Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Four
1. I step out to water the garden, hoping I'll see some deer. I don't think they'll be back this year. I haven't seen foxes or coyotes or even rabbits this season. Maybe it was the control burn.
2. I feel thirsty.
3. Sometimes when I sit in the alcove it's as if the birds are doing a show just for me. Maybe because I'm just slightly out of view so they feel more free to dance in ways they don't when I'm so plainly in sight.
4. I'm struggling for the words. I go back to that old prompt, What I really want to say is..., and then it all begins to flow again.
5. Everyone is upset that we have to spend so much time out today. We drop off the car to the dealership, take Daddy to a business lunch, and then head over to the library. They are all so resistant but each find at least two books to read. I pick up a book by Gladstar on herbs, Die Wise by Stephen Jenkinson, and a book on outdoor play that just happened to be on display.
6. On the way back home from the library, everyone is reading quietly in the car. Mission accomplished.
7. The thing is sometimes I get idea and then I have to spend a lot of time teaching myself how to make them.
8. I forgot cheese. I am annoyed but know that really it's just fried nerves from so much driving today. I remember that tomorrow is cleaning day which means I don't have to go anywhere that I do not want to go.
9. I need to get to the post office.
10. There's this feeling, which is really fear and old programming, that I need to find traditional work. This keeps coming up more and more and more for various reasons. I think of how she crofts and cobbles a living for herself. I think of what that could look like for me that doesn't have me feeling so split. I also remember that this might not be so hard if I just learn to ask for help where it's needed.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Three
1. A haloed moon.
2. I sub in cake flour for the muffins and the batter looks even lighter than usual.
3. Still alone here in the kitchen. I can’t stop looking at the peonies. I’ll keep up the 9pm bed time if it means I get to do all of this so quietly, alone.
4. Coffee and pages in the alcove.
5. I think of the way the house sends at the top of the cup-de-sac and how the long stretch of street in front of it reaches out to the farmer on the other side of the road. I often fantasize about taking self-portraits under the big tree by his pond.
6. I sometimes get this nervous energy and I talk really fast and fumble over my words. It’s like the opposite of what happens when I do a podcast.
7. Thirty-three days until 33. On the 333rd post
8. I don’t know what to do with this hair yet.
9. I know that I need to make risotto and so I start soon enough to give myself plenty of time to stir slowly.
10. Rethinking family culture.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Two
1. 5 am and he's on the Xbox and there's that feeling you get as a parent when you catch your kid making a bad choice. It's less like anger and more like sadness and a little bit of guilt.
2. I load the dishwasher, start the bacon, water the garden, and make coffee before any of the kids come downstairs.
3. I almost feel like I have too much time which feels both luxurious and uncomfortable.
4. Coffee in the alcove while I write my pages and it's hot. So hot.
5. Cottonwood fluff sticking to freshly chapsticked lips.
6. We settle on an elderflower cocktail called Eye Candy. Gin plus lemon juice plus a slice of ginger plus St. Germain plus leaves of mint with a splash of club soda.
7. Slow and easy late lunch with close friends.
8. She sends me home with leftover angel food cake and freshly cut peonies from her yard because she knows they're my favorite. I need to plant these in the new house.
9. Square of pale gold light on the wall.
10. My mind is so full of questions, ideas, desires, plans that it hurts.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-One
1. Bright, bright sun.
2. I read the comments to see why she's moving from our neighborhood. She needs big trees. She's going to Naperville or St. Charles or Geneva. What is this feeling? Oh. Jealousy.
3. I dig through the clothes. Yes. Still feeling the jealousy. Reminding myself that I choose this place that this is where I am committed to being. I remember my big yard and my garden and my workspace in the basement. I am only able to have these things because we are here.
4. Granola with coconut milk yogurt, walnuts, and dried cranberries. Hot coffee. Just one cup. I need to cut back again.
5. Intuition and intention as guides for what I am consuming in every way.
6. We sweat on the bench at the playground but the girls have kept their complaints about the heat to a minimum. But it’s still good to be here with her under the tree.
