Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy-Six
1. A thin strip of neon pink behind the trees.
2. I remember to water. Of course I get wet because it’s early and I haven’t yet had any coffee and I’m not thinking about how I’m going to get all wet if I stay here.
3. The black toad is still not back.
4. Anything else but the basement.
5. It feels good to be back in this corner, with this light, and the camera in hand. I miss all of this.
6. So much laundry.
7. She asks me, “what was the book you were reading that made you want to quit social media?” It wasn’t really just that one book, but a result of ALL of the books I’ve read this year. So much knowledge and truth ingested and it turned into a much-needed respite from engaging the world in that way for a bit.
8. And I still don’t have any new clarity or wisdom from that break. I do, however, have a renewed entusiasm for my art and my work.
9. Why not?
10. “All of our flourishing is mutual.” - Braiding Sweetgrass
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy-Five
1. I wake up before the alarm. Idris Elba.
2. The quiet of pre-dawn. I water the garden, look for ripened Chocolate Sprinkles, notice that something is eating the sage leaves.
3. Coffee. So good to be back. I brush the mulch off the front porch and off the driveway. I bend over to pull up the dead petunia and am startled by a black toad burrowed into the mulch.
4. Today is the day.
5. Impatiently waiting.
6. Refresh over and over again waiting for the official listing.
7. No longer a secret. We are moving.
8. I am so tired and there is still so much to do.
9. Dessert.
10. Everything is changing.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy-Four
1. Moths clinging to window screens.
2. The clouds are dark but the air is so still. No one's flag is fluttering, no leaf is shimmying. Everything is asleep.
3. I water the garden and check on the watermelon. Two little watermelon babies. So unbelievable.
4. Paint. So much paint.
5. Pain in the knees. I am tired but I keep going because there is no more time left.
6. Choosing to hold the brightest vision.
7. My friend once told me that she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. That's the feeling I'm having now. How could it be this good? What is the "bad" that's waiting around the bend?
8. Seat cushions, bud vase, navy comforter, air fresheners.
9. The sign makes it more real.
10. The list doesn't get any smaller.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy-Three
1. Condensation on the windows. I worry that it is already too humid to enjoy the day but when I step outside it's still cool enough.
2. Watery sky.
3. I find two caramel rice cakes and a banana for breakfast. The rice cakes are sticky because someone, probably myself, didn't close the bag properly.
4. Petunias.
5. I have coffee in one and hand a book in the other. Cool breeze. Two birds fly right into the alcove and flit about in front of my face for a second. I can still feel my heart racing.
6. These days, all the words that run through my head are prayers.
7. Five of them want to come back. 5. I text her to say that I'm about to cry into my paint can because, wow, we must have made something magical. I mean, I knew it. I knew that this is what I want to be doing for a very, very long time. I can't wait for next October.
8. Mini meatloaves and salad and a baked potato. I eat so fast. I realize that I hadn't really stopped to feed myself today. I need to get back in the habit of allowing myself to be nourished.
9. I take it as a sign that the two women who came to buy these items are both from California.
10. My little stargazer. He reads the app to tell us what time certain stars and planets peak. He can see the tiny white dots so much more quickly than we can. We tell him we have old eyes.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy-Two
1. Water.
2. Mist rising up from the wetlands out back. The sun has not yet risen above the tree line and so there's this milky orange glow to the grasses that feels otherworldly.
3. A dozen donuts. I will probably eat 3 of them and drink that mug of coffee with so much joy.
4. We eat the sugar donuts and drink coffee in the alcove. I keep looking at my watch. Ok. I'll start my work at 9.
5. What is today? The last 3 days have felt like Saturday. Today is Sunday. Tomorrow begins the week and there is much to do. Client work plus pool promises plus life.
6. I keep forgetting things and end up crossing the store 3 times. This is not typical but I'm also not surprised.
7. "Respect one another, support one another, bring your gift to the world and receive the gifts of others, and there will be enough for all." - Braiding Sweetgrass
8. She's a little too talkative.
9. We sit together on the stoop. talking about all the things that are really about one thing, watching the sprinkler wave back and forth. It's almost like a meditation. I do love this about summer: the sounds of sprinklers and bike chains and laughter.
