Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety-Five

1. How much longer can I stay in bed?

2. I see his thin body snake its way through a crack in the door. I know he’s looking for an electronic device. “Get out of here.”

3. Sunshine donuts. One cup of coffee even though the doctor didn’t recommend it.

4. The colors, the colors. In another life I’d be a painter.

5. Cold hands.

6. The ways in which the things we don’t stay say still have a way of making it into the air. Anything can be felt.

7. It seems silly to say that I’ve never seen clouds like these before, but, I really feel like I’ve never seen clouds like these before. Perhaps it’s just that here, in this particular landscape, they take on a new kind of shape.

8. So much sun.

9. I leave before everyone else. I wish I could stay. But I just want to get back to my family.

10. Full moon vibes. There’s just something about the way it illuminates the sky, making the arrival of night more friendly.

Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety-Four

1. A little bit of daylight.

2. They’re stocking the grocery store. I am only one of three people actually trying to shop. But I just need a little bit to get them through the next few days.

3. I need to renew my routine of proper meal planning. I hate this errand-running thing.

4. Coffee. First cup in four days.

5. All the rain means saturated earth, saturated colors. Everything is more rich and lush.

6. I walk to the car for a lunch break and turn on The New Yorker Poetry podcast. There’s just something about Marie Howe’s voice.

7. So much pain.

8. The moon is almost full and there’s still a little bit of evening light left over. Silhouettes of mountains. The promise of a star-filled sky.

9. Turkey burgers are waiting for me.

10. The wait in the ER feels so long. The last thing I want to do right after a long day at work. I play word games on my phone. But at least it’s quiet. At least I’m sitting down. Yes, a bladder infection. Medicine. I’ll feel better tomorrow.

Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety-Three

1. The sound of rain.

2. He’s sleeping with his legs crossed. Even now, in their growing bodies, the way they sleep mirrors much of the way they slept as babies: arched backs, fists at the chin, legs crossed, arms overhead.

3. A little bit of sun.

4. Resistance. Just not feeling it. Could also just be the stress of it all.

5. The fear of missing out.

6. Culture over everything. But how sometimes that philosophy makes it hard to do the things you need or have to do.

7. The rain is back.

8. What do I want to be when I grow up?

9. “…that life can be perfectly satisfying without major achievements.” - “Too Much Happiness”, Alice Munro

10. That feeling you get when you realize that life still is not set up in such a way for you to do everything you want to do, but that it is primed for the kind of work that your heart’s been longing to do. There is time for the writing. There is time to be the greatest writer I can be. If only I weren’t so afraid of the work required.

Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety-Two

1. I’ll save the boxes of candy for after school.

2. I remember how my mother used to buy the both of us a box of chocolates every Valentine’s day. She never said anything either. They would just be there in the morning when we came downstairs for breakfast. Every year.

3. A little bit of sun breaking through. Everything is damp and glittering.

4. What is it about freshly vacuumed floors that give so much pleasure?

5. What is it that I want to do though? How is it that I’ve come all this way and now feel so lost? It i s both scary and freeing.

6. Acknowledge where the blessings have already been received.

7. We drive to Livermore in the rain. The hillside is dotted with cream-colored sheep. Where did they come from? What lies on the other side of the hill? Cows gathering in the corner of the pen, their backs turned toward the rain.

8. “You just can’t do strip mall sushi.” “You’re such a snob.” “I’ve always been bourgeois.”

9. He offers to get the kids from school which is really the very best kind of gift anyone could give me.

10. Champagne and pizza and a long, very hot shower.

Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety-One

1. I feel like I need more sleep.

2. The sound of the rain hitting the concrete. I wish it was one of those days where I could just lay in the bed and read and drink tea.

3. Cold hands. Cold feet. He reminds me that I forgot sliced cheddar and chicken nuggets. The other kids always wonder why he gets so much more and that’s because he is always asking. I think of how my mother used to tell me, “Ye have not because ye ask not.” Is that from the Bible? I don’t know. I just know I wish I was as comfortable with asking for what I wanted as my 7 year-old.

4. Short day. Cinnamon, cardamom, clove, a slice of orange, peppercorns. Sweeten with local honey. Add a little bit of vanilla pea milk. Oh, yes. This is going to be addictive.

5. It’s too late to quit. I better sit down and get to work.

6. The pond looks like it might overflow. Where will the water go when it does? There is something peaceful about today’s rain. The way the palms are swaying in the breeze is hypnotic.

7. Maps.

8. The dough is yellow just as I’d expect it to be. I can’t get the pasta machine to roll it out thinly enough. It just won’t anchor to the counter well enough. I decide to hand roll the rest. I end up with big fat squares filled with basil and ricotta.

