Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-Seven
1. Sunlight on dewy grass is one of my favorite things.
2. I can't believe that there are 326 of these things that I've written.
3. Robins sitting atop the soccer goal, singing songs. Heads moving back and forth and back and forth.
4. We grab chicken wire and posts to keep out whatever is eating the spinach.
5. I make myself chamomile and bring all of my notes back down to the basement, my workspace. My. Space. I read over the notes she's sent me from our call and feel the resistance choking me. The resistance is just fear.
6. We talk for two hours and I have pages and pages full of notes and ideas and lists of things that need to be done and all of these things are things that I'm excited about. And all of this feels so good on a Wednesday morning in the cold basement.
7. There are these two birds that keep flying in front of my face and singing some kind of song. They are small birds with shiny blue-black backs and thin long beaks and why have I not yet gotten a bird book? The inability to name things bothers me.
8. Once you know a name of something...once you can call something what it is, there is no way to not love it.
9. Even these jeans are still a little too tight. This will be a summer for dresses.
10. Sparkling wine on the front alcove, the sounds of lawnmowers and the laughter of children and the hum of car engines.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-Six
1. A thick blanket of fog over everything.
2. Her watch keeps beeping and no one knows how to stop it.
3. The last Tuesday of the school year. The last Tuesday that we'll gather until Fall. I am scared about that.
4. We gather around the table to eat and talk and just muse on life. They each go around and say something so kind and so sweet to me. I am so grateful for the ways in which this group has held and continues to hold so much for me.
5. But now I have work to do on my own home turf. And I don't want to do it. But I need to.
6. And I'm doing this all for what?
7. Turkey burgers and sweet potato fries. No one seems to be upset that they aren't having real beef. Well, except for the husband.
8. I tell him that he should make a list of things he wants and is looking for. To jot down questions and ideas. To make connections.
9. Something has been snacking on the spinach. This means tomorrow requires a trip to the hardware store for wire fencing and posts. But everything else looks so vibrant and tall and I am excited.
10. I think back to the way it felt to climb all those stairs in the morning with my backpack on and a cup of coffee in my hand, fresh air deep in my lungs, surrounded by birdsong and frog song and insect song. That feeling is what all of this for.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-Five
1. The rain is beating hard and this gives me some pleasure. I love the slowness that rides in on a rainy day.
2. I'll need to send her to school with an umbrella.
3. Both of my calls for today need to be rescheduled and this feels expansive. More room to breathe. I'll fill it with books and writing.
4. The rain. A few flashes of lightning. They've all made their lunches and are upstairs doing whatever it is they like to do this hour before school. I settle into the corner of couch and put in my headphones to watch my friend's short film.
5. I'd love to do this: travel across the country with a group of my closest creative friends and throw workshops and talk about life and art and how everything is always changing.
6. It makes me teary.
7. Pear and caramelized onion. A so-so rosé. Coffee and an apple crostata.
8. Oh yes, but I still haven't made the container yet so that I can receive.
9. I guess I don't really need to cover my head. And this is part of the journey. The not-hiding.
10. Fog.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-Three
1. The golf course is masked by a thin layer of fog and I hear the honking of geese. Lately I see them flying in pairs and not in large flocks.
2. Coffee. They toast mini-bagels for their breakfast.
3. I check the garden to see if anything has stopped by to nibble yet. I know that I need to get some chicken wire up soon before everything becomes too tempting. I spot two teeny tomatoes and each of the bell peppers are preparing to flower. The peas are nice and tall too.
4. Carnitas already in the crock pot for today's dinner. The bed is made. Bills are paid. The garden is watered. I feel quite accomplished at 8 am.
5. I grab an orchid out of the windowsill to take to her. We're meeting at the arboretum for a belated Mother's Day lunch. She's on time. We eat and make small talk. A finch perched on the bush.
