Posted on October 10, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative
You might not believe it but it’s true. On the day we met – moments after we met – we spontaneously held hands and skipped – yes, skipped – out of O’Hare International airport, all the way to littlebabyscion in the parking garage. Our souls knew what our brains could not understand.
Little Miles calls us KERRIANDDAVID as if our names were one word. Through his child eyes he sees what our souls knew the day we skipped out of the airport. Two names, one word.
Ten years ago today we once again spontaneously held hands – and skipped out of the church. Our bodies finally caught up to what our souls already knew. Two are one. Naturally.
Posted on October 10, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
Eight years ago today, 10-10, at 11:11am, Kerri and I were married. Our guests teased us that our reception started at 12:12. The food truck was delayed in showing up and arrived one minute late at 1:02.
The altar was awash in daisies. Susan made daisy cupcakes. The first day I met Kerri she was holding a daisy so that I might recognize her at the airport. Daisies have been our flower ever since. She carried a bouquet of daisies as she walked down the aisle to join me.
Kerri wrote and recorded a song for me that played when I entered the church. It was a blue jeans wedding, our guests wore white shirts so we could wear our beloved black.
So many of our friends and family made food, decorated the beach house for our reception, fetched wine and coffee, built the bonfire on the beach. Kerri’s choir circled us and sang We Are Family. I like to think of our wedding as a barn-raising. My sister and niece jumped in to organize the moving pieces. So many people showed up and pitched in. Judy played her magic harp. Jim played his guitar. The ukulele band sang What A Wonderful World. Kerri and I shared words from our Roadtrip. Arnie and 20 were at my side. Kirsten and Craig stood beside Kerri.
We skipped out of the church just as we skipped out of the airport on the day we met.
Each day, every single day, I am grateful for the second chance that life brought to me. I. Am. The. Luckiest. Man. Alive.
If for a moment you doubt that this universe is generous, all you need do is think of me. Think of us.
Posted on October 11, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative
Kerri wrote AND NOW for us. For me. It is the piece of music that played as I walked down the aisle. I can’t hear it without being transported back to that moment. Then is now.
The only time I’ve been in the recording studio with her was when she laid down the tracks for AND NOW. It was magic. She was completely in her element, doing what she does naturally and best. I was utterly taken by her mastery, her ease. She recorded it the week prior to our wedding, when the to-do list was endless and the guests were literally knocking on the door. Needless to say the stress was palpable. And yet, she sat at the piano in the studio and played, she stood in front of the mic and sang, and the rest of the demands of the moment simply fell away. There was nothing between her and her composition. She became her music. She lived her song.
It’s what I thought about as I walked down the aisle that day. Eternal thanks. Wonder at a universe that connected the dots. And now? Nothing more or less than living the song in the same spirit in which it was written and recorded. Nothing between us and the music.
Posted on October 11, 2017 by davidrobinsoncreative
When I first met Kerri I told her that she needed to know two things about me: I don’t sing and I don’t pray. I imagine that was bracing news for a woman whose life has been about composing and performing music. I imagine it was especially disconcerting for a woman who stands firmly in a greater spirituality. I thought she needed to know.
A few short months later we were driving through the hills of Georgia en route to North Carolina, windows rolled down, a James Taylor and Carole King concert blaring through the sound system. James Taylor’s song, Something In The Way She Moves, began to play and I sang along. Kerri pulled the car over and began to weep. It turns out I sing after all. And I like it, too. That song became our song (one of them). Jim sang it at our wedding.
We have a dvd of the James Taylor and Carole King concert – at the Troubadour in Los Angeles. We watched it a few weeks ago for the first time. James Taylor told the audience that his song, our song, Something InThe Way She Moves, was the song that popped open his career. He said it was like that song was the doorway to the rest of his life. I knew exactly what he meant. A song. A door pops open. Life.
Yesterday was our second anniversary. Two years ago, Kerri recorded a song she wrote for me, for us. It’s called And Now. Amidst the chaos of our wedding week she somehow recorded it so I might enter the church, enter our wedding ceremony, to the song she wrote and sang, her song for me, our song. As I walked down the aisle that day, her song became the doorway to the rest of my life. In a moment, with a song, my life popped open.
Yesterday, after watching the sunrise we came home, made more coffee and sat on our bed (we call it the raft) with DogDog and BabyCat and told stories of our wedding week. It was the wedding equivalent of a barn raising. Our stories are the stories of all the amazing people who cooked, baked, carried, hauled, comforted, soothed, celebrated and helped us through the doorway. Amidst the stories, we reread our vows. We listened to the songs that to which we processed into the church, Gabriel’s Oboe for Kerri. And Now for me.
Listening, remembering, I sat on the raft and found myself weeping. I understood, perhaps for the first time, that on the other side of the doorway I routinely defined myself by what I was not: not a pray-er, not a singer. On this side of the doorway, there is life, rich, uncontrollable, vast, ever moving, no-need-for-nots or brakes or resistances. Just now. And Now.
The Direction of Intention 