10. I make it real and share.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy-One
1. There so much light in the room that I think it's later that 5:30. I feel like donuts today and coffee. I haven't had coffee in almost three weeks.
2. The donut shop is closed for the week. I had forgotten that she takes this week off. I circle back to the grocery story for bacon and hash browns. Those also go well with coffee.
3. The air is still cool and pleasant and the birds are singing and there's this one that keeps gliding on the wind, reminding me of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. He looks so free.
4. We sit in the sun on the first step, talking and watching the cars go by, tossing around ideas and possibilities. Neither of us wanting to do the work that's ahead. I am honest about the fact that I'm procrastinating.
5. I finish cleaning out the pantry and organizing the rest of the kitchen cabinets. There is a birthday party for the younger two and I forgot the presents. I always forget about presents.
6. All the things we will be able to see.
7. I spot a monarch butterfly making circles and I stick my hand out, wanting so badly for it to land in the palm of my hand. It doesn't and that's okay. I stand for another few minutes an watch it flit about and then give it thanks for its beauty and say to myself, "why yes, things are transforming here, aren't they?"
8. Awkward conversations.
9. The sunflower is now taller than him which means it's over 6-feet tall and still growing.
10. We won't look at the stars tonight but I know what there. Past, present, and future all existing at once. I can claim something now, knowing that in some other realm it already exists.
Ten.Three Hundred & Seventy
1. There's no condensation on the windows and the trees and grass are all shaking from a breeze. I know that means it must be a cool morning. I am grateful for it after this stretch of heat.
2. Things scattered everywhere and we have a guest coming for dinner this evening. I think I'll make the butternut squash pasta. Or maybe something a little lighter. Maybe a Greek Salad and chicken breasts and some roasted veggies.
3. Immunity tea and morning pages in the alcove. Stillness.
4. He asks me what I'm afraid of. Why I haven't told anyone yet. That it seems a little silly to be so excited about something and to not be sharing it. He doesn't know that I asked myself those same questions in my journal earlier this morning. There is fear there. There is anxiety about all of it.
5. Two turkey burgers with a little bit of dijon mustard eaten while standing at the counter. I know this is not good for my digestion. Also: I never thought I'd love turkey burgers this much.
6. But this is really happening. I send out texts to only a handful of people; only the ones I really want to see.
7. 1 part lemonade and 4 parts La Croix.
8. We serve skirt steak with blue cheese sauce, roasted potatoes, and roasted asparagus. I am surprised by my appetite.
9. We find Jupiter and Venus. And I think we see Saturn too and a few other stars, one that is 500 light years away. We talk about how what we're seeing is something that is older than the Earth. There is no such thing as time.
10. Fireworks.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Nine
1. Up early and the sky is still dark and the air feels even more humid than the day before. No need to water this morning because of the storms from last night.
2. So dark I need the twinkle lights on. No yoga because I know I'll be out trimming bushes and cutting back the tomatoes and the watermelon.
3. I make granola and then we make a list.
4. Does it really matter?
5. They are definitely persistent. And I let them bake snickerdoodles while I clean out the cabinets. Flour, sugar, cream of tartar—so much of it on the floor.
6. And it still doesn't feel real.
7. I sit in the chair in the alcove and read until the heat makes it so that I can't see any more. But I'm reluctant to go back inside...to go back to the work that awaits.
8. I sneak onto Instagram to watch her stories. I say the French names in my head and imagine what the air must feel and taste like where she is. I feel the heat of envy. I also feel the warmth of pride. I'm proud of her and in awe of her and so happy that she is there and doing this. I wish I could have made it happen. I will have my own turn.
9. Sky thickened with clouds. Then the clouds thin themselves out until there are just whisps here and there. And then the sky turns to cornflower and the clouds, because of how they're eating the light from the sun, turn into the softest yet most electric shade of peach. The sunsets here are just so hard to beat.
