Deflect And Dine [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

It’s true. Never go food shopping when you are hungry. It’s also true – for us – after stocking up the pantry, the last thing we want to do is cook. “How about Thai?” she asks.

“My thought, exactly,” I chirp. It’s a ritual.

We let our supplies dwindle to almost nothing before a resupply. It’s become a game: what can we make with what’s left in the fridge and on the shelves? I’m happy to report that some of our favorite dinner-discoveries have come from this game. Enjoying the dinner-surprise-game also serves as a signal: tomorrow is resupply day.

Of course, sometimes, after the signal, when resupply day arrives in all its glory, we don’t feel like doing a massive shop. “How about Thai?” I ask.

“My thought exactly,” she chirps.

read Kerri’s blog post about NOT COOKING

smack-dab. © 2022 kerrianddavid.com

Snore and Deny [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Although we may have led you to believe otherwise, these characters are fictitious. Especially the man. He’s a product of imagination and has no bearing on reality. Any resemblance is purely coincidental and, since I never snore, there’s no chance of coincidental resemblance. None. Nope.

Now, if the woman in the cartoon snored, well…

read Kerri’s blog post about CHAINSAWS

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Run! [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Our code phrase for product/service-discontent is, “Write a letter!” (It’s necessary, when speaking the phrase, to use a thick Long Island accent, “Write-ah-lettah!”). Beaky taught Kerri to express her discontent when a service, product or experience is substandard. And, Beaky taught Kerri this lesson in a thick Long Island accent. So. There you go!

I can see it coming. I can see it in her eyes. The first time I saw my darling dainty duck turn into Nurse Ratchet was at a hotel. I was terrified at the transformation and ran across the lobby. I feared for the person receiving the complaint. It’s become my standard practice: run! Put vast distance between me and the expression of discontent with undertones of Long Island. Pretend to be someone else. If only we’d leave and, later, write-ah-lettah!

The most horrifying cartoon panel I have ever drawn is the last panel in this strip. She grabs his arm. There’s no escape. Oh dear…

read Kerri’s blogpost on this saturday morning smack-dab.

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Keep Driving! [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

We both have long histories of epic drives. We like being on the road. In our early days (not that long ago) we thought nothing of 16 hour drives. And then, in a snap, something changed. Namely, being able to see at night. Weird. It’s on the list of stuff that our elders had been warning us about but we paid no attention because it was never going to happen. To us.

It was on the drive home from our honeymoon that we made the rule: no more night time roadtripping. If we can’t afford to stop, we shouldn’t make the trip. If we don’t have the time to stop, we shouldn’t make the trip. And, by the way, what happened to my 20/20 vision? I’m sure it’s here somewhere!

We are quite capable of denial. Denial is a great breaker of rules. Also, circumstance plays a role in our rule following. You haven’t experienced life until you’ve been in a car with Kerri driving like a demon to outrun a tornado. That the sun was setting was not a factor at all. We blasted through the night. I swear that LittleBabyScion nearly took flight. I didn’t know it was night, though, because I had my eyes closed. Sometimes it is simply better to not see what’s coming and keep on driving.

read Kerri’s blog post about KEEP DRIVING

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Dress In Layers [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

I know to dress in layers. If we are going to take a drive in these cold months, or go to the store, the windows will go down. The windows will go up. Hot. Cold. Menopause, I’ve learned, is a whack-a-mole of temperature fluctuation.

I am a man – and a slow-study – but I know when I am on thin ice and writing about menopause is very thin ice. There is only one thing I will add to my dress-in-layers comment: when the heat hits her brain I have to remind her that they will punch me, not her. And, as a chivalrous guy (stop smirking), it’s my obligation and duty to stand between her and the biker-dude that she’s just called a “sissy.” I’m not much of an obstacle.

But mostly, that biker-dude wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d blow through me like a hot tornado. Windows up. Windows down.

read Kerri’s blog post about MENOPAUSE

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Get Up! [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

When I was young and resilient, I enjoyed doing prat falls. I walked into walls on purpose. It was good for a laugh. Suddenly falling out of my clogs was a minor-show-stopper. It’s the element of surprise. Laughter loves the unexpected.

These days (how’s that for an old guy phrase!) I am less likely to spontaneously fall down unless, of course, it’s unintentional. Now, when I fall, I’m the one who is surprised. The good news in my reversal of fortune is that I can now take full advantage of the getting-up-process. My audience is no longer wowed by my prat fall but can be thoroughly entertained by my authentic struggles to stand. It’s not pretty so it’s filled with opportunities for fun.