6. Troll hunt.
7. I spot the grasses that I want to plant in our own yard when it comes time to do more landscaping.
8. But I can make this space work. I shouldn't take it for granted. I find the small speakers and put the Fever Dreams playlist on blast and dance my way through boxes. I drag over the shelf from the other side of the basement and fill it with books, cameras, a leftover cigar box, my old Remington typewriter, my wine books, the doula information packet. On the floor beside it tucked into a basket are the past year's journals in case I need to reference old ideas. On the desk are a variety of gifts from Jennette, my turquoise Underwood typewriter, a basket for pens and a stapler, checks from past freelance gigs as a reminder that I can and do earn money from my art. And there are twinkle lights. Of course.
9. The boys are late for dinner. They say they lost track of time because of a Nerf war.
10. The episode where Jim tells Pam that he's in love with her.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-One
1. Finally a morning to myself. Bright early light.
2. I remembered to put on the mugwort but forgot to set the intention to remember my dreams. I fell asleep reading about plants. Kind of ironic.
3. They come down one by one, sleepy-eyed and quiet.
4. Coffee and words. Her words. My eyes keep getting misty. And on the surface it doesn't seem like she's saying anything that profound and yet I'm moved.
5. I skip the baseboards today.
6. Leftover chicken noodle soup for lunch and lots of water. I walk back to the wicker loveseat in the garden. I should harvest some spinach soon. This feels like a secret and sacred place.
7. But yes, it is true that I can do what I want. (But this sounds like I'm trying to convince myself.)
8. I kind of just want to write and write whatever I want and let that be my life. Because this is the art I like to make.
9. But why are all those boys sitting in my garden?
10. "Risk is the core cost of human connection." - The Art of Asking
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty
1. He's already down here making his lunch. It's 5:42 in the morning.
2. I forgot the mugwort on the bottom of my feet but that didn't stop me from a long night of lucid dreaming. I was back at Wake Forest again trying to sort out an issue. So much about power and rage and voice.
3. Granola made with coconut oil, eaten with coconut yogurt. Just one cup of coffee. All the light.
4. I find the glider in front of the coffee shop and sit in the sun while I wait. Close my eyes and rock back and forth. The lady at the table is talking about her daughter's kidney stones.
5. "Go Do Good." I think about the kind of man who would get this tattooed on the backs of his calves. It's the same kind of man that drives a Volvo station wagon and listens to chill electronica.
6. As soon as I step inside the visitor's center I know I'm going to enjoy this.
7. The trees. Everything is so green. And then as you come over the bridge and come around the bend and see it in person. It's hard to put into words but it takes my breath away.
8. The texture of the travertine. The coolness of the steel. I could live in a glass box like this—if I lived alone.
9. Strawberry-rhubarb popsicle on the porch before I get the kids from school.
10. "Asking is an act of intimacy and trust." - The Art of Asking
Ten.Three Hundred & Nineteen
1. Two of them already downstairs making their lunches.
2. The soft light falling onto delicate orchid petals. How come it's taken me so long to have my own orchid? The beauty is breathtaking.
3. 45 minutes for us to cuddle in the bed before school. One day I'll really miss this.
4. Tuesdays are still my favorite days and I'm already sad that this is our second-to-last day together for this school year.
5. I know this means that I need to invest in relationships where I currently am. This sounds and feels harder than it probably is.
6. Afternoon pages on the front porch with sweet potato fries and leftover paprika aioli. Lots of water. I write in between sips and my curious looks at cars coming around the bend.
7. I lover her honesty and openness. I find myself being critical of what I feel is the interviewer's fixation on abuse and then wonder if maybe it's just that listening to it makes me feel uncomfortable. And part of addressing abuse, all kinds of abuse, is to be willing to hear the real stories. I love her even more after listening to her speak on herself and her (he)art.
