Ten.Two Hundred & Ninety
1. Not good sleep. Dreams too active.
2. I can tell from the light in the sky that there is snow on the ground—not much, but just enough.
3. One is upset because there is no salami and the other is upset because there is no prosciutto. Neither are satisfied by the turkey and ham that's still here and proceed to make their lunches with a frown.
4. This is not a good way to start the morning. "You make great potatoes," the little one says and that makes up for everything.
5. I drive almost 40 minutes to get there but it's so hard to find a doctor you like. We order up blood works, she tells me to start walking again and that she likes my philosophies on parenting and the news.
6. I sometimes think I'm going to fall asleep while I sit here in the car. Maybe it's because this is the one part of the day where I really take a moment to stop.
7. This time she's created scholarships for HBCUs.
8. I'm looking forward to a long summer in New Orleans where the burden of otherness is lifted for just a little while.
9. The fullness of this week.
10. Sometimes you just follow the signs.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Nine
1. Rain against the window. There is no light today.
2. My dreams were not lucid but I did start and stop, continually asking myself "Is this a dream?"
3. Granola with flax milk, blackberries, walnuts, and dried cranberries in the blue ceramic bowl that feels like California.
4. Cut the back out of the chicken, sprinkle liberally with Kosher salt before placing it back in the fridge for a dry brine. Fold 6 baskets of laundry. Feed them lunch.
5. The sky is still low and dark and every now and then I hear the sound of rain against the window. The basketball hoop has wiggled itself to the middle of the driveway again.
6. Rest.
7. I watch most of the performance at my computer in the basement, chin cupped in my palms.
8. I take notes. Pyramids, Nefertiti, yellow and black and white, purple, black fist, black panther, a honey bee.
9. I think of money and power and status. I think about the ills of capitalism but how participation in it grants you the ability to also subvert it in subtle and sometimes grand ways. How do we work within the current systems to effect the most change? Is it wrong to be paid to perform at a concert that is put on by a racist if some of the money you earn from that performance goes to pay for lawyers or bail out Black Lives Matter protesters or to rebuild homes in low-income neighborhoods ravaged by Hurricane Harvey?
10. It's getting close.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Nine
1. Rain against the window. There is no light today.
2. My dreams were not lucid but I did start and stop, continually asking myself "Is this a dream?"
3. Granola with flax milk, blackberries, walnuts, and dried cranberries in the blue ceramic bowl that feels like California.
4. Cut the back out of the chicken, sprinkle liberally with Kosher salt before placing it back in the fridge for a dry brine. Fold 6 baskets of laundry. Feed them lunch.
5. The sky is still low and dark and every now and then I hear the sound of rain against the window. The basketball hoop has wiggled itself to the middle of the driveway again.
6. Rest.
7. I watch most of the performance at my computer in the basement, chin cupped in my palms.
8. I take notes. Pyramids, Nefertiti, yellow and black and white, purple, black fist, black panther, a honey bee.
9. I think of money and power and status. I think about the ills of capitalism but how participation in it grants you the ability to also subvert it in subtle and sometimes grand ways. How do we work within the current systems to effect the most change? Is it wrong to be paid to perform at a concert that is put on by a racist if some of the money you earn from that performance goes to pay for lawyers or bail out Black Lives Matter protesters or to rebuild homes in low-income neighborhoods ravaged by Hurricane Harvey?
10. It's getting close.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Eight
1. Sleeping in but only just a little.
2. The winds are furious this morning, the sky is dark. Conditions are perfect for coffee and books in bed.
3. Donuts while I make a PDF of rules for electronics usage. These are good rules for myself as well. I'm always struggling with how to be present but not too present. How to use technology with intention and restraint, for real connection and inspiration, and not as a tool distraction.
4. I suggest that we go to the library. Both of us need new books. I get some more Octavia Butler, a book on lucid dreaming, and a few books on photography. She finds 3 novels for herself to read. In the book sale section we grab a cookbook of only desserts and an illustrated copy of Alice in Wonderland.
5. I flip open the book on Francesca Woodman and then find myself engulfed in the book for an hour examining her self-portraits and an essay on her life and her work. I am thinking many thoughts about conception and performance and youth and potential and what kind of conditions create the container for art.
6. Work.
7. The onions make me cry but the smell of them with the mushrooms and the garlic and the seasoning, then with the tomatoes and the wine.
