Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-One
1. Her light is already on and it's not yet 6am.
2. The sound of glass breaking as it tumbles into the recycle truck. Night seems to want to stick around.
3. She's writing a story on my computer and though there is work I ought to get done, I don't want to break her away. I was her, twenty-something years ago on my mother's word processor writing story after story.
4. Mary Oliver's book on the craft of poetry. Some of these terms sound foreign to me but I appreciate her point, which is that even in these days of free form poetry, there is still an art to crafting a poem that's worthwhile.
5. Every choice matters.
6. The robins seem to be creeping in.
7. One large swatch of yellow light in the hallway that feels restorative.
8. I am feeling restless. I start over. None of this feels right.
9. We argue over ripening and brix and then realize that maybe we both mean the same thing.
10. Still, the Malbec from Cafayate Valley in Salta, Argentina is a great pairing with tonight's steak and chimichurri.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-One
1. Her light is already on and it's not yet 6am.
2. The sound of glass breaking as it tumbles into the recycle truck. Night seems to want to stick around.
3. She's writing a story on my computer and though there is work I ought to get done, I don't want to break her away. I was her, twenty-something years ago on my mother's word processor writing story after story.
4. Mary Oliver's book on the craft of poetry. Some of these terms sound foreign to me but I appreciate her point, which is that even in these days of free form poetry, there is still an art to crafting a poem that's worthwhile.
5. Every choice matters.
6. The robins seem to be creeping in.
7. One large swatch of yellow light in the hallway that feels restorative.
8. I am feeling restless. I start over. None of this feels right.
9. We argue over ripening and brix and then realize that maybe we both mean the same thing.
10. Still, the Malbec from Cafayate Valley in Salta, Argentina is a great pairing with tonight's steak and chimichurri.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy
1. Window streaky with rain. Today is an indoor day.
2. The low grumble of a machine that I can't quite name. A truck rounds the curve dragging a large trailer behind it filled with scrap metal. Garbage day is tomorrow. He's too early.
3. This reminds me to ask my neighbor for scraps of plywood.
4. I miss the weight of my camera.
5. We're the first ones at Chuck E. Cheese. This seems like the worst idea but it's the best. I shoot basketball with the oldest, watch my youngest perfect his aim shooting at thin yellow ducks, and encourage my daughter to do something else other than the get-rich-quick ticket schemes, all before the madness of late morning.
6. I whisper "vanilla milkshake" but the kids still hear.
7. Ok. I know what I want to do. So now, what?
8. I start the soup and the sky is gray and the light in the kitchen is soft and I want to grab my camera to capture the quiet moodiness of it all. It feels ordinary and significant.
9. As the soup simmers I sit down to write two long overdue letters. In them I apologize for my tardiness. It seems necessary to do so, even though I know the expanse of grace under which I am covered.
10. Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Nine
1. I see a bright star, or maybe it's a planet, through the window and watch it twinkle. Bright white against a navy sky.
2. There is no breakfast for me to make this morning but I want the extra time to plan out this morning's activity. The plan is to start some seeds today.
3. The whirring of the coffee grinder. I'm always afraid I'll wake someone up.
4. Last night he told me that I should write more poetry. I should. I mean that I want to. That I mean to study it and understand it so that my own way of writing is enriched. Because maybe I Ill believe that I'm a poet after all.
5. Annie Leibovitz Masterclass while I wait for everyone else to wake. Then I give him back his office so that he can meditate.
6. We purchase seeds: sunflowers, corn, okra, sweet peas, spinach, two types of lettuce, three types of tomatoes, some type of flower I've never seen before, dill, chives, and lavender. This feels like more than I can take on but I think we will do good. More herbs and perhaps some peppers will be added later.
7. Because we're staying.
8. I need a better plan though. A real plan. Not just, I'm going to plant these things and see what happens. Because, ultimately, I do want to see the fruit of my labor.
