Ten.One Hundred & Eighteen
1. I sleep in again. This combination of dark and cold makes me move so slowly.
2. Today is the day I’m going to have them start making their own lunches. No one complains. I lay out the containers. Only have to cut up a couple of apples. I watch them as I drink my coffee.
3. In feeding myself, they learn to feed their own selves.
4. So much laundry.
5. Maybe we will be here longer than I think and so maybe I ought to relax into this space. What would it be like to really move in?
6. The sun is lighting the house up.
7. Since I began reading The Cooking Gene, I’ve been caught up in more genealogy research. Research that I don’t have time for. But it wants to eat up all the space in my head because I am always wanting to know the origins of things. I want to know where I come from.
8. White cheddar cheez-its and the last glass of Beaujolais.
9. Costume shopping + school book fair + a day spend cleaning all the things = taco night.
10. He’s not home yet.
Ten.One Hundred & Seventeen
1. So dark. He's right up against me and breathing in my face. I have to crush him to reach the phone and shut off the alarm.
2. Apple-cinnamon muffins for them and an english muffin for me. Coffee.
3. The yellowing of the trees in the backyard. I wonder if I will see the deer again.
4. I'm a little nervous for this morning's portrait session. But if I can just trust myself, then it will be okay.
5. She looks just like her sister. The light in her apartment is amazing and the color of brick in the alley is just right. I love when people relax and come to life. I love that I get to really see them.
6. I take Lake Shore Drive to I-55. In another life I might try to live in the city, walk the edges of the lake on chilly mornings like these.
7. Austrian sparkling rose.
8. It's always good to see her and to hear her laugh. I can't wait to hug her in person. It's so hard to believe that we're only 6 months away from this dream we've co-created.
9. Dinner is going to be so late.
10. There is nothing on my schedule for tomorrow. It's a home day. A day to catch up on the things that slipped through while I was away. I still haven't unpacked my suitcase or my toiletries bag and there are bits of desert scattered on the floor.
Ten.One Hundred & Sixteen
1. My body is fighting with me. I don’t want to get up. I feel like I need a whole day of sleep.
2. This is the thing about leaving: having to come back without (yet) a system that eases the transition.
3. But Tuesday’s are my favorite days.
4. We talk about the importance of ritual and I think of how I can begin to incorporate something for myself and for the children.
5. I need a new planner.
6. I have returned to find that the treetops have now yellowed, and that some of the limbs have already been shaken bare. Little blankets of wet leaves line the roads. Yes, everything is changing.
7. Beaujolais at lunch.
8. Ham and potato soup made with stock of ham hock and collards. It’s earthy and savory and rich. But I had promised myself I’d cut back on the dairy. There’s always tomorrow.
9. We gather. There’s almost 20 of us in total and we read and write and share. I forgot about how much joy this brings me. I am taking note.
10. I keep saying that I just need to get through today. But that doesn’t feel like living.
Ten.One Hundred & Fifteen
1. It’s my last morning. I had planned to do yoga but now I feel like I need a different kind of movement for work through the feelings.
2. I walk up and down the road five or six times. I lose count trying to catch my breath. My phone says 34 flights, 1.2 miles.
3. I take a cup of coffee and the watercolors and scissors and the cyanotype prints to the big rock that overlooks the dried up creek bed. Wander & Wonder.
4. I paint another saguaro and then cut the prints into thin strips and weave together the indigo. This is the right kind of play for me.
5. Permission.
6. No, now it’s time to claim.
7. I am practicing the language for the renegotiations that need to occur.
8. He asks me if I’m sad to come home. I say “yes.”
9. But I am less anxious than I was just 24 hours ago about my reentry.
10. I get a seat for the flight. Three and one- half hours to Chicago, non-stop but already feeling like I am home.
Ten.One Hundred & Fourteen
1. Javelina sighting.
2. I walk even further up the hill and wait for the sun to make it up and over the mountains. A whole pack of Javelinas walk in front of me, staring and snorting at me as they walk by.
3. I don’t know why I’m crying.
4. I’m pretty certain I’m going to get this saguaro tattooed on my arm next year.
5. Spinach and bacon and sausage and mushroom in this strata. Coffee. Water. Mandarin oranges.
6. I confess that I’m anxious about returning home. Something is not right and I can’t articulate what it is I just know that it needs to be changed.