8. Note to self: Remember to rub the mugwort on the bottoms of your feet tonight.
9. The box arrived. Pasta and chicken sausage and veggies for dinner tonight.
10. We linger at the table in that warm summer light talking about money goals and business goals and I find the conversation both necessary and uncomfortable.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventeen
1. Birdsong and feet shuffling.
2. Red lipstick just because I'm finally really liking myself in it.
3. But why are you arguing about going out to eat? Sometimes I think she likes to complain just to complain.
4. Crane.
5. The river is full and gently rolling. The air is thick with humidity but still.
6. Decaf coffee, hibiscus mimosa, a Belgian waffle with whipped cream and strawberries. I promise her that I will try to find a jar of hibiscus flowers so she can taste how delicate and sweet they are.
7. I settle back into the bed and fall asleep. Deeply.
8. My gift is a wicker loveseat to set in the open garden space.
9, I take her to the library. How can I not take her to the library when she asks? There are certain things that I will always honor for my children when they ask: a delicious meal, a trip to a museum, a ride to the library.
10. Again. It's just barely 9 and I can't keep my eyes open.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixteen
1. Slow morning. Sluggish from an abnormally late night. I haven’t stayed up that late since Fever Dreams.
2. Ok. I will wash my hair.
3. Steel cut oats with blueberries, coconut sugar, walnuts, and dried cranberries. Coffee and the laptop in bed.
4. Clarity from Bella Cirovic’s Intentions by Bella on my neck and wrists because I swear this works—the wearing of your intentions.
5. A bespoke creative studio. Does it even make sense? I feel like it does.
6. The slamming of the garage door. Open and shut. Open and shut. Open and shut. The sound of summer and children.
7. A quick chicken noodle soup for lunch. Almost too quick. The carrots and celery are still al dente.
8. Sweet potato fries coated in cornmeal before roasting in the oven and served with a smoked paprika aoili. Discoveries like these make me want to bring the newsletter back.
9. Wakanda forever.
10. But really I should just work on my confidence.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifteen
1. Moody skies and cooler temperatures. It feels a little shocking after so many days of warmth and sun.
2. The sound of dough moving on the cutting board. The feeling of soft blueberry pressed against my hand.
3. Meal planning and list making. Trying to make this process as joyful as possible but sometimes it’s just not.
4. I should really wash my hair.
5. White Orchid: reverence and humility, innocence and purity, and elegance and beauty.
6. I’ve entered into a pink phase. The desert kind of pink that is soft and muted and delicate.
7. Geese and little baby geese in the waters. Earlier I saw the heron in flight, it’s body so slim and sleek in the air.
8. Trust in the divine timing of things.
9. I want to find a name that can capture all that it is but nothing is coming to me.
10. Eight courses, 2 bottles of wine, a glass of sake, and one french press of decaf at Entente. Sublime. One of my favorite meals in a long time.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fourteen
1. 6 am grocery store run for butter. Because I finally bought some bread and they just really want toast with butter for breakfast.
2. The light. The greenness of everything post storm. The flowers and the way the leaves are shaking in the wind.
3. I try to get a head start and do the mirrors and wipe down the sinks.
4. Sometimes you do like to stroll through IKEA. Alone. Just to gather a few ideas.
5. Over lunch I tell him about my next idea. He likes it but wonders if I should just keep at what I've got going now. I haven't yet maxed out the full potential of what I'm doing.
6. Journaling on the back stoop in the sun. There's this tiny bird with a cream-colored belly that keeps circling and singing and it makes me wish I could identify birdsong.
7. His point is that I need to go deeper and not wider.
8. I think that big changes actually can be easy when you're making them in order to be in alignment with your higher self.
9. I either need to decide that I'm going to commit to it, or just shave it off.
10. Non-dairy peanut butter and chocolate popsicle before bed.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirteen
1. I love a quiet and stormy morning.
2. The way the clouds are moving and shaping themselves. The chill in the air. The perfect mood for brooding.
3. Invoking the middle name.
4. I eat chia seed pudding and drink a flat white with oat milk. I want these glasses for my own home. It's good to sit with her and talk. I miss my friend.
5. I tell her what I'm going to do because I trust her to hold it for me and to help me stay accountable. Because I've been sitting on so much and I know that if I don't act on this today, I won't do it and I will regret it.