9. We decide that I should probably start making my own pasta. If I can make bread, then surely I can make pasta.
10. We sit back into the sofa, fireplace one, stems pinched between fingers, watching them read quietly from the same book while eating coconut cream popsicles. We wonder if it really could get much better than this.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Eight
1. I can feel myself waking even though I don't want to be up yet. But I'm hot now that the littlest one has come into the bed and I can tell that the sky is beginning to lighten.
2. Granola. It's the easiest thing to make on this Sunday.
3. The sun fills the back yard in an orange glow. Nothing is green yet though and so the yellow-orange of the light plus the brownness of winter mix to make this odd, yet beautiful, orange-gold hue.
4. I set to work on packet that we will email to the women of FDC. I tell him that I like this kind of work. That I'd forgotten how much I enjoy putting together presentations, things that look beautiful and smart and organized. "People get paid to do that, you know," he says. "I know."
5. Each time I remove the back from a chicken I think back to the day in the apartment when I watched a Youtube video on how to butcher a chicken. I had to do it in order to save money; it turned out to be that a whole chicken was usually cheaper per pound than buying it pre-cut. I still use the same serated knife and make swift movements around the thigh bones.
6. I find a spot in his office where the sun is coming in and sit there to warm myself. Lime LaCroix in one hand and "Parable of the Sower" in the other.
7. “Embrace diversity. Unite— / Or be divided, robbed, ruled, killed / By those who see you as prey. / Embrace diversity / Or be destroyed.” - Parable of the Sower
8. I tell him about the book. And how this book, plus the movie, plus the last book made me remember (because we often forget) how none of us know how to survive.
9. Pinot with the roasted chicken, roasted broccoli, potatoes covered in salt and pepper, garlic powder and smoked paprika.
10. We both agree right now, in this moment. And we both feel relief. We'll see how we feel in the morning.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Eight
1. I can feel myself waking even though I don't want to be up yet. But I'm hot now that the littlest one has come into the bed and I can tell that the sky is beginning to lighten.
2. Granola. It's the easiest thing to make on this Sunday.
3. The sun fills the back yard in an orange glow. Nothing is green yet though and so the yellow-orange of the light plus the brownness of winter mix to make this odd, yet beautiful, orange-gold hue.
4. I set to work on packet that we will email to the women of FDC. I tell him that I like this kind of work. That I'd forgotten how much I enjoy putting together presentations, things that look beautiful and smart and organized. "People get paid to do that, you know," he says. "I know."
5. Each time I remove the back from a chicken I think back to the day in the apartment when I watched a Youtube video on how to butcher a chicken. I had to do it in order to save money; it turned out to be that a whole chicken was usually cheaper per pound than buying it pre-cut. I still use the same serated knife and make swift movements around the thigh bones.
6. I find a spot in his office where the sun is coming in and sit there to warm myself. Lime LaCroix in one hand and "Parable of the Sower" in the other.
7. “Embrace diversity. Unite— / Or be divided, robbed, ruled, killed / By those who see you as prey. / Embrace diversity / Or be destroyed.” - Parable of the Sower
8. I tell him about the book. And how this book, plus the movie, plus the last book made me remember (because we often forget) how none of us know how to survive.
9. Pinot with the roasted chicken, roasted broccoli, potatoes covered in salt and pepper, garlic powder and smoked paprika.
10. We both agree right now, in this moment. And we both feel relief. We'll see how we feel in the morning.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Seven
1. The clouds are low and there is just a sliver of pale yellow peeking through.
2. I set out the ingredients: flour, sugar, butter, salt, vanilla, blueberries. I find the sifter and the hand-mixer and the large mixing bowl. The oven is preheating.
3. Instead of warm lemon water I opt for warm water with apple cider vinegar and an abundant teaspoon of honey.
4. How do you plan to stay and leave at the same time? It's impossible to shut off knowledge. It's hard to trick your own mind. Maybe it's remembering that I am always in my own body. Maybe it's not that I don't know how to stay in this place while dreaming of another. Maybe it's that I am out of practice in feeling at home with myself.