10. This is the Great Adventure.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Eight
1. I stretch into child's pose and breathe for a few minutes.
2. I realize that I should have gotten a cart once I remember that I need to make baked beans for more than just the 5 of us. I need to triple the recipe. 12 cans plus a jar of molasses and 1.5lbs of bacon.
3. Even the air inside the house feels thick. But I think I need a bike ride anyway. I did this my senior year of high school when I couldn't figure out how to pay for Wake Forest and the Army and the Navy kept calling me and I didn't want to go to stay in Missouri any longer. Every day after school I would get on my roller blades and circle the neighborhood 3 or 4 or 5 or 10 times. Until I just couldn't do it anymore and the mind had rested itself.
4. Baked beans from scratch. Bacon and onions and beans, molasses and dry mustard and some salt and pepper. A little bit of brown sugar. I can't help it.
5. I try to rest but what I do instead is scroll through Pinterest to pass the time away.
6. I wake up from the nap, reluctant to go and there's a pit in my stomach. It could be the cherries. It could be the dairy I ate last night. But most likely it's just all the nerves.
7. Did you tell [her]?
8. So hot that I don't want to move, not even for a glass of rosé. I can feel my feet swelling.
9. We make it home in time for nature's fireworks. I get in the shower and remember how my grandmother would never let us shower or take a bath if there was a thunderstorm. We couldn't use the telephone either.
10. He asks me if it feels more real now. I can't decide.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Eight
1. I stretch into child's pose and breathe for a few minutes.
2. I realize that I should have gotten a cart once I remember that I need to make baked beans for more than just the 5 of us. I need to triple the recipe. 12 cans plus a jar of molasses and 1.5lbs of bacon.
3. Even the air inside the house feels thick. But I think I need a bike ride anyway. I did this my senior year of high school when I couldn't figure out how to pay for Wake Forest and the Army and the Navy kept calling me and I didn't want to go to stay in Missouri any longer. Every day after school I would get on my roller blades and circle the neighborhood 3 or 4 or 5 or 10 times. Until I just couldn't do it anymore and the mind had rested itself.
4. Baked beans from scratch. Bacon and onions and beans, molasses and dry mustard and some salt and pepper. A little bit of brown sugar. I can't help it.
5. I try to rest but what I do instead is scroll through Pinterest to pass the time away.
6. I wake up from the nap, reluctant to go and there's a pit in my stomach. It could be the cherries. It could be the dairy I ate last night. But most likely it's just all the nerves.
7. Did you tell [her]?
8. So hot that I don't want to move, not even for a glass of rosé. I can feel my feet swelling.
9. We make it home in time for nature's fireworks. I get in the shower and remember how my grandmother would never let us shower or take a bath if there was a thunderstorm. We couldn't use the telephone either.
10. He asks me if it feels more real now. I can't decide.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Seven
1. 4 mosquito bites. My first ones this summer.
2. The day hasn't broke yet and I walk around back to water the garden and to set the sprinkler in the yard. I miss the deer.
3. The sound of the water. I can hear it running in the basement. Itchy arms.
4. The way anxiety makes your body itch on the inside. I tell him I am going for a bike ride. Alone. I take my cruiser all the way to 5th street. I see wildflowers and weeds I cannot name. I see the crane standing in the water. I see red-winged black birds balancing so perfectly on the tip of a tall stalk. I feel the breeze in my hair and the burn in my thighs.
5. I begin The Keeper of the Bees. He is on a Great Adventure and so am I.
6. I don't know if I turn my eyes to the sky enough.
7. The things I hunger for change in the summer. I have practice restraint with the cherries. I crave tomatoes and cheese and bread. I want to eat like every meal is a picnic in the south of France.