6. Too much coffee today.
7. I'm so hungry. I miss meals on the ranch.
8. Repeating this mantra in my head over and over again: Know what you need. Ask for what you want. Thank you, Hilde.
9. Go deeper, not wider.
10. We talk for 3.5 hours and laugh and laugh and ask big questions and laugh some more.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twelve
1. I just can’t sleep with him in here.
2. I grab my phone so that I’ll have an alarm and head to his bed, pull back the covers and get in.
3. But of course I don’t fall back asleep.
4. So much light at 6 am. This is what I love about summer. The delicious and expansive feeling of time.
5. These are my favorite kinds of streets. The kinds with old houses and big trees and large flowering bushes.
6. Feels so good to be back in a circle with them.
7. All this sunlight makes me feel inspired.
8. I tell her that I’m trying to hold onto the feeling of abundance that the experience has given me.
9. I think up an idea. And I know if I don’t text her right now, I never will.
10. Getting over the fear of intimate and true communication. How healing it can be.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eleven
1. He is up before me again. Too many questions before 6 am.
2. The way the morning light is coming up through the trees, so thin and golden.
3. But, no. There’s still enough food here.
4. No one eats the biscuits. I am missing the meals at the ranch. I am missing the feeling of being well-fed.
5. We walk. One big mug of tea in my hands. Gnats. Two heron turning their necks.
6. I don’t know what to do so I read some more pages of Emergent Strategy.
7. So much sun and only the noise of lawnmowers and weed whackers.
8. Sunroof weather.
9. The evening is falling apart. My angst is a result of too much time on social media plus imaginary conversations that have been playing out in my head.
10. It could also be the sugar. Too much sugar today.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ten
1. Maybe they need black-out curtains.
2. The color of the sky: gray but warm. Low and thick clouds moving slowly but still blocking the sun. They did say it might rain.
3. When the drizzle stops we go buy the plants: rosemary, tomatoes, lavender, sage, oregano, thyme, watermelon, spinach, cilantro, mint, strawberries.
4. Satisfying work.
5. I worry that maybe we don't have enough soil, but I think about what I know now about root systems from studying a little bit of viticulture. What can't do down will spread out and so maybe we'll be ok.
6. I try to nap but there are too many voices.
7. But what's next?
8. I am craving dessert. In fact, I am just craving. For some reason I am particularly hungry today and so he goes out to find an apple pie and a container of ice cream after a cookie recipe goes wrong. Maybe it is a little bit of anxiety creeping in.
9. How come I don't know what to do? I do know what to do. Why don't I trust that I know what to do. I think back to the preferential shapes and how I keep thinking that I need to spend time in building foundations when what I need to work on is relationship and integration.
10. I hear the words and decide that at this moment there is no need for response. Because listening actually doesn't require a response. Besides, nothing good will come from this by talking about it tonight. Best to wait until the morning.
Ten.Three Hundred & Nine
1. Why are they up before 6 am. I thought I had a rule about this.
2. What is the point of that rule if they no longer need me to be so present so early? They've fed themselves, cleaned their rooms, and one of them is already dressed. This is a parenting "success".
3. Today we will make the beds. I sit down to eat a bowl of cheerios and flax milk and drink a big jar of water.
4. At least we'll start our work in the shade.
5. I unload 68 bags of pea gravel from the pallet and 20 bags of top soil.
6. I can't remember the last time I had a blister. He says that he's soft—that we're soft. I suggest we do more work like this. "The soft ones die first," I say. Since reading "Parable of the Sower" I can't not think of life after system, economic, and culture collapse.
7. Done. What was once a blank and unusable space behind the garage is 3 garden beds and a small sitting area for my mornings. Or on evenings once the sun begins to set behind the hill.