5. She makes a face when she sees my fine amount. I tell her it's okay, that I lost the book, had been hoping someone would return. That it's ironic that I lost a book about food writing in a coffee shop. I pay it and then check my daughter's account (she is free and clear) and then we go off to our separate racks to find books. She returns with two thick chapter books and then grabs the Bouchon Bakery cookbook. I tell her that I've eaten there and it's delicious. Maybe we'll make something over spring break.
6. I come home with a book on writing poetry by Mary Oliver, two books by Joan Didion, Mary Karr's book on writing memoir, and "Parable of the Sower" by Octavia Butler.
7. “I'm trying to speak--to write-the truth. I"m trying to be clear. I'm not interested in being fancy, or even original. Clarity and truth will be plenty, if I can only achieve them.” - Parable of the Sower
8. Why have I waited so long to read her work?
9. I tell him that this is not a good book to read before bed. "Why?" he says.
10. Maybe I'm a little bit too much like Lauren Olamina. Not quite a hyperempath, but empathic enough to not be able to read this book at night, right before I go to sleep. I force myself to close the book, get a small bowl of ice cream, and then watch Frasier until I can no longer keep my eyes open.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Seven
1. The clouds are low and there is just a sliver of pale yellow peeking through.
2. I set out the ingredients: flour, sugar, butter, salt, vanilla, blueberries. I find the sifter and the hand-mixer and the large mixing bowl. The oven is preheating.
3. Instead of warm lemon water I opt for warm water with apple cider vinegar and an abundant teaspoon of honey.
4. How do you plan to stay and leave at the same time? It's impossible to shut off knowledge. It's hard to trick your own mind. Maybe it's remembering that I am always in my own body. Maybe it's not that I don't know how to stay in this place while dreaming of another. Maybe it's that I am out of practice in feeling at home with myself.
5. She makes a face when she sees my fine amount. I tell her it's okay, that I lost the book, had been hoping someone would return. That it's ironic that I lost a book about food writing in a coffee shop. I pay it and then check my daughter's account (she is free and clear) and then we go off to our separate racks to find books. She returns with two thick chapter books and then grabs the Bouchon Bakery cookbook. I tell her that I've eaten there and it's delicious. Maybe we'll make something over spring break.
6. I come home with a book on writing poetry by Mary Oliver, two books by Joan Didion, Mary Karr's book on writing memoir, and "Parable of the Sower" by Octavia Butler.
7. “I'm trying to speak--to write-the truth. I"m trying to be clear. I'm not interested in being fancy, or even original. Clarity and truth will be plenty, if I can only achieve them.” - Parable of the Sower
8. Why have I waited so long to read her work?
9. I tell him that this is not a good book to read before bed. "Why?" he says.
10. Maybe I'm a little bit too much like Lauren Olamina. Not quite a hyperempath, but empathic enough to not be able to read this book at night, right before I go to sleep. I force myself to close the book, get a small bowl of ice cream, and then watch Frasier until I can no longer keep my eyes open.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Six
1. She is up before 6am. I tell her she needs to wait another 15 minutes before coming down to make their breakfasts.
2. What kind of education are they really getting? What role do I want to play in it? Meaning, what more am I willing to do and with what time? How far can I push them? That distance may depend on how far they're willing to go? And at what point do trust them to know their limits?
3. I will always do my grocery shopping at 9am if it means I get to exchange smiles with him at the poultry case. The same tan coat and bright blue sneakers. Always joy in his voice. I bet he has good stories. It feels rare to see kindness like that in the eyes.
4. Insight upon insight.
5. I think back to something Seth Godin said at the On Being Gathering. Why am I spending so much time trying to build up areas in which I know I am weak instead of investing in my strengths?
6. It's warm enough today that I can turn off the car in the pick-up line and write in my journal. The sunlight reflecting off the paper is almost too bright. I manage to scribble out two pages anyway.
