reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: smile


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

when you write a blog every-day-every-day you are opening your stream of consciousness up to anyone who cares to read it. we have no preconceived notions of our blogs – they are simply a practice of artistry – of writing – one medium through which we might express ourselves.

i would suppose – as i scroll back through blogtime – that these might appear somewhat – well – scattered. because we haven’t opted for a blog that is entirely about one thing – unless you count that they are about living life – we traverse all over the place.

sometimes, they are about creating – through music or paint – and sometimes they are about the tiniest of moments lived. sometimes they are absolute rants about inequalities or the disenfranchising of people or those in high positions pushing other people under the proverbial bus. they are not the entirety of life but they are schnibbles of our lives, our experiences, our thoughts, our worries, our successes or deep disappointments. sometimes one of us – in our individual blog – is off the rails and sometimes it’s the other. sometimes we write and erase the whole thing. sometimes it is all just too much to share. facing vulnerability is alive and well in this sort of thing.

so as you ride the coaster with us – if you are choosing to ride it – know that we are not lingering in one place or the other. like you, we are surfing the full spectrum – end point to end point. we are sorting and wondering and asking questions and trying to do the best we can at getting through while being sure to relish every good thing we see or feel or experience.

we’d love to be all rainbows and bubbles and sunrises – as i was accused of by my dear friend marc all through high school – but living isn’t just all that. and sometimes, people need to hear that they are not alone in what they feel or in how they are struggling. i know we do.

and so, our blogs ride the tide – a virtual tidal wave – of emotion that is life these days. we’d love to know that we have made you smile. we’d also love to know we somehow made you weep.

when my cds were being sold on the television shopping network qvc, i received a note from a stranger. she told me that her dad had passed and that when she went to his home in texas to sit and write his memorial service, she wandered about, looking for clues about his last days so that she might include them in the service. she found three cds in his CD player – all three of them mine. she played them for his service and told me that i was on the journey of his last days on earth. it was humbling and gratifying to read her words and to know that the ripples – those incessant concentric circles of all manners – i sent out in my recordings had wrapped around someone and, perhaps, comforted them.

even in the worst of moments, in the worst of writing, in the darkest of blogs, i wonder if someone out there is nodding their head, glad to know they aren’t the only one feeling what they feel. i also wonder if someone is out there growling. both.

a long time ago i was told that as an artist it’s not my job to determine what happens in the out there – it’s just my job to put it out there.

in this new year – a tidal roller coaster promising to be of giant proportion – let’s hold hands and know we aren’t alone in the roll.

isn’t that the point anyway?

*****

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

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cantata season. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in most rehearsals, i would remind the choir that their smile could be heard. there is a major difference to the timbre of voice brought forward with or sans smile. the same is true with speaking; even when you are not seen, the difference in tone is distinguishable.

it’s the season of the christmas cantata – a major work of multiple pieces with various voicings, instrumental lines, accompaniment and narration – closer to an hour in length. i’m writing this on the sunday morning that was usually chosen as the day of performance – the second sunday in december. i can’t even begin to remember how many cantatas i’ve directed – and written and arranged – through my decades as a minister of music. just recently a facebook memory came up – it was my post thanking the choir and worship band at a church where we had just performed such a work. the creation of narrative and song is exhilarating – for both director and participants – and everything drives to the downbeat. there is a glow that emanates from such a group – these people who have diligently prepared a musical piece of larger extent – and the camaraderie that weaves its way through – it is joy.

it’s been a few years now since i have directed a cantata. i’m guessing it’s a few years since many of the people who participated have sung or played a cantata. not every minister of music or choir director is up to it and some choose other programming. while you are preparing weekly anthems for sharing in service you are concurrently rehearsing this large work, so it takes time and energy, a compositional spirit, an innate ability to discern cantatas of value, ingenuity, the ability to rearrange on the fly, the belief in showcasing your choir – as a choir – accommodating any ability level, the recognition that simplicity is potent, much flexibility and humor, meticulous planning and true dedication. it is knowing as a conductor – in the moment after the downbeat – that you will merely guide this integrated group of singers and musicians through this visceral experience of purity. yours is a backseat to the magic – this is not your microphone. it is an undertaking not for the meek.

to say that i miss cantata-day would be understating. the gift of music is to make resonant that which is hard to see, that which is not tangible. the gift of music is to evoke powerful imagery and to open emotions tucked away. the gift of music is to bring forward beauty and the magnificence of producing something together. the gift of music is to offer just that – the gift of music. impactful, moving, music has the ability to change souls.

we pass the leaf on the trail – so very obviously lips curled in a smile. i think about all the times i have urged a singer to smile, all the times i have listened to the difference between smiling and not smiling – like the difference between the keys of d minor and e minor. vast.

and right now – as i write this – i wonder how many choirs are gathered on chancels, singing their hearts out, smiling inside and out.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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less is more. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

post-burlap-tan-horse-stall-chic bedroom decor, my room became a giant smile face. flowers and smileys everywhere, playing white and yellow with an orange shag rug. i had a giant smiley face poster on my door; beware to the grumpygus who might enter. smile or don’t come in!