7. Growing pains.
8. So much receiving.
9. I take the watercolors out to the big rock that overlooks the dry creek bed. The sun is beating down on me, ants are marching against my thigh, and the watercolors are drying up before in can even paint them onto the page. I paint a saguaro and some prickly pair
10. What am I truly hungry for?
Ten.One Hundred & Thirteen
1. The coolness of the air and the sound of my shoes in the gravel. This morning I’m not as scared.
2. I walk a little higher up this time to get a better view of the city resting down below. The woodpeckers are active and loud.
3. I face the sun, white-yellow and intense.
4. The saguaros are turning this gorgeous gold-green and the dried grasses look like they are glistening.
5. She tells me to go to the big rock. I find it and stand there for a few minutes before I stretch myself across it, hands behind my head, knees up, face in the sun.
6. I don’t know what I need to know yet. Or maybe I do. I feel emptied and yet frenetic.
7. I’ve always wanted to do this.
8. Tamales. Beans. Salad with avocado and pomegranate and roasted carrots. I am being fed so well.
9. Fire. S’mores. Conversation.
10. A sound. A wild sound. So scary that we all run inside. It felt like a warning.
Ten.One Hundred & Twelve
1. 3:45 in the morning. Wide awake.
2. It’s 5:45 and I get dressed and head outside to catch the first light.
3. The sound of my hiking shoes on the gravel. I am afraid of my own sounds. As I cross the little wooden bridge my eyes begin to fill with tears.
4. It’s the silhouette of the cacti against the fading night sky. I find a rock and stand on it, breathing, listening, taking it all in.
5. I climb up a little bit and turn around to face the mountains just as the light of the sun begins to illuminate the crests. I watch the earth come out of the shadows.
6. Depending on the angle, the cacti can look like crosses. And indeed this land is holy.
7. I want to learn all the names for the plants and animals I am encountering.
8. I trust myself.
9. Road runners.
10. I needed this.
Ten.One Hundred & Eleven
1. I sleep in an extra 30 minutes. Maybe it was the manchego that gave me such strange dreams.
2. I make the lunches and offer fruit loops for breakfast so that I can empty the dishwasher and put in another load.
3. When I drop them off I put the car in park, run around the rear and hug each one, tell them I’ll see them again on Monday. I feel the pang of mother guilt.
4. Why is it that when we leave we have to be so accommodating?
5. The ride to the airport is quiet. I am anxious about my travel. Because I am doing it alone. I tell him that I’m never nervous when he’s with me.
6. As I inch along in the security line I realize I left my water bottle in the bathroom.
7. I’m in the middle seat but can see bits of earth through the window. The mountains look like pointy stacks of cheap cocoa powder.
8. I can feel the accumulation of too much dairy in my gut.
9. I really hope the three of them are not getting on my plane.
10. I roll down the window to type the code and then can’t keep my head inside the window. All the stars. I am here.
Ten.One Hundred & Ten
1. I need to get used to these chilly mornings.
2. I hear the crash of the recycling truck and snacth my robe off the hanger and run downstairs in my underwear. I’m not fast enough and I’m stilk half-naked.
3. I like that they like smoked salmon.
4. I need hiking shoes, a canteen, lotion, and sunblock. And to do all the laundry.
5. Memory card is clean. Camera is clear. Battery is charged. The large tripod fits on a diagonal. Ready.
6. I’m getting better at this planning ahead thing. You’d have thought that after three kids I would’ve had this planning thing down by now. But I don’t. But I’m gonna keep trying to find the ways to make it easier on myself.
7. I still haven’t bought any candy corn.
8. The trees are turning and turning.
9. I open up my bag again and survey the contents. I think about how I might capture the stars and the smiles and the cups of coffee. How the hiking shoes are not only good for the Arizona landscape but for the ground I will root into once we move to California.
10. Gratitude.
Ten.One Hundred & Nine
1. I wake up in the middle of the night—or maybe it’s early morning—and see something the color of amber that’s sparkling through the window. A star? Another planet? An angel? I am bleary-eyed and have to pee.
2. The thin and cold air takes my breath away as I stand on the front porch and take in the sliver of moon.
3. I have a vision in my head of a levitating apple.
4. Tuesday. My favorite day of the week.
5. I listen to the latest On Being episode with Joan Halifax. Everything she is saying is so applicable to my life right now. It makes me want to pull over the car and close my eyes and let her wisdom wash all over me.
6. I should get back to meditating.
7. He has me blind taste two wines and rate them on a 100-point scale. Research.
8. The weather today. And the sun. How it’s rays are a slender shade of yellow that breaks through the trees.
9. Culver’s Night for a school fundraiser. Do I need this burger? No. Do I want to do dishes? No.
10. We FaceTime him to wish him a happy birthday. I’ve gotten out of the habit of having the kids call them. They joy on his face makes me want to do better at remembering.