7. I should pay those library fines so that I can read some more poetry. I'm craving it more than ever right now.
8. I can see the handful of DMs. I'm sure they are questions as to where I am or have been, if everything is OK.
9. Maybe I ask myself too many questions. I could sit and think for hours, days, years. I could dream up all kinds of possibilities and make marks on maps for places I'll never go. What is it that weighs down my feet? This is not being grounded. This is feeling stuck.
10. From this spot I can watch the sky change. Just beyond the neighbor's yard is a small piece of water and it too changes with the sky. There are tiny ripples of glittering light. Maybe one day we'll live by the ocean.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Five
1. Watercolor sunrises just like I love. Summer is coming.
2. From here I can see their bathroom, the light on, and her, from the neck up, blonde bed head.
3. Scones sprinkled with sugar on top. I almost know the recipe by heart now. I think of how I keep saying we're going to go back to eating gluten-free but then I buy a bag of bread flour.
4. The feeling you get when you realize that it's cleaning day and you'll have the whole house to yourself in all its clean and quiet glory for 3 whole hours. It's the little things.
5. And you remember that yes, you could stay.
6. The heat from the oven cleaning itself. How I have to open the back door to let in the fresh spring air as I sweat while I sweep. Out back, the robins have gathered again. A round of robins. Their red breasts seems to be getting larger and larger, stuffed full of whatever it is they've found to nourish them.
7. Today, movement. A vision that I hope doesn't lose steam.
8. So quiet.
9. Fresh dill, fresh parsley, cucumbers, tomatoes, red onions, olive oil and red wine vinegar, a sprinkling of feta, topped with marinated chicken breasts. A glass of rosé.
10. "I auction myself. And I make the highest bid." - Worth, Marilyn Nelson
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Four
1. The crash of the recycling truck. Before I remember what the sound actually it is, the truck is already too close for me to run out and drag the bin to the edge of the driveway.
2. The opening and closing of a door. I am no longer alone in the quiet.
3. I can feel the relaxed sense of freedom in taking roads that I usually don't take. The drive up to St. Charles isn't very scenic, but it's easy and the sun is shining and it's hard not to feel good.
4. It so happens to be the replay of Krista's conversation with Naomi Shihab Nye. The reminder that we are living in a poem. Everything is a poem.
5. Even with the hours and hours of planning and dreaming, there's something about holding a tote bag in my hands that makes it all feel real.
6. Where do I stand between my ideals and the reality presented in front of me? How much more time is meant to be spent dreaming versus doing? What am I even doing? What am I willing to do? I need to just move and trust that the path will make itself clear.
7. But it's perfectionism that keeps me from making one grand step. And the fear of "wasting" even more time. 33 feels pressing to me. And so I do more research.
8. Sometimes the simplest meals are the most tasty. It was missing something green though. Something fresh and uncooked for the teeth to bite into. Next time.
9. In the shower. I ask myself what it is that's so different. Once again frustrated by what feels like this constant state of in-between. Never reaching the other side. Is there another side? Are we not always being stretched?
10. And the awareness that I just haven't been myself since Santa Cruz. Which I had expected. But I left so deconstructed. Arrived to a time and place that required me to be put back together and so in my rush to get it together just enough to play my part, there are, of course, holes, bent corners, misaligned edges that are calling out for attention.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Three
1. I listen for the echoes of the owls but all I hear is the growling of large engines.
2. She is up early. I ask her to measure out the milk and mix the cinnamon and sugar. Today's muffins are just plain muffins. The kind that everyone will eat. I'm not sure what I did differently today but each spoonful of batter looks like a cloud.
3. I am spending too much time on this. Where is this going? Where do I want to go? What is the point of this anyway?
4. I eat two slices of quiche and a handful of fruit, swallow it down with a dirty chai. I know that the vines running along her fence will soon be covered in emerald ivy. Her tulips are also beginning to come up. It makes me long for the return of the farmer's market. Where will I grow flowers of my own?
5. The kids beg to stay and see old friends. I decline but am then urged to at least drive by the old school so that they can see it. They miss this place as much as I do. They ask why we can't move back, see! Look at all the house for sale! You like old things!