8. Accumulation.
9. But I've had two days of socializing and need to take a break. I need to be alone. I feel badly for not coming out to watch the fireworks that the neighbor is setting off. But I just don't have it in me. I grab a glass of wine and make a small plate of salami and some thin slices of Gruyere. We watch the fireworks from my bedroom window.
10. I can do this.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Six
1. I'm back on the alarm so that there's time for yoga today. The must-get-done list is long and there's also time at the pool in the late morning which means I need to do a bulk of the work before 10 am.
2. But I need to feed myself first.
3. Of course, I can't get all of it done. I get sidetracked by fonts and spacing and suddenly the whole hour is gone and it's time for me to pack a lunch and put on a swimsuit and get them out of the door.
4. It's hot in the sun. I still do not like small talk. The kids are playing so nicely though, and the women are kind. It's not them. It's me.
5. Pool concession stand and being knocked over by nostalgia. A paper cup full of seasoned shoestring fries. A big swirl of vanilla ice cream in a cake cone.
6. I sit on the windowsill in his office and try to warm myself in the sun. We talk. We are always talking. And we've had conversations like this but not exactly like this and so it feels real but not real. So much of life these days has felt real but not real.
7. Phone calls.
8. I still am not sure what I feel.
9. The watermelon has taken up almost all of the free space left in the garden. I need to prune back the tomato plants and stake what's left. Last night's harsh winds from the storm blew everything over and the cages can no longer bear the weight of the plants.
10. I hope I can sleep tonight.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Five
1. One year. I don't see the ending.
2. We have guests coming for dinner. There are shortcakes and loaves of focaccia to make. And still a few walls to wipe down.
3. 7:36 am and they are already arguing.
4. She emails me to tell me that I had to 363's and so really yesterday was my one year mark. I chuckle. Of course I'm off by a day. I debate whether or not I should fix it. But since it maybe doesn't really matter, I decide to leave the days numbered as they are.
5. There's not enough magic eraser for these walls so I call it quits and then realize that I'll still need to paint in order to get rid of most of these marks.
6. The smell of spaghetti and meatballs and shortcakes and focaccia.
7. Flowers and two bottles of wine: White Burgundy and Chianti. The flowers would photograph beautifully and for a quick second I think about returning to Instagram the following day in order to show them.
8. That moment where you had forgotten to ask your husband the other wife's name and you get swept up in conversation and forget to ask and now it's 5 hours later and you want to use her proper name and say a name that you think you heard someone call her but you're not sure so you cross your fingers that you don't sound like a dolt.
9. The time has passed so quickly and that's how you know that the gathering was good.
10. Straight to sleep.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Five
1. One year. I don't see the ending.
2. We have guests coming for dinner. There are shortcakes and loaves of focaccia to make. And still a few walls to wipe down.
3. 7:36 am and they are already arguing.
4. She emails me to tell me that I had to 363's and so really yesterday was my one year mark. I chuckle. Of course I'm off by a day. I debate whether or not I should fix it. But since it maybe doesn't really matter, I decide to leave the days numbered as they are.
5. There's not enough magic eraser for these walls so I call it quits and then realize that I'll still need to paint in order to get rid of most of these marks.
6. The smell of spaghetti and meatballs and shortcakes and focaccia.
7. Flowers and two bottles of wine: White Burgundy and Chianti. The flowers would photograph beautifully and for a quick second I think about returning to Instagram the following day in order to show them.
8. That moment where you had forgotten to ask your husband the other wife's name and you get swept up in conversation and forget to ask and now it's 5 hours later and you want to use her proper name and say a name that you think you heard someone call her but you're not sure so you cross your fingers that you don't sound like a dolt.
9. The time has passed so quickly and that's how you know that the gathering was good.
10. Straight to sleep.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Four
1. Almost a year of this already.
2. The moon in it's thin, translucent skin. The sun is so bright that it's lost its shape.
3. Of all the days to need to clean out the garage. But the list is long and I should do as much as I can while I have the energy to do it.
4. Dripping everywhere. Shirt sticking. I am in the shade. The heat. I scrub down the front door too. It all looks so fresh again.