7. The drive in is easy even if long. She gets a beet burger and I get vegan tostadas. We sit for two hours and end our meal with a scoop of vegan ice cream. I’m glad we made time for this. I’m looking forward to more things like this in the future.
8. I ask/tell him I want her to come do a poetry/wine tasting at the house next month.
9. We migrate to the garden. This wicker loveseat is probably the best $20 I’ve spent in a long time. Back here all you hear is the hum of cars on 34 and maybe a few smacks of the clubs and balls on the golf course. And we just watch the clouds change color and shift shape.
10. If I let him he’d stay here all night looking for stars, tracking Jupiter across the night sky.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty
1. I start the potatoes. I am dressed in clothes that feel uncomfortable but we're supposed to do some things in the garden this morning and these clothes are what make the most sense.
2. I get potting soil in my coffee and drink it anyway.
3. The lavender is dying. I re-pot them. We realize that we've been over-watering. It's funny to me how one symptom can have two causes. And how this means that you really must get to know each plant individually to assess its needs. This is why I'm doing this. I want to learn.
4. The 3 of us make the drive up to Geneva for Atlas Chicken Shack. We drink lemonade and eat fries at a picnic table tucked away in the alley. I'm intrigued by the ivy on the walls and the red and white building. I like it with just the 3 of us sometimes.
5. Old houses and big trees feel like home.
6. I finish a few of the details on my website. It feels good to have everything housed under one name. I hope it makes sense. I think it does. I see it all laid out in my mind so clearly.
7. I think back to the black woman I saw as we were leaving the grocery store. She too had a white husband, a biracial child. I kept looking back at her and I think she may have been looking at me. And I wish I had stopped myself and gotten her number or name or neighborhood.
8. So many birds. The robins are plentiful here. Always hopping around the yard picking up bugs and worms.
9. Wine on the front porch. The guy next door is playing the same song over and over again in a language I don't understand and it's amusing and also curious. One song. Four times in a row.
10. He wants me to come see how bright the moon is. I can't stop staring at it either. 93% gibbous it says. Gibbous: marked by convexity or swelling; seen with more than half but not all of the apparent disk illuminated.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-Nine
1. The way the sun peeks around the corner of the neighbor’s house.
2. Bacon and eggs for breakfast. I’m out of coffee and settle for a cappuccino instead.
3. I’m scared someone will want to check my backpack and discover the candy and water bottles we’re taking in to see the movie.
4. Rebellion.
5. One thing I do like about the newer Star Wars movies is how diverse the casts are. There is a kaleidoscope of species who are for and against one another. There are women who lead.
6. It feels hot in a way that nots a fun kind of heat.
7. Details back and forth over voice memo.
8. i found god in myself and i loved her / i loved her fiercely - “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When the Rainbow Is Enuf
9. In the shower I feel gratitude in my body and it feels like a gentle current of electricity. I am thinking of next year’s retreat, I am thinking of this short piece I’m writing for Lucia about Zinfandel vines and my own wilding. I am thinking about how I’m going to solve my dining room chair problem so I can have her come read poetry in my home. In the soapscum I write “I love my life” as both an acknowledgement and an affirmation.
10. I can’t keep my eyes open.
Ten.Three Hundred & Twenty-Eight
1. All that sun already. It really will be 90 degrees today.
2. I suggest that she wears a dress or shorts but she insists on jeans.
3. I’ll be brave enough to ask. I’m resisting the urge to delete these words. But I know that they are necessary.
4. I don’t want anyone to take offense. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. I’m just trying to put the ask in context. I want to go deeper here.
5. I start the podcast she mentioned yesterday. Some of this I already know. A lot of it is a good reminder that I can make different choices.
6. It’s really the perfect kind of day for lunch on a terrace with sun and Sancerre and good food. I’m mostly full on fellowship.
7. I am grateful for the extension of support and the introductions and the encouragement.
8. Chicken on the grill in the summer heat.
9. The headache won’t go away. But I do think it’s time to cut back on the coffee again.
10. We decide that those are indeed Jupiter and Venus. And we marvel at the moon, so white and bright, making its way toward fullness.
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.