Return To Adoration [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

The good news is that, eventually, late becomes early and my adorability is magically restored. Kind of like a reverse pumpkin in the Cinderella story. Or, perhaps a more accurate analogy, like a werewolf during the dark hours, I metamorphose back to a less-loud-adorable-man-shape with the sunrise.

Mostly, I am grateful that her memory is short and with the sunrise she seems to forget the werewolf-in-me. Either that or she’s imagining or dreaming the snoring (I’ve never heard it so I am understandably filled with doubt). What matters is I awake each morning from a restful sleep and look at her with adoring eyes. Come to think of it, that may be why my adorability is magically restored. Not magic, it’s an adoration loop!

There’s an explanation for everything!

read Kerri’s blogpost about ADORATION

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Love Both Ends of the Spectrum [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Training manual for an artist’s life: there are times of plenty. There are times of pain. In the times of plenty it is impossible not to know there will be times of pain. In times of pain, it is impossible not to believe that there will be times of plenty. The tide rolls in. The tide rolls out (just as in every other life).

The results? There are two that accompany both times of plenty and times of pain. 1) The ever-present weird comparison. This meal = a week’s groceries. The weird comparison is probably why we love to cook at home. And we do. We love it. 2) The unassailable hope. It’s an exercise in focus-placement. It’s never really about the cost; it’s about focusing on the experience. We regularly split a burger and a glass of wine whether in times of pain or times of plenty. We regularly love every minute.

Pain and plenty are both worthy experiences on the full palette of life. We are capable of savoring a side salad. We laugh all the way home because the tip is often the most expensive portion of our bill (our daughter and my mother did serious time as wait-staff and we know the value of a great tip).

Loving both ends of the spectrum simply means that we are fully loving life. And we are. It’s not really about the food anyway.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SIDE SALADS

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Love Your World [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s simple. Dogga wants to be where we are. He reads us like a book. He anticipates our every move and makes certain our passage is clear of marauders.

He does not split himself in confusion. He does not hold onto the past. He never worries about the future. He is all in, every moment. His happiness is sourced in our happiness. When we are on opposite sides of the house he places himself directly between us.

Last night, we watched him struggle to get up from the floor. We caught each other’s eyes, said nothing. I remembered the moment, years ago at farmer Don’s farm, that the little Aussie puppy ran to us and sat at our feet. He chose us. In that moment, we became his whole world and I do not exaggerate to write that he became ours, too. We chose him. Our whole world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA

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Measure The Path [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

And isn’t the true wealth of life about the extraordinary people that walk the path with you? I am, every day, astonished by my good fortune, especially by this woman who chooses to walk this life with me. In this measure, I am unbelievably rich.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOLDING ON

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Rely On It [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Our old window AC unit weighs a ton. On the day I haul it up from the basement and heft it into the window, Kerri retreats to the bedroom. “I can’t watch!” she says, fleeing. It’s part of our ritual. For some reason we always wait until the last moment to resurrect it. We wait until we’ve sufficiently suffered before we look at each other and say in unison, “I can’t stand it any more!” That, too, is part of our ritual.

We can’t afford to replace it with something made in the current century though, truth be told, I’m not sure we would if we could. It’s a workhorse! It comes from a time when planned obsolescence was not yet on the plan. It’s like our stove and will likely outlive us all. Built-to-last.

This week, while firmly under the heat-dome, with temperatures soaring to the ridiculous, our too-heavy-not-pretty-waaay-too-loud-ancient-old-AC was not only up to the task, it was a champ. We knew it would be. We’ll take steadfast over fast, dedicated over disposable, any day of the week. Loyal. Committed. Dependable.

Confidently relying on the extraordinary relevance of age and experience. How odd! It’s something we increasingly identify with. It’s rapidly becoming part of our reality.

read Kerri’s blogpost on RELEVANCE

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Come Home [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

It’s a big day. Kerri has lived in this house more than half of her life. I am approaching a decade in our home. In other words, I’ve lived in this house longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my adult life.

The first moment I stepped foot into this house I felt and saw in my mind the word, “Home.” It unnerved me a bit since, after several months of correspondence, Kerri and I had only just met in person. Also, I was a dedicated wanderer, the kind that is never lost, so I didn’t believe I would ever experience the feeling of “home”. It wasn’t in my cards.

Life changes fast. That first night we crawled out a second-floor window, sat on the roof and sipped wine. It was cold so we wrapped ourselves in blankets. I’d been waiting my entire life to find someone who wanted to crawl out the window with me. Home. My wife and our house. Inseparable stories woven together through time. I am unbelievably fortunate that her house has become our house and it loves us as much as we love it.

Home. I feel it. It was in my cards all along.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOME

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Line Up [on saturday morning smack-dab]

Costco. Waiting for the next batch of rotisserie chickens. People gather. Like racers at the starting line, chicken-shoppers jokey their carts for prime position. We call it “The Chicken Line”.

While we are in the Chicken Line, I people-watch. I look at faces, changing like the moon as they review their shopping list or life-choices.

Kerri talks to people. She makes friends. She makes people laugh. It’s not unusual, as we depart the Chicken Line with our newly acquired hot bird, for her to wave and call out, “Nice talking with you!”

“See you next time in The Chicken Line,” the stranger (to me) replies and giggles.

“Do we know her?” I ask, oblivious.

“We do now.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CHICKEN LINE

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Walk Away [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

In the department of home repair I am mostly known for making things worse. I YouTube solutions and follow procedures. Occasionally I bumble into a triumphant fix but mostly I utter the words, “I think I broke it.”

Kerri, on the other hand, has the savvy. She springs into fix-it mode. And, she knows when NOT to spring into fix-it mode. She knows the line not to cross.

I lack the line so I rely on her to tell me when to stop, when to walk away. Since this particular cartoon happened yesterday, I’ll leave you with a bonus question: Before walking away, did I or did I not crack the sink? Hhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmnnnnn?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SINK

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Cross The Line [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Oh, those fine lines get finer and finer as I become (like a good wine) a product of my age. I just asked Kerri if I was “fine” and she laughed so hard she choked. Perhaps I should have been more specific. Maybe it was the manly-pose I struck when I asked. My pose almost made me laugh but I choked first.

There is no doubt, my life has been better with coffee. This, too, is not in question: as I become finer and finer, I need to drink less of the dark magic elixir. For many reasons that I will leave up to your imagination. Like my manly pose. It’s okay. Imagine it and laugh.

Kerri just said that I am “Too much.” There’s that line again. When am I not enough? When am I too much. I think I’ll take another sip and ponder-the-line…

read Kerri’s blogpost about COFFEEEEEEEEE!!!!

smack-dab © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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Enjoy The Mountain Calm [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

This one is for my dad. Actually, this one is from my dad. He was in his happy place when he had a line in the water. Catching a fish was not nearly as important as the peace and quiet he experienced while fishing. He had a special spot on the lake; the door to his sanctuary was a fishing pole.

One of my favorite memories is of the day that Columbus taught Kerri to fish. I sat on a rock jutting into the water and watched two of my favorite people enjoy the mountain calm. Late summer breezes fluttered the aspen leaves. The ziiiing of the cast. The plop of the bubble hitting the water. Click. A slow reel in. Repeat. No place better to be. Being there – and nowhere else. What could possibly be better than that?

read kerri’s thoughts on this saturday morning smack-dab.

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