5. I shower and I think of orange trees and lemon trees and fig trees and all the green.
6. Costco on a Saturday morning is never a good idea. I'm glad I took this place out of my weekly rotation. All the people. All the noise. All the stuff.
7. I start on the sauce. First I put on my apron. I haven't worn it in so long. The linen is beginning to soften and I love that. I love that my daughter will wear this some day. I go out to the garden and stuff the pockets of the apron with rosemary, thyme, sage, oregano, and basil.
8. Cranes in the sky.
9. We sit on the stoop and talk and talk and sometimes we're quiet because they are playing Euro-pop next door and the both of us are trying to figure it out.
10. I love how much he wants to look at the stars. Al of the kids ask questions, but he asks the most and that's an exciting trait—a wondering mind.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Three
1. How is he up before me. Oh. He's late getting up for his flight.
2. A melty ultraviolet sun means a hot day is coming.
3. I did buy cereal yesterday so maybe this morning I can actually relax just a little bit. Just a little bit.
4. The meal plan comes slowly but there have been two requests, one for beef stroganoff and another for butternut squash and bacon pasta, so that makes it just a little easier.
5. I eat my lunch and read in the shade but at these temperatures, it's just so draining that I immediately feel as though I need a nap. But before we go in we check the garden. I pull three very large but very green heirlooms off the vine and hope that they'll ripen in the windowsill.
6. Just as I'm about to close my eyes I feel my phone vibrate. I read the text but now I can't sleep.
7. The hours until he comes home suddenly feel like too much. Since I can't rest I journal and then surf Pinterest and then go back outside to read again before the heat overwhelms me and I come back inside.
8. The littlest one wants to make cookies from the cookbook he got at the library. We make the dough and then I help him roll it out. Now everyone wants to be a chef. I'll take it as a compliment. I think of how lucky their future friends and partners will be to know them.
9. I tell him that I had a dream that it would happen. That it would happen on the Friday after my birthday. And that I shouldn't be surprised because there was a book that arrived for me today at the library too. That should have been a sign.
10. But change can be scary. The only constant thing in life is change. "God is Change." —Parable of the Sowers
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Three
1. 33.
2. I didn't wash the doors or baseboards yesterday which means that since it's cleaning day today, I'll add them to the list.
3. Fog rising up from the wetlands out back. I decide to prune back the tomato plants so that my okra and the rosemary will survive. I decide to trust that I will get what I need.
4. There are these yellow wildflower or weeds out back that I can't wait to trim back and then stick around the house. Yellow used to be my least favorite color but now I see its virtues. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Yellow was my grandmother's favorite color and so when I see these wildflower-weeds I think of her kitchen in Atlanta and the cast iron trivets with ceramic tiles painted with sunflowers.
5. I take my time going over the baseboards. I think of the quote that says something like, housework is love made visible. I complain about the cleaning, but every week I get on my hands and knees and am grateful for the space that holds us.
6. Pool. Crowded. I get everyone situated. I realize that I've under-rated adult swim. I decided that today, that's the only time I'll spend in the pool. I manage to read a few pages of "Braiding Sweetgrass."
7. But is it cultural appropriation for those of us who are uninitiated and homeless and finding a connection in the philosophies and ideologies of other peoples and nations?
8. A few years ago—maybe even just last year—I would have been concerned about the darkening of my skin but this summer I'm relishing the heat and the way the cocoa hues deepen from a few hours in the sun.
9. We get there in just in time for the reservation though it doesn't really matter because it's a Thursday evening in a suburban town. But this is some of the best food in the western suburbs in my opinion. A half glass of Prosecco, a bottle of Piper-Heidsieck, pork belly with cavatelli in a parmesan broth, corn chowder with a smoked poblano crema, wild boar chops with gnocchi and shallots and peas, a glass of 1955 Bodegas Toro Albala Don PX, whiskey date cake, and a cup of decaf. Happy Birthday indeed.
