS all we have.

it’s time to slow down and just live.

the author wrote, “…i’m no longer under the impression that i can outrun the 77-million-person mob that voted in favor of racism, misogyny, violence and corruption…” (lisa bernardi)

and i agree. i can’t either. but that doesn’t mean that i have to participate with them, hang out with them, trust them. and that, frankly, is pretty heartbreaking. but it is also time-and-space-perspective-arranging.

if, indeed, the now is all we have – which i think is true – then we need attend to the fleeting things that are life-giving, that are generative, that are intentions of kindness, that give us peace.

we need to make the best plans we can, all the while knowing that they may be dashed.

we need to be with those who share our values, who wish for an earth, a country, a state, a community, a family that leads with goodness.

and we need to find ways to linger in every single thing that feeds our souls.

i’ve never liked pinball anyway.

*****

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

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on and on. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the daisy might have thought no one would notice it. that it was past being noticed.

but i was drawn to it as we passed by. nestled in the grasses on the side of the trail, it spoke to me.

“i am not done, though look past my prime.

i am still in the sun, still standing in time.

though shrivelly and dried,

i don’t need to hide;

i know i am beauty and am very alive.”

i was surprised to hear a daisy speaking in rhyme, but not surprised at its expression of beauty, its yearning to be poetic.

i’m finding more and more – in my time in the sun now – that it is the poetry that makes me linger. it is the waning moment in the sun, the flower post-bloom, the cracked plaster, the weathered peel of paint. it is the imperfection that is attractive, the slowing gait, the putting-down of ladders, the simplicity of less.

like the daisy – i don’t know what’s next. i am steeped in the here. biding in the meadow.

but right now daisy’s yellow disc florets are in symphony – in a song to the sun and everyone else under the sky – whether or not anyone chooses to listen. it will continue on and on, weaving through the underbrush and the woods, past the river and up, up floating in clouds. it won’t cease…it is not done.

my song to the sun is gathering up energy. it, too, is not done. though nebulous, i can sense it wakening. though slightly beaten and weathered, i can feel it rising. though slower, i am aware of its resilience. though tentative, i recognize its imperative. the downbeat waits patiently.

a poem. a symphony.

like daisy.

on and on.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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of being here. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“may you awaken to the mystery of being here.” (a blessing for presence – john o’donohue)

when my big brother died i had trouble wrapping my head around his not-being-here. at the time i was an adult, pregnant with my second child and was personally acquainted with previous loss – i had lost all my grandparents along the way. but there was something i couldn’t put my finger on, something that was so perplexing and mind-warping for me that it sat with me and sat with me and, even now, there are times i ponder it. my big universe query was: wondering how the world could go on if he could no longer feel it.

i still don’t know the answer. i do know that it just does. the universe keeps keeping-on, despite who is present – in any of its dimensions.

in the decades now that have passed since my beloved brother died, i’ve also lost my sweet momma and poppo, other relatives, dear friends. in exquisite moments of reassurance, i have experienced them – from time to time – reaching from the other side. they’re right here, i think, just over there. though i wish i could summon them when i need them, that’s not how it works. and so i just glory in the moments when they happen and try to remember.

in those very moments – and any other, really – i think about what wisdoms they might share with me from that other side, from the Next place, the Next time.

i’m pretty sure they’d agree with john o’odonohue. they might tell me, as i sit in the adirondack chair on the sun-showered patio with my husband and dog, sipping a glass of wine and watching the grass grow, “just being there should be enough.”

they might whisper to me to slow down.

they might remind me of the sacredness of each minute.

they might cajole me from my angsts. in turn, they might admonish me to let go of ludicrous overplanning.

they might point out the new buds on the aspen, the volunteer daylilies in the garden, the black-capped chickadees and house sparrows dancing by the feeder, the shadows playing across our field of vision in this small sanctuary we love.

they might tap me on the shoulder and repeat a few more words of john o’donohue’s, “enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

MEDITATION mixed media 48″x48″

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

like you, we are shifting gears often. one project to the next, one challenge to the next. we prepare, we research, we make decisions and then move to the next. it is all in constant flux. gazillions of molecules hurtling around all at once. many plates spinning all at once. anxiety and fear and thrill and peace and bliss all coexisting. it’s truly a wonder we are not so burdened by the constancy of too-much that we don’t bend under the pressure of it all. 

i step outside the back door – onto the deck still basked in a haze of frosty dew – and look up. the slice i can see of this-house-i-love grounds me. ”stand still,” it says – this house loving me back, “just look at the sky.” 

and so i do. 

and somehow i can feel the quivering slow. i can feel my feet firmly planted on the old wood of our deck. i sink into the blue sky and look around for rays of sunlight i might stand in. i release the (metaphoric) clutch and the gear-shifting stops – for these moments. 

and – for these moments – i am centered back in right now. 

i breathe in deeply. and slowly exhale. 

and i thank the blue-blue sky and the slice of house – the reach of love – before i go back inside to spin more plates.