8. "What would happen if the earth got sucked into a black hole?"
9. I think of how much I also used to like space. I am a lover of mysteries: space, the supernatural, the abandoned and the unimagined.
10. Oneironaut - A person who explores dream worlds.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Seven
1. The grayness is hanging around this morning. There should be rain today.
2. Three cups in the ceramic blue mug before leaving for the grocery store. I'm leaving later than usual and know that I will miss the little old man.
3. Goddess braids. That sounds and feels right.
4. I seem to have lost track of the day. This happens sometimes when there is much to do. I think it might also be a symptom of a lack of presence. How do we lose time? By losing ourselves?
5. She helps me go through the cookbooks to figure out what to make for tonight's dessert. We go through what's on the rack and then she spots Bouchon Bakery.
6. A simple chocolate chip cookie seems like the way to go. I have her read the recipe and then we gather the ingredients, get bowls. I tell her that we're going to practice mise en place and then I read to her the ingredients again and the amounts and we talk about fractions and how many scoop are needed to make 2/3.
7. I have forgotten to buy a present. I really am the worst at these kinds of things. One day I will be better.
8. Wine and laughter and chicken and salad and wine and more laughter. Gratitude at the table and the counter and the sofa.
9. And then suddenly it's midnight and you almost wish you could stay longer.
10. The kids go straight to their rooms, crawl into bed with their clothes still on. I open a window to let in the chill. There is almost no sound.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Six
1. I make scones per her request. Just a basic scone, sprinkled with sugar.
2. I 've lost track of time and start my coffee late. This happens when all three of them arrive at the island at the same time and there is to much talking and a lot of me being interrupted mid-process.
3. Interruptions. They will all be gone again today and I will have time for just myself.
4. The sun. And the warmth. Finally, a real taste of spring.
5. The white woman with the dreadlocks and glasses who never says hi to me when I come into the store. She welcomes everyone else who enters the store except me. I find it irritating and amusing the pieces of culture one chooses not to accept. I will probably never shop here again even though the other owners of this shop are friendly. But surely, there are other places for me to go.
6. And this is what I mean by feeling lonely.
7. I push out the thoughts.
8. Roasted tomatoes and garlic and pasta and focaccia. We lick the bowls clean and eat a few extra pieces of bread as the sun slips away.
9. She's helping me take out my braids. I think of how black this is—the doing one another's hair thing. How intimate of a practice it is. How I wish I was better at it.
10. I watch two more episodes of Versailles as I removed the rest of the braids. I will dream in French.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Five
1. I am not the first one up and this is my least favorite way to start a weekday morning.
2. This morning's sunrise reminds me of the desert: the colors look dusty and low. So today might be partly cloudy?
3. Robins at the back door searching.
4. He's forgotten his glasses again. He asks if I will go home and bring them to school for him. I say "no." I feel only a little guilty about this.
5. Thinking of ecosystems and how that translates into an every day life. If an ecosystem is about the network of interactions among organisms and between organisms and their environment, how can I create a better functioning exchange between myself and my family or friends or broader community? What does a healthy ecosystem look like for me?
6. Pomodoro technique for today's tasks. I had forgotten how effective it is for me.
7. He is gone for the afternoon which means I have the house to myself for just a few more hours. There is never enough quiet time.
8. I reattach the legs and worry for just a moment that I'm not strong enough to lift it on my own but I do and now it's almost done.
9. Reclamation of space.
10. I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Four
1. I should really figure out what star or planet that is. I love when I see it twinkling in the dark morning sky.
2. At the end of the dream I watched a fish being caught. Not just any fish, but a big fish—the kind they catch on the big boats out on in the sea and I said to myself, "maybe it's time to become a vegetarian."
3. I offer to make him bacon so he can have a BLT for lunch.
4. I take a bite of the bacon and wonder what it would be like if I did become a vegetarian. Really, what would it be like if I made a lot more new and hard choices based on the information I already know.
5. Tuesdays. It feels like forever since we've sat together but it's only been a week.
6. The hours are dripping.
7. I have just enough time to eat last night's leftovers, fold a few baskets of laundry and watch one episode of Versailles.
8. Boys and baseballs.
9. Because some days you just need it to be easy there are tacos on Tuesdays.
10. I text her to say that I am feeling called toward work that is not the work I'm doing now. What shape does it take? How do I make it possible? How I do I make it so that the ones who need it most can have it?