10. The passing of time is often this quiet and ordinary but still full of magic when we choose to pay attention.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Two
1. Gratitude for the 24-hour grocery store. You can tell a lot about a person's week based on their trash. Today is trash day and I'm out before the recycling truck and so I can see the cans overflowing with pizza boxes and TV boxes and air filters. We make more trash in this house than we did in the last one and I'm not entirely sure how or why but I want to change that.
2. The way the light of the morning is falling onto my desk. I should capture this. The beginnings of the day. The one thing about not posting on Instagram is that my camera is not in my hand. We need to become familiar again.
3. The spiderwebs are getting bigger.
4. I will wash the walls and the doors and the baseboards today so that I can paint on Friday. That's the thing about white walls: they show all the evidence of the living.
5. Nothing I am doing is working right. I think it's all in my head.
6. The little one and I go for a ride. Now that he's on two wheels, the world feels so different. As sad as I am that he won't hold my hand in public anymore, I love moments like these where he and I can do things that excite him. Plus I just needed the fresh air.
7. I find a few books in the library but none are exactly what I was looking for. The selection always feels so limited. I can get almost anything digitally but I want a real book. I like to flip pages and feel the texture on my fingertips. Reading is such a sensual experience.
8. I try to work on the computer outside but the between the glare and the loud talking by the landscapers a few houses down, I decide to call it quits and fold laundry.
9. I realize that I've been stewing in shame and guilt and fear for the whole day and this is why everything I've touched is paled over. So I go back to the journal and write while I stir the risotto, circle back to my why, write my gratitude in all caps.
10. The garden is wild. All the tomato plants are now fruiting, there is so much basil and sage and thyme. The okra is beginning to flower. There are two large green bell peppers and the watermelon wants to creep up the side of the house. I like this. I like this a lot.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-One
1. Almost a year of this. Really? It doesn't even feel like it's been this long.
2. I wonder what I will do with all of these words. Some of these are the beginnings or the endings of poems that have yet to be written.
3. But we're out of cheddar cheese I think and so this might not go over very well. So it's just bagels and fruit like the day before.
4. This headache just won't go away.
5. All of the details for Fever Dreams 2019 are typed up and written out and now all that's left to do is to email all of the women in the upcoming weeks and cross fingers and toes that this is something everyone is needing again. I know I need it.
6. I'm thinking of her making her way to France. I am sad that I won't make it this year. Maybe next year or the year after that.
7. I lay down to try to sleep off the headache. It feels like a needle is being pressed into my left temple. I want to stay awake and read but I close my eyes and turn onto my side.
8. I wake up with a start. In the dream it was already 4:30 and time for me to make dinner. I go down and get more water and a few crackers and then lay back down. I am grateful that I can rest.
9. Then what am I really doing?
10. Maybe I can't do hard things.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty
1. Dream of remembering my yoga posture and driving long distances.
2. Grassy shadows.
3. No one seems to like my "figure out breakfast on your own" mornings. I'll cook tomorrow.
4. I go through and map out the months and feel this weight on one side of my body that means that something is not right. I've spent far too many years questioning my intuition, wondering if I've confused it (intuition) with resistance to the hard stuff.
5. I can do hard things.
6. I know this is a library book but I begin to dog-ear the pages. This is a book I'll need to go and buy and reread later.
7. "How can one, however, in any other terms than in the symbols of power?" - The Fire Next Time
8. I fold the laundry and think and think. Then I grab the notebook and write to her. A letter I will probably never send but I think that maybe bits and pieces of this will become something. I try to explain these three anchors and what they mean to me at this moment: "honor life," "legacy," and "sovereignty." These words are hefty.
9. At some point, I ought to vacuum up these spider webs in the sills. I make a mental list of all things that will need to be done. It doesn't overwhelm me. But it is a very long list.
10. I pick a dessert for our guests to enjoy on Sunday. A kind of deconstructed strawberry shortcake. I'll need some small mason jars for this. I'll use fresh mint from the garden. I'll whip the cream by hand. It will be a good Sunday.