6. I've always wondered if you can come back to the places you've left. If anything is ever as really good as what you remember it to be.
7. I am feeling drained. Skirt steak with a blue cheese sauce for dinner. Eating feels like work.
8. I think about how the books is finished. I need something new to read. My heart is craving more poetry. I will probably reread 19 Varieties of Gazelle before moving on to something new. Probably more Naomi Shihab Nye. Maybe Marilyn Nelson.
9. It occurs to me that we are living in different worlds. Our realities are overlapping but not the same. Which means that our words seem to missing one another, almost as if we are talking past each other and not to each other.
10. Tomorrow.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Two
1. Go and look at the sky. It's so pretty this morning. I realize that much of what strikes me with wonder is held so close. But I want them to know. I want them to also wonder. We'll begin with the colors of this morning's sky.
2. Hot coffee in my hand. I'm partial to the indigo ceramic cups with the oblong mouths and no handles.
3. This movie is painful and beautiful and honest. I don't watch very many movies but this one was worth it. What are we living for? Where is the balance between fantastical ideals and healthy reality? When does it go too far? What's the purpose of formal education in its current incarnation? How hard do we fight for our beliefs?
4. The two geese. Where is the nest?
5. A thin gray garbage bag inflated by the wind.
6. Dinner tonight is easy. Asparagus, rice, salmon. As he cooks, the sunlight makes large rectangles on the countertops and floors. Classical music plays in the background. The harpsichord is so sharp and halting.
7. The robins are back there again, pecking at the ground. What do you call a group of robins? A round.
8. "To eat black-eyed peas is to become filled with beauty, and ancestral tradition." - The Cooking Gene
9. "We have to tend to our own healing, not just work at assuaging the tensions born of slavery's racially divisive nature." - The Cooking Gene
10. And then I am back in the web, trying to connect dates and names and places that I know but also don't know. Aware of the sad truth that now there is no one to ask. There is no one able to fill in the gaps. If I want to do this (why do I want to do this?) I will have to do it mostly alone. I tell myself that I need to ask him how to make okra soup.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-One
1. White-yellow light of early morning. I can see blue sky and the bern with its bent over grasses the color of blanched almonds.
2. I declare this to be a slow day.
3. I bake potatoes, caramelize onions and bell peppers, drink a tall glass of orange juice. They are quiet this morning. There are no complaints.
4. I move through the laundry faster than usual even with breaks for water and tea. I vacuum the loft and my bedroom and the house feels like it is glowing.
5. I tell myself that I should go for a walk but I am bothered by cramps and decide to put on real clothes and sit on the front porch to read. The air is till cool and if I'm not positioned just right, a breeze creeps up the sleeves of my shirt. But when the air is still I feel the sun warm my belly. There is the sound of their language in my ears, fighting with the words I'm trying to absorb.
6. As I read I circle the numbers: $1200, $1400, $500. 100 years ago these were the prices of bodies — black bodies. I think of my ancestors, what they must have been subjected to at slave auctions in Richmond and Charleston, in the Caribbean and elsewhere. I think about the terror. I think about how much imagination and faith has to carry you through to survive.
7. "What is it rising to? Once we know our lives matter, what are we going to do with them?"
8. Domaine Sigalas, 75% Assyrtiko and 25% Athiri from Santorini. Dalamara Paliokalias, 100% Xinomavro from Naoussa. The two, white and red respectively, a perfect pairing with our chicken with black olives, capers, and lemon with orzo dressed in the pan sauce.
9. Simplicity.
10. We yell at the little one to stop talking but then realize that what we're hearing are two owls in conversation. And we're no longer annoyed but amused. I feel blessed. So much sacred owl medicine these last few weeks.
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty
1. A thin sheet of ice over everything. Unexpected shimmer.
2. I pull enough flour together to make scones. Sift the dry ingredients. Mix in the cold, shredded butter. Pour in the heavy cream. Mix. With flour hands I shape it into a circle about 1/2-inch thick. I always tell myself thatthis takes too long. But now I know the recipe almost by heart and it takes no time at all.
