It happens..

 

September 23, 2026 

So, I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. I went outside, checked the tomatoes, and finished watering the plants. Pretty typical.

As I was walking back from the garden, I noticed a BAD smell. I’d already been wondering why my bathroom smelled weird, but I couldn’t figure it out.

Then I spotted what I thought was a dead possum. Oh no! I walked over to the bad smelling pile, which looked like dirty white fur. I got closer, stared at it for a second and called Jim outside. He was getting ready for work.

Surprise!

Not fur.

It’s poop! It’s toilet paper! It’s pee pee!

Apparently, our drain backed up and LITERALLY EXPLODED sewage into our yard.

The plumber is on the way. What a lovely morning.

Apparently, shit happens.

Times of stopping

I think I met you once in that sleepy-sleep state. You know the in-between place. That quiet place between here and gone, where the room softens around the edges and your thoughts start wandering off without you.

That time of nodding off and dropping out.

I think I once met you there somewhere among the daydreams and dandelion, the hyacinths and half-dreams, The place,.. the place  where hope creeps, the space where everything feels just a little more possible than it does in daylight. 

Anyway… hello.

Hi.

How are you?

I wanted this to sound spoken before it felt written. Like something that wandered into the room, sat down beside you, and only afterward remembered it was a letter.

If I had 72 Hours Left..

What would I do? How would I spend it?

I’d fly back to New York and ask my family for something simple: let’s celebrate Christmas together. Let’s play Nightmare, make things by hand, crowd around the table, laugh too loudly, tell the same old stories, and forget the rest of the world for a little while.

I’d want one of those Christmases that feels almost suspended in time. The kind you remember years later in little flashes. The sound of everyone laughing in the next room. Someone cheating at a game. Something burning in the kitchen. The cold outside the windows and all of us warm and safe inside.

I wouldn’t care about presents or whether everything was perfect. I’d want time. I’d want memories. I’d want all of us to look around that room and really see one another while we still can, so someday, when the house is quiet and Christmases have changed, we remember each other with love.

And Jim? I’d steal some of that time away just for him.

He is my world. I’d make sure he knew it—not because I told him once, but because I made him feel it in every little thing. I’d hold his hand a little longer. Sit beside him when there was nowhere we needed to be. Tell him the things you think you’ll always have tomorrow to say.

I’d want him to know that through all the strange, beautiful, difficult years of this life, I would still choose him.

Again and again.

Because I love him, and if forever is something we get to make ourselves, I want to spend every bit of mine with him. 💕

Flame War

 Hi world, 

So, over the last year or so, I've posted about social justice on social media. 

Almost every single post was commented on, torn apart by a group of old schoolmates. I don't take it anymore. I'm not longer a scared girl. I'm a tough broad now.

So, my point. I'm going to start posting these messages and some of the comments I've received. 

June 8

Facebook 

 

One year ago, I posted this.

A year later, Trump controls the White House. 

Trump control Congress and conservatives hold a majority on the Supreme Court.

The MAGA machine continues to thrive on fear, division, and hate.

But the American people are not standing still.

We are organizing. We are speaking out. We are showing up. We are fighting back.

Hope is stronger than fear, and none of us are alone.

The resistance is real.

————————————-

Comment

Jay Fizzy - I agree. This place is terrible. That’s why I’ve started a new campaign called Anywhere But Here. ABH guides people who desperately want to live in America to move to any country other than this one. This is to save them from the racist, fascist, capitalist evil empire that is the USA.  Sign up today to volunteer at the ABH where you can make a difference in so many people’s lives.

My Response 

Jay Fizzy Yikes. Are we still doing the "open borders" thing?

I think someone needs a reality check.

Pay attention now. This is important - If the borders were actually open, there wouldn't be border patrol, immigration courts, deportations, visas, or people waiting years to immigrate legally. Those things exist because the borders are not open.

That tells me you’re more interested in slogans than reality.

And the irony is priceless.

The people you voted for are in office. The country is being run by the people you chose. MAGA won. Trump won. You got exactly what you wanted.

Yet, instead of celebrating, you're still acting persecuted. Still angry. Still blaming everyone else. Still pretending you're some oppressed victim, All while defending your Supreme Leader.

Poor guy. 

At some point, the endless complaining starts to sound less like patriotism and more like a hobby.

Deep Thought

 This is just a design on paper craft, but what I see is the feeling of it: being surrounded by layers of green, where every leaf catches a slightly different light. It feels alive, the air is soft, and the world is full of small, little details that most people would walk right past.

My garden, my ponds, the pearl milkweed vine, the mistflower, the bees, the fireflies, the frogs, the little wild spaces I  intentionally left untouched. This is my world.

What strikes me is that when people look at something like this, they see “overgrown” and “unkempt.”

I see texture.  I see movement, life, and possibility.

 A patch of green  isn’t empty to me, it’s full of stories. A dragonfly landing on a rock. A toad hiding under leaves. A bee finding a flower. A firefly rising at dusk.

I call it, “deep beauty.”

When the air is soft and the world is still.

It's not beauty that’s loud or polished. It's Not perfect rows and trimmed hedges. Not lines of orderly plants. 

The kind of beauty that rewards paying attention.

The kind of beauty you only see when you stop long enough to notice it.

 And if I’m being honest, this picture reminds me of something, I've said before:

 I feel things intensely and notice things other people miss. 

This, right here? This looks less like a bunch of leaves and more like a glimpse of how I see the world - layered, alive, color and feeling. Interconnected. 

Full of wonder       

all while..  ..Hiding in plain sight. 🌿✨

- and I am unable to post my leafy greens and full of plants - picture. 

Weight if the world - Messages

Written at 1am 

May 24th 

 Hi, my name is Kerri. I just stumbled across your Instagram and Etsy tonight, and your work is honestly beautiful. I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up ordering one of your headpieces.

But the real reason I wanted to message you is because I understood exactly what you meant about “feeling too much.” You wrote a poem under the title of Elephant. 

That hit me hard. That’s me too.

I still remember the exact moment I shut that part of myself off. I was around 12, sitting in elementary school, and I realized feeling everything all at once was just too overwhelming. I felt the energy of every person around me. The sadness. The cruelty. The bullies. All of it. And after a while, I learned how to go quiet inside myself just to survive it.

I kept that feeling part of me buried for a long time. But a few weeks ago, I decided to let myself feel again instead of hiding from it. And honestly? It’s been lovely. Painful sometimes, but lovely too. Like waking back up after being numb for years.

I guess I’m writing you tonight because I wanted you to know you’re not alone in that feeling. There are people like us out here quietly carrying the weight of the world around with us.

I, her, she, be.

 To my sisters, my brothers, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my grandparents, mothers and fathers, and everyone in between,

I am writing this from a safe place in an unsafe world.

You and I may have never met. We may never meet. But I am writing this because I am safe, and because everyone deserves to know that somewhere, someone cares.

If you ever need anything from me, and it is within my power to give, it is yours.

My door is open. My heart is open.

You are welcome here.

You are not alone.

With love,

Kerri