8. We stare out at the street stretched before us arguing over things that don't really matter.
9. Tomorrow? Planting and resting and cleaning and laundry.
10. A body aching in gratitude, blanketed in a gauzy shawl, gentle breeze blowing against the skin.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eight
1. He's always asking for something. I could learn to be more bold in my ask.
2. But I also want to pull away from all of this.
3. The old man is there today. Still in his blue sneakers but not as cheery as usual.
4. I unload all the bags and decide there is tie for a bike ride. In go headphones—Maroon 5, Songs About Jane—and on the bike I go.
5. So many dandelions. And on my way back home, the Heron.
6. I start to draw up the garden bed arrangement. I’m afraid I’m being too ambitious but decide that I said this is what I wanted to do and so I’m going to do it.
7. There is so much space and I intend to take it up.
8. He says that we really do need to move. That my brightness is so tied to the sun. And this is the version of me he likes best. The one that dances and sings in the kitchen.
9. Sparkling Rosé of Malbec.
10. Body is so tired. But the good kind of tired. There is more work to be done.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seven
1. The storms woke me up. So much rain beating against the siding. Thunderstorms in this house sound so different. Just so loud.
2. This gray skies absent of bird chatter. The kids are already awake and downstairs. I thought I made a rule about what time they could be down here. I'm too tired to fight it.
3. Cleaning day. Trying to find a place for all the things to go. I want to set up an altar, a Fever Dreams altar, but don't know where it could go. A windowsill maybe? Until I can find a low table?
4. One year and 1 month later this house still feels so empty, so un-lived in, so temporary. Trying to intuit what it and I need.
5. But I actually do really like a clean home as much I dislike the labor of cleaning it.
6. I leave really early because I just need to get out and get air. And shoelaces. I always forget to get the things they ask for as they exit the car. But not today. Shoelaces.
7. "I trust myself to feel,l to grow from what I feel, not to run when I sense a feeling coming." - Emergent Strategy
8. Mince garlic, slice mushrooms, trim broccoli, chop chicken. Burn the teriyaki sauce and go back to the store to buy an already-made version that tastes just as good. Wish you had a Riesling instead of Pinot Grigio.
9. Skills versus Heart. She tells me to figure out what my minimum is for the skills so that I can share more of the Heart.
10. But I should also just relax a little bit. The softer my grip the more space there is for un-thought-of possibilities.
Ten.Three Hundred & Five
1. It is late. So much later than I meant to wake up. But my body is telling me that I needed it. And that there is time for me to rest.
2. A large glass of water. No appetite yet. I know that I am hungry for things I don't yet have.
3. I decide on a simple dinner menu to get us through the rest of the week: spaghetti and sauce with veggies and focaccia, roasted chicken and baked potatoes with brussel sprouts, a stirfry in rice noodles like we had at the ranch.
4. This feeling that if I don't start acting today on the lessons I collected at the ranch, that I never will.
5. I make a mug of tea and put on my shoes because I remember now just how badly my body wants to move.
6. Trees in bloom.
7. The heron, so still with its long orange beak and blue-gray body.
8. Heron. I pulled two cards that day, each one mentioning the heron.
9. I keep closing my eyes at the dinner table.
10. Can't stop thinking about all of them.
Ten.Three Hundred & Four
1. 2 a.m.
2. The three men in blues get on the air tran with the other woman and myself and then get off at the next stop. I didn't get a chance to extend eye contact and a "thank you."
3. Humans in airports are an interesting phenomenon.
4. The sun is beginning to rise and sky is stacked with deep purples and oranges, lush and moody, a fever dream in itself.
5. I want to go to sleep but every time I close my eyes a face appears and they begin to talk to me and it's so disruptive so I keep my eyes open.
6. Mildred Pierce.
7. I close my eyes in between questions and answers.
8. I'm grateful for the warmth. It's easing the return.
9. There will be words and probably tears at some time in the future. So much to feel, too much to feel all at once.
10. I go ahead and clean the kitchen even though I said I wouldn't. The ranunculus dried out while I was away. They remind me of our time together this weekend. Of how I wanted to cover everything with papery petals. Of how what I really mean is to be my natural self.