3. Hot coffee. Sipped slowly. Daydreams of color stories: pinks and blues and golds and grays.
4. Where do I add life?
5. The dad-coach is extra friendly today. Over the top with smiles and laughs. Maybe he thinks they will beat us. Maybe he remembers just how poorly he behaved last time and is embarrassed.
6. We win. "Is it bad that I feel vindicated by beating him again?" "No. I'm happy too. I'm also petty like that."
7. Home for a few hours to eat BLTs and drink sparkling water in the sun. A short time cuddling in the bed with the boys and watching basketball. I think of how I don't know what to do next. About how strange it is to feel so certain that you've settled on a decision only to feel like it wasn't the right one.
8. But sometimes the good thing about decisions made in secret is that no one knows if you've changed your mind. This gives you freedom to correct your own course as needed without unwanted opinion.
9. They win their last game. It might have been the best game they've ever played. He ends the game with a 3-pointer. More than anything, I love watching him practice and play because you can tell he's passionate about it.
10. Suddenly it is night and I am sleepy and I decide to not finish the last 30 minutes of the movie in favor of a long shower and getting the fresh sheets on the bed.
Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Nine
1. I do not hear the owls this morning. Only the hum of vehicles.
2. I lost the time to sit and write my pages and am instead trying to make a meal plan and a grocery list for the upcoming week. This takes me longer than I would like it to.
3. And there is the sun. It makes me think of seeds and soil, of purples and pinks and greens. I'm ready for green. I ready for newness. No. Not newness. Renewal.
4. I can only laugh at slowly it moves. And how, because of its slowness, I can not try to make it do another thing while I wait, otherwise it makes it even slower. And so the lesson becomes not only one of patience but of focus. I can process only one thing at a time.
5. The relief felt after hitting send.
6. The questions that arise after the feeling of relief.
7. Things I do when I don't know what to do: light candles, clean off the bathroom sink, scroll through Pinterest, make tea, watch bad horror movies.
8. These two geese won't leave. They move back and forth between the pond and the median. I wonder if there is a nest somewhere near by.
9. I feel like chocolate cake. I buy the sugar and the powdered sugar. I know there is butter at home. And just enough flour.
10. Burgers and fries. I eat my patty between two large leaves of butter lettuce. Pickle juice and ketchup and dijon mustard drip from my chin. Eating burgers never does look glamorous. But they are satisfying. I hadn't realized the depth of my hunger until then.
Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Eight
1. I cannot find the sliver of moon. Right now there is just the right amount cloud clover in the early morning sky to conceal it.
2. But here the first layer of orange. It will be a sunny day.
3. I lay out my plans for the day in my morning pages. This is a part of my process. I write out all the things I wish to get done and then let it all go. Most of things will be checked off. Some won't.
4. It feels a little freeing to let this go. I can see how it will clear my own head space. I don't think I will be bored. Well, maybe I will be bored but in that boredom, new ways of being creative will seed themselves.
5. When I return, I grab a cup of coffee and "19 Varieties of Gazelles" and head upstairs to make the bed. I've timed it all out in my head: 15 minutes to finish the last handful of poems and then 10 minutes of meditation before I get started on my cleaning.
6. Thin strips of yellow light fall across the floor in her room. I'd stay here all day if I could, sunk into the down comforter, reading in the sunlight. Will they know such simple pleasures?
7. I remember that today is not too late to turn in all around.
8. What's left? Leaves of Romaine. Croutons. Ceasar Dressing. Half a box of organic spaghetti. A container of thawed spaghetti sauce. Bread flour, smoked sea salt, yeast, water. A complete meal. I wonder how much time we spend thinking that there's something else that must first be obtained before there is a feeling of completeness.
9. The sun is still up when I get into the shower. And when I get out. This makes me almost ridiculously joyful.
10. I read his words and think that we too must be kin somehow. I think about how these words are the things I've been thinking about myself for so many years. How do I reclaim a bit of land? How do I teach myself and my children how to grow their own food so as to be able to feed and care for themselves? How do we combat the politics of healthy eating? Who has access to "good" food and who doesn't — and why?
Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Seven
1. The owls are somewhere off in the distance. One or two. I can't quite tell. I enjoy their presence. They always bring good messages.
2. I am trying to keep distance. And by that, I mean making sure to separate feeling from fact, what's heard versus what's actually said.
3. The coffee shop is pretty. Grays and blacks and golds and stained wood. Yellow-orange glow from Edison bulbs along the wall. Coffee beans stuffed into brown paper bags.
4. Latte made with oat milk. It's creamy but a little bitter. We don't have much time together this morning but this hour sweetens the day.
5. The three of us on the screen talking puppy-people training, art supplies, and travel arrangements.
6. The sun today is a good and healing kind of sun. The kind of sun that temporarily washes away worry. On the floor, on this side of the bed, it feels a little more safe.
7. I have a feeling that there are many things that need ending.
8. Potato & leek soup. Baked chicken thighs. It's a simple enough meal. Filling. Even the 6 year-old eats the soup. But who wouldn't eat soup that has bacon crumbles.
9. Back at the computer but I know that I had to ride this spike of energy for as long as I can. They are so few and far between these days.
10. Making space.
Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Six
1. Not just dark, but pitch black.
2. Sky clear enough to see the sliver of moon glowing yellow-white. I can even see craters with the naked eye. It changes you if you let it.
3. I didn't plan this morning very well. No time to write my morning pages before they descend upon me. They begin to slap containers on the counter as I grind coffee beans, heat water, line strips of bacon onto the sheet pan.
4. I would have baked something but I keep forgetting to buy sugar.
5. Tuesdays bring me a quiet kind of joy. I don't take the luxury of this kind of time for granted.
6. Home now. Unable to focus. This is a thing that is happening too much these days. No. It's not that I am unable to focus. It's that there are the things that need doing versus the things I want to be doing and so I sit and do neither. Awareness and avoidance.
7. Garden daydreams. I think I'll build a box or two. Spread wildflowers along the edge of the property for color and cutting. The plan had always been to use only native plants. Plus I want more butterflies.
8. "Where is the path? / Please tell me. / Does a gazelle have a path? / Is the whole air the path of the gazelle?" - Naomi Shihab Nye, 19 Varieties of Gazelles
9. I keep thinking about tiny and small. My life is such that most things I do are done in tiny and small pockets of time. I am always trying to fight this — this kind of contract way of being.
10. It's stopped snowing now and the wind has calmed down. To my left is sunset. Deep, saturated colors of blue and red and orange. I've been waiting for this.
Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Five
1. The slow approach of morning.
2. I think of walking up onto the hill and searching for feather from the owls that sat there early Sunday morning.
3. Drink more water.
4. A phone call with a friend 1,000 miles away. Listening for the words behind the words.
5. Here and there the sun breaks through the clouds, the color of the daffodils sitting in my window. I pause for a moment in the hallway to soak it in. I have the whole house to myself today and it feels good.
6. 44 days. We talk tiny details. Tiny. I've been thinking about this word "tiny." How even very tiny choices made today are the lines that sketch out our future. Like, it's actually very powerful to realize that yes, actually, you do matter. What you do matters.
7. I eat my beets, drink some tea, snack on some air-popped popcorn as I map out the rest of my week. I could make my to-do lists much longer. But I don't.
8. Chicken pot pie. I feel like comfort food this week. I open up a Malbec which definitely does not pair with this meal, but it feels like the right wine for what I'm feeling right now.
9. Well. I'm still craving cookies. I pulse flour, brown sugar, butter, a little salt in the food processor for a quick shortbread. Once it's cooled I cut it into little rectangles and then take one and put it between my teeth. It needs to be dipped in chocolate.
10. I tell him that it's not about tricking yourself. It's about finding the words of the new story that needs to be rewritten and rewired into your brain. It's about changing the story. And by changing the story, maybe you can change your life.