Ten.One Hundred & Eight
1. I can feel the cold creeping in over the top of my blanket.
2. I decide to sleep in and then immediately regret my choice because now everything feels rushed.
3. The moon is a shining white crescent in the indigo sky and I feel so lucky.
4. I write the “thank you” notes, 14 of them. I hope they can read my writing. I hope they know how much I love them.
5. Warm chips and salsa for lunch.
6. The way the wind is blowing and how it reveals the lonely red leaf. I am sometimes that leaf, steadily changing while everything else is stubbornly staying the same.
7. He asks me when I’m coming to volunteer in his class. Insert mommy guilt.
8. Indifference.
9. Beef stroganoff because I need some comfort food.
10. Ready.
Ten.One Hundred& Seven
1. I hear a shrieking sound and think it’s just a truck at the Home Depot before realizing it’s just one of the children downstairs.
2. I keep miscounting the scoops of coffee and just say screw it and start it up.
3. Her pumpkin bread.
4. We gather around the island and feed the kids and talk about jobs and insurance and unions.
5. I am missing her before she even pulls out of the driveway, standing with the door wide open, cold October morning air pushing in.
6. I don’t really know what to do with myself so I sweep.
7. Poldark.
8. I make some matcha and journal at his desk.
9. I’ve been stressed about the 6 mini photo sessions lined up but realize today that it’s not the shoots but the driving that’s at the root of the anxiety.
10. Apple pie—the kind with the crumb topping—and vanilla ice cream. Her words “Defiant Magic” run through my head. The gravity of those words.
Ten.One Hundred & Six
1. The fire is still burning.
2. She arrives today. It’s been two years. Too long.
3. I dress myself and then undress myself to start the cleaning. The rain is falling hard. I’ve been up since 2 in the morning; the white flashes of lightning and booming thunder made it hard to sleep.
4. I put headphones in my ears and find the cloths and sprays, start another load of laundry, pretend that I can’t hear anything but what’s playing through the ear buds. I’m sorry (not sorry) that I can’t hear you.
5. The water is high is some places. Where was this rain last month? I’ve been thirsty for a long time.
6. The museum is mostly empty and so we can sit and catch up. I want to continue to nurture my friendships from the old neighborhood. These are the ones I trust the most.
7. Pie plus bananas plus ice cream plus tortillas plus cheese.
8. They are here.
9. It’s the first time I’ve seen all five of them together and I’m in love with the way they family. Can “family” be a verb? To family is to love.
10. Of course we talk until 1:30 in the morning.
Ten.One Hundred & Five
1. The fires are still burning.
2. This morning we’ve been blessed with slices of light.
3. I hear the geese and look up to see 30 or 40 of them flying overhead in formation.
4. I drive out there early to journal and read before we meet. I pick a seat facing the large window so I can watch the people walk by. In many ways I miss this town. In many ways I do not.
5. The sense of otherness.
6. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen your entire face.”
7. I sometimes find myself talking too fast when I’m excited about something. And lately I’ve lacked focus.
8. Pizza for dinner.
9. After a few glasses of wine I say something about Poldark and fantasy and dreams and feelings and how in so many ways I’ve been closing myself off.
10. 1 sleep.
Ten.One Hundred & Four
1. His nose is on my nose. He’s really getting to big for this. I’m uncomfortable and yet I can’t say no.
2. I make the muffins first. Blueberry again. Then the lunches and the snacks while I listen to the song on repeat.
3. I stand outside in my bare feet as the wind blows my sweater open. I have “thank you” cards to write. My bed for the gathering is secured. I’m going. I’m going.
4. I love that in my receiving, I also get to give.
5. She and I talk for almost 90 minutes even though we will see each other in two sleeps. Because that’s what best friends do. And I cannot wait to tell her everything over wine.
6. Laundry. These ordinary things that make a life.
7. Poldark.
8. I leave early to get capers and to get a few extra minutes in the pick-up lane to journal. On my way to the store I listen to “Covered in Rain.” In the store my stomach is doing that thing where it’s turning, like I’m about to do something scary. Feeling can be scary.
9. What would I say if I could?
10. There are these rules once you make the agreement.
Ten.One Hundred & Three
1. The darkness.
2. The way the light reflects in the puddles on the pavement. I love the way wetness settles you in.
3. But the fires are still burning.
4. I am still crying over everything. And this is not a bad thing. Just a thing that feels unfamiliar. It is a good thing, I think.