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Three
1. Something about the early morning sky doesn't look quite right and then I remember that the glow must be from snow that's fallen overnight.
2. The lawns are blanketed in snow and the streets are wet and this Monday morning feels soft.
3. I've forgotten to buy coffee again and so I'm settling for a cappuccino but it's not enough to keep the headache at bay.
4. Must drink more water.
5. We catch up on life for just a bit before we decide to get to work. Two weeks. Only two weeks.
6. The sleet continues. And I'm not even mad about it because it's Chicago and it's April and we all know good and well that it could snow in April, maybe even in May. I try to keep my eyes on the green.
7. Three mallards at the edge of yard, one female sandwiched between two males. We watch them waddle before they take flight.
8. Poetry in the pick-up lane. I read it over and over again and hear her voice in my head. I am listening.
9. I convince them one by one that they will like the squash. It's just like sweet potato, I say. Anything will taste good with bacon and onions.
10. The homework assignment is to write a poem with your family and this is my most favorite homework assignment. This one is going on the chalkboard wall.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-One
1. The youngest one is laying on the floor, illuminated by the glow of the television screen.
2. The arrival of light.
3. We arrive and no one is there. I am frustrated but let it go. It's sunny, we're out together as a family, I'll find another $20 table.
4. Black Panther.
5. Why has it taken so long to have a movie that is full of whole characters - strong characters?
6. He helps me pick a bottle of Domaine Giacometti. A Patrimonio from Corsica. Something I've never had before.
7. I have yet to put a poem up on the chalkboard wall. I've been waiting for the very right one to find its way to me.
8. The relief that comes from knowing you now have access to better tools.
9. While limitations can often set the conditions for greater creativity, better tools allow for efficiency. And sometimes it's efficiency that matters most.
10. If images and words are what shape my reality, then what visions am I holding close? Whose words and what voice am I in communion with? What am I making and speaking into creation?
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-One
1. 2.24 am and he sidles up next to me in the bed.
2. 5:20 am the alarm goes off and I press him flat against the bed in order to turn it off. Then decide to just roll over him and wake up. There is much to do today.
3. Beneath the navy are even strips of orange and yellow and red. This means there will be sun.
4. She tells me that the onions are not caramelized enough. I've created a foodie monster.
5. He says that there's no way to use the plywood. Not for this kind of project. Which means I am on the search for something else. And I've wasted $25.
6. It still surprises me to see someone smoking in a car with the windows rolled up. I try not to stare. But I can't help but judge. I'm working on it.
7. I go to three different thrift stores and find nothing but a globe. Everyone is excited about the globe. I am still desk-less.
8. Back in the old neighborhood. I don't miss the downtown on weekends but I do miss being able to walk to people and things when I wanted to. I miss my long morning walks on tree-covered sidewalks.
9. The smell of tomatoes and garlic roasting. These I will take down the street for a recipe-sharing-ladie's-night thing.
10. I'm still trying to figure out where and how I belong here. Three months ago I had thought I was going to be leaving again but now I'm here. And I want to be here. How do I stay?
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty
1. Almost to 300. It doesn't matter and yet it does.
2. The morning sky is low and I see no promise of sun just yet. I hope that changes.
3. Back to frozen waffles for them. For me, I'm choosing steel cut oats with blueberries and walnuts and a drizzle of honey.
4. The hardest part of the week is making a meal plan for the upcoming days. There are foods that have now fallen out of favor: blueberries, my muffins and scones, beef tacos, chicken noodle soup, pasta and sauce.
5. We are there before IKEA officially opens but I need protein so we head upstairs to the cafe and I eat a small breakfast of eggs, two sausage links and a scoop of unseasoned potatoes. The lift coming in from the windows is soft and the tables are being filled by elderly and those with small children. For only $1 a plate, it's easy to see why this is a draw.
6. Four legs for the desk.
7. He tells me the plywood is warped. I'm still going to figure out a way to make this desk this weekend.
8. The crane is back. I love to watch him glide. The line of his body from beak to feet, the way his wings are outstretched as he rides air. So regal. So free.