*****

happy valentine’s day. ❤️

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

happy birthday to my love.
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clarity. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

there is no way to maneuver the depth of field on my old iphone. it is all about coming in closer and backing up – eyeing what is framed in the aperture and moving to adjust what i want the photograph to look like. i know that the newer iphones have some access to depth of field options but – at the moment – i don’t have access to a newer iphone option. so. i adjust.

i almost rejected this photograph as a melange post. with the closest red dogwood branch a bit out-of-focus it didn’t really meet my parameters for a post. and then i stopped to reconsider it. it’s a great visual reminder of how distorted things can look from up close.

clarity is something that comes when you put a little space between you and the issue or object of your attention. 20 always says, “you’re too close!” and it’s impossible to not hear his voice in my head now in the throes of any decision. and so i try to remember to back up a little, to have some distance as i consider – an overview. 

when d was working for a new software startup (before the business was unfortunately closed) their product was the perfect tool for clarity. after i understood even the most basic functions of this remarkable software – as they were looking for names – i kept blurting out suggestions like “pinnacle” or “eagle eye” or “lookout” or “apex”. it seemed obvious to me that having this incredible overview – a step back – was the perfect new software for people struggling to make sense of too much up close and personal…a pragmatic way to sort and prioritize…a realistic way to have perspective. it’s beyond my wildest imagination that they did not continue on their merry way into software stardom. but alas, such is life, eh?

anyway, that lookout tower approach has its wisdom. it’s like pulling into the overlook in the appalachia region on route 25e in tennessee. up until that moment – in the middle of them – you were aware that there were mountains but you were seeing them from too close to really appreciate the grandeur. you drive into the overlook, step out of your vehicle, walk to the retaining wall and you are stunned by the magnificence of how the whole world drops off beyond your feet, stretching on and on and on. and you can see – there are mountains and lakes and a river – things you could not discern from up close. 

in the middle of the middle stepping back is one of the ridiculously hardest things to do. it feels counter-productive when you are trying to come to some sort of conclusion or have some kind of perspective about a specific thing. but up close and personal, the red dogwood is blurry and i can’t appreciate its stunning beauty. from a little distance away, i can see how it plays against the warm beige of the grasses and cattails, how it enhances the fallow of this meadow.

in this crazy-busy time of year – with people rushing around trying to make the holidays perfect for themselves and others – i’m thinking that maybe we are all a little too close. i’m reminded again and again of what is most important. i’m taking in serenity as i can. we are trying to go slow – to appreciate the big picture – to not be clouded by that which is hard to sort or discern or, for that matter, even clearly see. 

yes, the red dogwood is blurry up close. but from a little distance it stands out in a field barren of much color. the dissonance fades. the chord resolves. there is clarity. 

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

INSTRUMENT OF PEACE acrylic 48″x91″

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our spiffy hose. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we were hose-holdouts. we had those hard rubber (and some hard plastic) hoses that are just difficult to deal with – the kind that bend back on themselves and kink and stop the waterflow (which, of course, is their entire role in life). one of them was attached to one of those hose rollup reel thingies that has a handle and you roll the hose onto it, trying to guide it into place (because it all somehow reels into the same spot) while simultaneously getting wet and muddy from the hose which is supposed to just easily glide into place on the rollup thingie.

we admired other people’s gardenhoses. they had nifty wrinkled-up expandable miracle hoses. they had lightweight-rubber-hoses-that-never-kinked. they had expandable-retractable hoses of many colors. we were in hose-envy with no hose-budget.

until one day.

the amazon guy left a couple boxes out in front of our door. now, this is a very exciting day. we order little and so we are ridiculously excited to see a box on our doorstep. truly, ridiculously.

two boxes. one was the spiffiest 50′ expandable hose – lightweight, all curled up like a sleeping garden snake, ready to take on our backyard. the other box had a bright neon green watering wand, which has to be one of the best inventions of all time. gifts from one of my beautiful nieces, we did a we’re-catching-up-in-the-world happy dance and relieved the heavy old hose from its duty on our deck.

it makes a difference, i must say. one wants to spend time watering with a hose that isn’t like lugging the entire water table along behind you sans sherpa-help. the wand is truly amazing (and i know we must be many years behind with this one, having been the proud owners of handheld nozzles for a bazillion years – the kinds that invariably don’t seal properly onto the hose screwtop receiver and spray sideways all over you as you attempt to use it.)

now, i stand calmly and peacefully – even zen-like – with my watering wand and obedient expandable-retractable-lightweight-miracle-hose and move from spot to spot in the backyard. i gently and tenderly – without jerking the hose along – sprinkle my herbs and rain down on our ornamental grasses and ferns.

everything has benefited from this combo. but mostly me.

the simplest upgrade-change – something newfangled! – has made a difference in a chore. it has made it a gift of slowing-down-time, of appreciating the growth of our gardens around us, a kind of meditation.

mostly, we have entered the twenty-first century of hoses. and we are feeling like the cat’s meow.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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MEDITATION acrylic 48″x48″

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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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stumbles and falls. [two artists tuesday]

and in the same way that my palm is a picture of life, so was this trail.