the smiley face – “invented” in 1963 (when i was merely 4) was a morale booster developed by the designer harvey ball for the employees of an insurance company. the staying power of that simple icon is amazing! like the nike swoosh, developed by graphic-student-at-the-time-carolyn davidson (who, incidentally was paid a whopping $35), it has endured. it is, i’m sure, every graphic designer’s dream to come up with something so simple, so recognizable and so defining of a company or a product or an initiative. less is more.

many years ago i sat in my studio at my piano on speakerphone. one of the sales teams at astrazeneca was on the other end of the phone, their products – breast cancer pharmaceuticals. the team was passionately raising awareness and pursuing new and established launches. the astrazeneca team was working on a trademark – “in your corner” – and, having done much performance work in the oncological world, with many pharma companies, and with astrazeneca, i had written a song for them. it was in the earlier 2000s and speaker phone was the best we could do. after greeting everyone i played simple, straightforward lyrics, potent and direct, a simple catchy melody. less is more. the team loved it.

nothing ever came of that song. much like any pitching designer – whether graphic or product vision statement or slogan or logo or fashion or music or jingle – can tell you, more ideas are shelved than ever make it past the cutting floor. but somehow the cleanest ones sometimes make it through. my favorite designs are often the simplest gestures. my favorite songs are often the simplest melodies. my favorite fashions – yes, yes, i know i am not a fashionista – are the simplest clothes.

we walked along the lakefront past the beach where folks had set up umbrellas and small beach canopies, beach towels and plastic pails, picnic baskets and, off to the side, grills. so much happy. as we left the park and glanced down to turn onto the street sidewalk, there it was. this rock, painted with a happy smiley face. its simplicity made it noticeable. less is more, tucked into the grass next to the sidewalk.

there is nothing quite as appealing as someone smiling at you. during this time of covid and mask-wearing, that has been a missing link. we pass by others and the simple gesture, which so often sets the tone in an exchange, is awol, hidden under very-important-pandemic-masks. and so, we don’t know. there have been times when, not certain if my eyes are telling the story, i have literally said aloud, “i’m smiling under here.” the smiley-laughing face emoji is the most universally used. people want others to know they are smiling, laughing. that someone else’s presence or words or antics have made them smile or laugh. a happy face tells them that. simple. more.

we left the rock where we saw it. i can’t imagine how many people smiled as they passed it by. kudos to the artist who, with all the colors in the palette, chose to pick black and white and paint a simple smiley face.

*****

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

(my vintage happy face wastebasket – showing its age)


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the wisdom of the white trout lily. [merely-a-thought monday]

when my big brother died, i was lost in a maelstrom of emotion. it was hard for me to wrap my head around how the world would go on at a point he could no longer feel it. it wasn’t like i hadn’t experienced loss before. at that point in my life, i no longer had any of my grandparents present on this earth with me. that just felt like a more natural thing – to lose those we love who are elderly, who have lived long and full lives. my beloved brother, on the other hand, was merely 41 and there were so many hopes and dreams he still had for himself and his family. i am still struck by the fact that the world does, indeed, go on. the sun rises and sets; the moon lingers in the night sky. and my question, both existential and somewhat obvious, remains unanswered: how it can go on if he can’t feel it anymore. how it will go on – someday – if i can’t feel it anymore.

at some point a few years ago, i played for a memorial service at a synagogue. one of the meditations before kaddish made me weep. penned by merrit malloy, it reads: “when i die give what’s left of me away to children and old men that wait to die. and if you need to cry, cry for your brother walking the street beside you. and when you need me, put your arms around anyone and give them what you need to give me. i want to leave you something, something better than words or sounds. look for me in the people i’ve known or loved, and if you cannot give me away, at least let me live in your eyes and not in your mind. you can love me best by letting hands touch hands and by letting go of children that need to be free. love doesn’t die, people do. so when all that’s left of me is love, give me away.”

the white trout lily humbly bows on the forest floor. much like people, though on a different scale, their presence is ephemeral, fleeting. on sunny days, their petals will curl back, up, towards the sun; on shady days these small flowers may not even open. their simple beauty a mystery to the passerby, their faces shyly downward, they fill the underbrush on the side of the trail, dotting the landscape with fragile white blooms. i trust they are not concerned with the impact they make on the world nor do they wonder about their footprints once they are gone. they are simply there – love – dressed in white floral.

as we have moved through the pandemic and the devastating myriad of even just this past year, it is inevitable to think of all the loss, the loved ones who have died, the families and concentric circles left behind in grief, questioning. it is also – yes – a reminder that we are still here.

my dear friend sent me a link to a new york times op ed by charles blow. she drew my attention to the last line, words of perfection: “when i am gone, and people remember my name, i want some of them to smile.”

yes.

that.

smile. and give me away.

*****

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