9. At least the sun is out today and that enough to warm the face.
10. I do really like it here in the spring and summer when the sunlight lingers in the kitchen, and the music is loud, and the glasses are filled with wine and we sit and talk and cook and laugh, watching the sun set behind the berm. I never thought I'd say that I'm so glad to still be here.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Nine
1. Up before the alarm.
2. I hear feet on the stairs as I begin to add the flour. He's up early again, too early, but I let him make his lunch.
3. No one is eating the muffins. They are going for the frozen waffles instead. I think maybe it just means we need a break from the muffins. But I don't mind. It means I get 40 minutes of my morning back.
4. Still hunting down poetry.
5. I want to fix my basement workspace but there is no time today. Too many phone calls that require me to be tethered. So I'm on the floor of my bedroom tucked between the two corners where I get the best light.
6. Less than 3 weeks until Fever Dreams.
7. This particular call feels serendipitous. I need the stretch. It's what I asked for.
8. Sometimes things just happen the right way and you say "yes." I need to get back to saying "yes." I would thrust out my "no" too quickly and closed myself off to opportunities. But now, I feel safe enough to be open again.
9. They gobble up the orzo tossed with the pan juices.
10. What would I change if I could go back? Does it even do any good to ponder such a question? No. I should be thinking, What kind of future do I want to create?
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Eight
1. There is a dusting of white over everything. Surely it can't be that cold?
2. In the kitchen I can hear the wind whipping. It's almost like a roar. The oldest is already downstairs making his sandwich, claims that he couldn't sleep. Neither could I.
3. It was perhaps the worst sleep I've had in a long time and not because of dreams, but just an inability to calm the body and the nerves enough to rest deeply.
4. The clouds parting. The wind must be forcing it.
5. Rectangles of sun on the stairs, in the hallway, slanted against the wall.
6. I watch 2 more episodes of Versailles. I still can't decide if I want to keep watching it. I have conflicted feelings about this king. I think this means the show has good writing.
7. The same kind of thoughts reappear every month at the same time. I know that there is a language my body is speaking to me that still feels foreign.
8. I miss my strength.
9. Tomorrow I'll write a poem on the chalkboard wall. I need more words.
10. Star Jasmine and old vines / Lay claim upon the ghosted land, / Then quiet pools whisper / Private childhood secrets. - from "California Prodigal" by Maya Angelou
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Seven
1. There is a dampness in the air that thickens the cold.
2. 6:15 and I am still the only one awake though I won't be for long. I can already hear the birds and their fervent chirps.
3. This is a no-make breakfast day for me: frozen waffles of mini-bagels and fruit.
4. The drive is long but necessary. They've built townhomes on the corner now and it looks so different.
5. Tuesdays with them. It feels like it's been more than a week. Every day this year has been long and full, slow and yet fast.
6. Paperwork. Three weeks to go and this is the last bit of formality that needs to be done. No, there is still more to create, but that is the fun part.
7. It's 4:45 and I need to close my eyes for a short nap. I'm progressively more and more fatigued.
8. I think I'll write a blog post about the books and experiences I've had this year that are making me rethink everything. How much shifting can a person do at one time? Do we have a responsibility to those closest to us to ease into change? But sometimes you just need to rip off the band-aid and dive right in. And also, what's realistic? This is where I am stuck—between my fantastical ideals and reality.
9. Roasted chicken and green beans and leftover potatoes. I forgot to light the candles.
10. These words repeating over and over: ..."a softness over people." - from "Soft" by Kay Ryan
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Six
1. It's an hour later than I usually wake up.
2. I want to take a walk but it's only 18 degrees. The sun is bright but it's still too cold.
3. There will be a delivery today of a large piece of plywood. I intend to make a very large desk out of it. Maybe it will just lean against the wall and become a giant moodboard.
4. At the library I find Nye, Nelson, Ryan, and Giovanni. I will start here.
5. We both stand and look through the windows at the expanse on the other side and talk uncomfortably about pergolas and shade.
6. Since when did arousal equal shame? I'm back to thinking about senses and sensuality and what happens to the creative life when we separate ourselves from feeling.
7. Moon marked and touched by sun / my magic is unwritten... - Audre Lorde, "A Woman Speaks"
8. And then I remember that there is only momentum when there is movement.
9. The box contains tiny treasures from India: prayer flags, a cloth-bound notebook, a tiny cloth doll, a mala, an image of Ganesh which I place in my windowsill next to the branch from a Polish Palm Sunday service.