roots everywhere. trippables. this north carolina forest, a temperate rainforest, was a palmistry dream. rhododendron bushes and tree roots criss-crossing, superficially close to the surface, looking unlike the high colorado mountain woods, full of pine and aspen, spruce and juniper.

i must not lift my feet up all the way when i walk. because – every so often – i stumbled and caught myself with my walking stick. shuffling along is not in order. in metaphor-land, that’s much the same as life too. no shuffling. pick your feet up and step…even baby steps.

years and years ago, decades really, i remember being in the car with my former husband. he was driving and there was someone crawling along…shuffling, if you can imagine that in a car with tires. “do something!” he muttered. “even if it’s wrong!” he added. it was the first time i can remember hearing that expression. it made me laugh aloud. the “even if it’s wrong” part. i still think about that when i drive. it’s the you-can-always-turn-around and find the right route. you are not stuck on the road you are on for always. i refuse to cut across lanes of traffic just to make a turn i didn’t realize was coming up quickly. there are other ways of getting there.

we took it slow…my lesson from vacation, the essay i would write were i tasked the proverbial what-did-you-do-on-vacation assignment. we talked about it in littlebabyscion as it crossed to 260,000 miles on the odometer. “slow and steady and we’ll get there,” i said. “there?” d asked. “anywhere we need to be, any decision we need to make, any challenge we need to forge through,” i replied.

somehow, despite the roots and the shadows and the stumbles and falls, we manage to rise up again. the trails all have them. so do the roads and the choices and decisions and relationships. smooth sailing is a myth. it’s all a little bumpy.

we go a little slower.

and there is grace in the air. we need extend it to each other and to ourselves.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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the knew-its. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

there is a pile of flipflops by the back door. our house is a back door house so that’s where we come in and that’s where the flipflops live. there is nothing quite like walking on old wood floors or cool tile with bare feet in the summer – it’s freeing.

and so it never fails. or – i never fail. there is a moment, sometime in the summer, when i am rushing around without thinking or watching – maybe pushing the vacuum, maybe running from one room to another, maybe going out the back door with snacks, maybe taking a doorway too close – that i will slammmmm my toes into something and, ultimately, break my pinky toe. i’m not sure that a summer has gone by without that in recent years, though i don’t remember a broken toe in the littlehouse on island. regardless, i pretty much know the moment it’s going to happen and the delicate language that ever-so-gracefully flows from my lips when it does happen prompts dogdog to go hide in the bathroom.

this summer – just a few days ago in fact – i ran into a stack of paintings that is in our sittingroom because of the drains in the basement. i almost saw it coming, though not entirely because i would like to think i would have stopped it in process. it’s not my baby toe this time. it’s my third and fourth toes, purple and painful. but, as the days go on i realize one thing – i don’t think they actually broke this time, so maybe i am making some headway.

the lesson is always to slow down. d is always reminding me….slow down! don’t break your toe!….

eh.

the worst is the knew-its.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2021 kerrianddavid.com


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no timely manner. [d.r. thursday]

now i understand. at least, i am beginning to understand.

my sweet momma and poppo would linger…watching birds, gazing at flowers, studying the horizon – be it shorefront or mountainside, cityscape or tiny town or rural farmland, slowly taking it in. in the hurry-hurry of my younger years, i would scurry past, noticing but maybe not really.

i am moving slower now. not because i can’t scurry, but because i am choosing to list to the linger side. though we still watch re-runs after re-runs of joey hiking and climbing and backpacking and pitching tents any and everywhere, imagining ourselves in those canyonlands keeping up, imagining ourselves on the pct or the john muir or the colorado trail, i know that our pace would not match the pace of joey or the exuberant younguns on heading somewhere or walking with purpose or the meticulous norwegian xplorer. we would be slower, lingering, lingering. i’m not sure that would get us from point a to point b successfully or in a timely manner, but i’m thinking that our definition of ‘timely manner’ may have to just be different. because now – in the middle of this grand middle age – is different.

for now i want to watch the birds and gaze at flowers up-close. i want to stop and stare, drop to sit on a nearby log and take it in. i want to notice the intricasies of all of it, the undertones, the overtones.

as i look at the close-up of this milkweed trailside i am struck by the layers of detail. it somehow makes me recall decisions between the major chord and the relative minor, a continuum of impact. it makes me think of melodic gestures, a spectrum of color and of grace. a horsehair brush extended from the heights of the universe, painting perfection in the woods. artists’ hands waving paint on canvas, cupping clay on a wheel, flying over the white and black on a piano, coaxing lines that make you weep from a cello. all the same. creation in all its iterations.

on the call pat told me that the music – my music – had harmonics, tuned with the universe, that made her travel. humbling.

for i see that is what my momma and poppo were doing. traveling. they allowed the beauty around them to touch them, to slow them down, convincing them – in all the infinite glory that beauty -and art- can muster – that ‘a timely manner’ was relative, that time was relative. that time spent in a slow linger was precious.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

linger on DAVID’s online gallery