5. She tells me that she had a dream and that the dream was about power.
6. The red on all the tree tops. Now I am thinking of Thanksgiving and then Christmas and the way snow the snow will look out back.
7. The next three weeks will be full: Tucson, basketball coaching (?!), 7 portrait sessions across the city and suburbs.
8. She and her husband and her children will be here in three sleeps.
9. No one warned me about the evils of homework.
10. I think, sometimes I do my best work in the dark.
Ten.One Hundred & Two
1. Dark skies this morning.
2. I feel like all of the patience I collected while at Squam has slipped through my fingers.
3. Tuesdays are the best days.
4. I am overwhelmed by the love. So overwhelmed. I almost can’t hold it.
5. We talk while I drive. I wish I was there with her. We’d drink wine on the weekend and she’d say really enligthening things to me that I sometimes wouldn’t understand. And I’d love it.
6. Pinot Noir Salt. What?! She made me cry into the box.
7. I also cry in the car writing about crying into the box.
8. The fires continue. My heart is still in tiny pieces.
9. The rain is coming down and I make focaccia in the dark. The smell of the yeast is strong. The dough is soft and elastic.
10. I’m not really sure how to say thank you.
Ten.One Hundred & One
1. No alarm today because there is no school. The sun is just beginning to rise. Muddy shades of orange and pink.
2. Granola for breakfast. I hope they eat it.
3. I make the ask because I know that if I don't, I'm not going to get what I need. And I need this.
4. Sometimes you ask and you are overwhelmed by the ways in which others show up for you. Because they believe in you. I wonder if I believe in myself as much as everyone else believes in me.
5. I watch my Instagram stories and see that Napa and Sonoma are burning. My heart is breaking as I watch the violent way in which the earth is being engulfed in flames. I think of my friends and the people and the places I've come to love. My future home.
6. Why am I making something for dinner that needs to be started at 3 pm?
7. He keeps talking about the fires. The coworkers who have lost homes. It stresses me out. It scares me. I think of everyone who has nothing. And not just the ones in the fires, but the ones in Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands and Houston. And the ones who lost and are losing not because of the natural disasters but because of the cultural and economic disasters.
8. We are so not in control.
9. I'll get to that resume tomorrow.
10. How to have both a full and a broken heart.
Ten.One Hundred
1. Early. Coffee. She won’t stop asking me questions. I keep yelling at everyone to stop touching the balloons. I look at the clock and know that there won’t be time to make the tissue paper flowers.
2. The little oe and I head back to the old neighborhood to see some friends. I still know the order of the streets. The trees feel so large compared the saplings that are just beginning to mature in my yard.
3. I miss old houses.
4. We talk about life on the front porch as the sun settles in overhead. I miss my friends. I miss my old streets. I remind myself that it’s okay to miss these things.
5. The prep.
6. 5 very giggle girls.
7. I sneak a handful of gummy bears while no one is looking. And 2 Rice Krispie treats.
8. The colors of the setting sun. Not the sun but the way the color of the sun washes over everything else. Everything looks more holy.
9. Definitely don’t regret the chalkboard wall.
10. My brain wants to stay up late to do all the things it knows it needs to do in order to prepare for this week. But the body is saying no.
Ten.Ninety-Nine
1. Today is the day for so many things but I'm just going to start with coffee and light.
2. The unceasing questioning takes the fun out of it.
3. The three of them pile into the backseat, legs looking long and lean. I have to do that mom thing where I snap my head around to look at them and set the expectations for this morning. I am pointing my finger at them. I am every mother in this moment.
4. It's really funny how you grow up thinking about all the ways in which you're *not* going to be like your parents, only to see little bits and pieces of them spontaneously erupt out of you.
5. Party City is one of the levels of hell, I'm sure.
6. We decide on a gold and turquoise color scheme, an ice cream cake, a movie, and a small craft.
7. My brother calls me as I'm touching up the chalkboard wall. He's so much better than me at making calls. We talk about his new house and colors and ideas for wall art. We talk about our parents and how we're so different from the rest of the family that we grew up around. He tells me how he told her, "You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take," and I remind him that the other 30 year-olds are just doing what 30 year-olds do. We are the old heads at 32, married for 10 years and with children.
8. Perspective.
9. I want to go to sleep but there is still more walls to touch with the magic eraser.
10. I still haven't made the pom-poms.