10. Circle back to "why."
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Five
1. It's too cold to be outside this morning and so I get up early to set the eggs around the house, trying my best to not wake the children with that rattle sound of the jelly-bean-filled eggs.
2. I should probably prep the cake. We have a late harvest Mouvedre that we should drink. It's begging for Chocolate Cake with Salted Caramel Icing.
3. The book is still so full and and bright white against the soft, pale blue sky.
4. The robin and I stare at one another through the window before it takes off. I'm half hoping it's nesting somewhere on or near my house so that maybe I might stumble upon a nest or those beautiful blue eggs.
5. It's been a year in this house. One year. Time goes by so quickly.
6. I ask them to please just let me drink this last cup of coffee slowly. It will be the last time I get to sit down for today.
7. First the bread dough. Then the cake. Then the potatoes. Then the frosting. Then back to bread. Then frost the cake.
8. I've fed him this cake before but I think back to the words of Thomas Keller I read in the Ad Hoc at Home cookbook where he says that one of the ways to improve as a cook is to make the same recipe over and over and over, perfecting as you go along.
9. I am unpracticed at so many things.
10. Burgundy, Beaujolais, Muscadet.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Five
1. It's too cold to be outside this morning and so I get up early to set the eggs around the house, trying my best to not wake the children with that rattle sound of the jelly-bean-filled eggs.
2. I should probably prep the cake. We have a late harvest Mouvedre that we should drink. It's begging for Chocolate Cake with Salted Caramel Icing.
3. The book is still so full and and bright white against the soft, pale blue sky.
4. The robin and I stare at one another through the window before it takes off. I'm half hoping it's nesting somewhere on or near my house so that maybe I might stumble upon a nest or those beautiful blue eggs.
5. It's been a year in this house. One year. Time goes by so quickly.
6. I ask them to please just let me drink this last cup of coffee slowly. It will be the last time I get to sit down for today.
7. First the bread dough. Then the cake. Then the potatoes. Then the frosting. Then back to bread. Then frost the cake.
8. I've fed him this cake before but I think back to the words of Thomas Keller I read in the Ad Hoc at Home cookbook where he says that one of the ways to improve as a cook is to make the same recipe over and over and over, perfecting as you go along.
9. I am unpracticed at so many things.
10. Burgundy, Beaujolais, Muscadet.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Three
1. Footsteps. I am not amused.
2. Maybe there will be bagels for breakfast. I am unsure of what to make this morning. There is not enough butter left for baking. Not enough bread left for toast. No granola and only a touch of milk.
3. You can't please everyone. Even when there are bagels.
4. What I had not expected was the amount of private messages I would receive. Not nosy. More like expressions of concern and noticing.
5. Grocery day. He is leaving as I am coming in. Him in bright blue shoes. There are only a few things in his cart today: two gallons of skim milk, a large package of chicken breasts and something else I can't quite see.
6. This morning I linger, remembering that there really is no other place I need to be.
7. Because it is spring and because what I intend to do is make a home, I decide that today I will wash all of the baseboards, trim, and doors.
8. How even in only a year a home can take such a beating.
9. Where are the safe spaces, the quiet spaces, the warm spaces where we retreat to for comfort, care, inspiration, and rejuvenation? What does it mean to provide them? How do you create them? Where are they already in existence? Who gets access to them?
10. Full on pasta, wine, and fellowship.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Two
1. The owls are near.
2. I can't see the stars from the bathroom window which means the rains have come.
3. Scones with a cinnamon glaze. I think, maybe I have lost my old ways of healing.
4. We are not the only ones with the idea of getting there early. It is Spring Break, after all. I decide to jump because I also need to play. I need to remember what it feels like to fly.
5. I know I will be sore tomorrow but I am grateful for the relative health of this body, that I am young enough to be able to do things like this with them. My main motivation for staying healthy is to be able to cross-over my son.
6. I search for toilet paper holders, cabinet hardware, and light fixtures.
7. I tell her that I've spent the last few weeks writing up business plans and working on a resume and that none of it feels right. And yet I must do something. I need to do something. What I really want to do is just tend to home.
8. The sound of geese honking as they fly overhead.
9. I get sidetracked by numbers and sheets and forget to start dinner.
10. Riesling and Vouvray, both just a tad sweet, tasting like summer.