“Age and stage” as 20 says. Age and stage.

read Kerri’s blog post about FALLING DOWN

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Be Manly [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Don’t be deceived. Even though I’m a sensitive male, a soft-guy, an empath, an introvert, a painter…I am, after all, still a man. In a pre-google-maps-world, when lost, I’d never stop the car and ask for directions. I’d flex and figure it out. If you have a problem, my first impulse is to fix it. Guy stuff, through and through. Sometimes I even surprise myself. “How manly of me!” I exclaim.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BOY-GIRL STUFF

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Gurgle On! [on DR Thursday]

I’m certain the first time I tried to walk I was not successful. A few stumble-steps and a return to the floor. My first attempts at speaking the English language did not receive a passing grade. As I recall (and I don’t recall), I made some gurgling sounds into which the adults surrounding me projected meaning. I’m certain they cheered and encouraged me to gurgle-on.

Learning is not a terribly difficult thing to do when 1) there’s a reason to do it, and 2) judgment, including words like “success” or “failure” are absent from the experience. Thank goodness my first art teacher treated me like an infant and, rather than critique my mess, she encouraged me to gurgle-on. Consequently, I associate my artistic impulses with fun and exploration instead of the thousand shades of rignt-and-wrong that most people are subjected to.

Recently Skip wrote and asked, “What’s the second rule?” Suspend your judgment and learn.

We just bought a mandoline. It slices and dices and chops and cuts. “The first thing we’re going to make is potato chips!” Kerri proclaimed. And, then, her brow furrowed. “What if we do it wrong?”

“We’ll learn something and make another batch.” Trial and error. Both “trial” and “error” are essential ingredients in the learning process and, since all of life is a learning process, you’d think someday we’d learn to value the “error” portion of the experience. We do ourselves a great disservice placing so much emphasis on passing the test and having the “right” answer. The essential ingredients of trial and error can’t breathe in brains fogged by so much right-and-wrong-ness.

Our first batch, like our first baby step, was a stumble. But more delicious. We stood over the pan eating our result and discussed second steps. What should we do differently next time? Less heat or more? Thinner slices or thicker? This is all I know. I love to learn, especially when food is involved and judgment is not.

read Kerri’s blogpost about POTATO CHIPS!

flawed cartoon © 2016 david robinson

Climb That Mountain [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Once, after sleeping through the sunrise at a rest area, we drove through a Starbucks without stopping at the order kiosk. The kind young woman at the window, after politely telling us that we hadn’t yet ordered, brought us vats of coffee for free. She said we looked like we needed it. And, we did. We needed it.

I suppose we don’t really know what is good for us. That might be the reason we regularly step into the ridiculous and only recognize that it is ridiculous after-the-fact. My favorite part of our folly is the paradox that makes it all possible: we have the spirit of feral cats but were raised to be polite and clean our plates. It’s this inner collision that makes possible each and every attempt at scaling Mt. Pancake.

We’ve yet to summit. But, never fear, the next time all-you-can-eat crosses our fancy, we’ll get out the ropes and pitons, the special forks and belts that loosen-a-notch or two, and we’ll climb that mountain until I collapse in the booth and Kerri glazes over in a pancake-coma. Some nice serving person will gently take our plates and tell us to take our time. “No rush,” they will say, “You look like you need to sit for a while.” It’s a wonder they don’t take our car keys.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PANCAKES

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Travel Here [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

One of the cruelties of multiple daily zoom meetings is that, in addition to seeing other faces, you also stare at your own. “OMG!” I think to myself (of course- who else would I think to), “I look old!” The picture that I see on the screen does not match the picture in my mind. In my mind, I am much younger. “Some old guy stole my voice!” I shout to myself.

Here’s a strange bit of phraseology: I did not know our kids when they were kids. I came into their lives when they were already adults so I don’t have the memories of footie pajamas, bath time or back yard swing sets. During a recent visit with Craig, I realized that Kerri measures her time on earth relative to her children. She’s constantly reconciling the adult son/daughter sitting across the table with the infant son/daughter that she remembers like it was yesterday. “Where did the time go?” she asks, looking at her hands.

We’re all adults now. Well, even staring into the eyes of that dude who stole my voice, I’m cautious about claiming adulthood. I feel as if I stepped into a time machine that thrust me forward in time. I remember myself in footie pajamas as if it was yesterday. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that it’s in the last few laps that you understand the race is all in your mind and the real juice of life is in enjoying a body that can run. Or feel. Or sense. Or love. Or dance. Or hold the hand of the one you adore.

The advice I’d give to our children is the same advice I’d give to myself (and I’d do it, too, if that rat-bastard hadn’t stolen my voice!), “There’s no hurry. This race is not run on a line. It’s a circle. You’re not really getting anywhere more important than where you already are.” It’s a time machine to now.

read Kerri’s blog post about TIME MACHINES

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com