9. I wish I had Chianti. I pull out a bottle of Sonoma Coast Vineyards Pinot Noir. But then I think about how they ruined it by changing the clonal selection and I decide not to open it. What I really need is a Chianti, anyway.

10. We manage to get the hair done without tears.

Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety

1. This app won’t work for overnight.

2. The upside to him being gone: turning on all the lights and making the bed before breakfast. It’s the little things.

3. Not enough of the right things to cobble together a lunch for school.

4. There’s still a teeny bit of snow up on Mt. Diablo.

5. Oh, hard to hold this fire inside me / All I know, sometimes it's frightening / Hard to hold this fire inside me

6. There are just something things that you don’t forget not matter how hard you try. But I’m noticing that as more time goes by, the emotions attached to the memories begin to fade.

7. Maybe it’s not too late for a refund. Shoot. Missed it by 3 days. If only I had thought about quitting sooner. Just need to buckle down. But probably no more after this.

8. Everyone needs a Sarah Dorfman in their lives. 8 more months.

9. She brings in a large box and says that it’s for me. Even the 11 year-old boy says that the bottles are so pretty.

10. Save the seeds. Begin the olive trees indoors. We’ll see how this goes.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Nine

1. But I don’t really want to get up.

2. I start bacon and coffee, boil some eggs, drink water, prepare a nettle and oat straw infusion for the day.

3. The sun is pouring into the kitchen. I remember again that I live in California. That there’s no place to go because I am already here.

4. Too much coffee but it’s so good.

5. I inch myself beneath the blankets and journal. The children aren’t bothering me.

6. “What would happen if I just stopped?” Why is this a question I’m always asking myself. I try to write a newsletter. I want to talk about rest. I want to talk about the oranges. I want to talk about my confusion. But the confusion is so thick that I decide not to say anything at all. And I let that be ok.

7. It’s because I’ve outgrown the old skin and I’ve yet to stitch together a new form. I am amorphous.

8. I think of her grieving.

9. Someone keeps taking nibbles out of the leftover galette.

10. On to beer, sake, and spirits. 41 days.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Eight

1. Ok. Just need to get a little bit of coffee into me.

2. The slow arrival of light. This is my favorite part of the morning.

3. Bacon and biscuits into the oven. I make a list of just the bare minimum. He’s going to the store for me so that I can clean. I realize that there’s so much I get that’s not on the list. Things he won’t think to get. That will have to be okay for today.

4. I remind myself that this is something the kids can do. I organize that house into zones and offer them $2 per zone. Good. Now the dust is gone from the baseboards.

5. Which reminds me that we need to get back to a chore list.

6. I think of that day I messaged her, “what is normal anymore?” Two moves in two years and me still telling myself, when things settle down, when things settle down.

7. No one is available.

8. I am extraordinarily hungry. I eat two bowls of soup, a few handfuls of almonds, water and more water.

9. The way the sun lights up the house. What will summer be like?

10. The tightness in my jaw has returned. I force space between my upper and lower teeth, rest my tongue in such a way that it kind of props the mouth into a more open state. Will it never not be a thing?

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Seven

1. Oat straw infusion. I’ll make myself some nettle tea when I get back. Nettle tea and a good cup of coffee too.

2. I hear spoons in bowls. But I know that they can’t watch anything because I shut the internet off.

3. Just enough to get through today. And then I can do more tomorrow. I didn’t manage my time this week very well.

4. Bacon. Stuff for chicken tortilla soup. Dishwasher detergent I pause to look at the flowers; I’ll wait until I can get to Trader Joe’s.

5. The upside to getting to the store so early: seeing the pink tint of the clouds at sunrise.

6. Thin fog weaving through the hills.

7. Chicago and Nebraska.

8. Twenty-one Twenty-Somethings. So much color. So chill. So friendly.

9. I’m zoning out. They’re asking me if I’m tired of them. No. I just realized that it’s 3:30 and I haven’t eaten lunch.

10. Be ready for the unexpected. It’s only a matter of time.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Six

1. It’s not time yet.

2. The light is slow to come. There will be rain today.

3. I miss being able to read the sky. I am trying to learn this one, though without access to as much expanse, it’s difficult. In the next house, I will make sure there is a view.

4. All black. I think of how she said that I was lucky that this was my uniform since it’s what I like to wear. Yes. All black everything.

5. Parts of the hillside illuminated from sunlight breaking through the clouds. The cows. Fewer hawks but more sea gulls. Whenever I see a seagull I think of Jonathan Livingston.

6. I’m kind of happy it’s so slow today.

7. She starts talking and then she starts crying. She grabs her friend’s are to steady herself. I give them some space. Her husband has called to tell her that he was fired. I bring tissue. And more wine.

8. I am reminded of the heavy lifting required in partnerships.

9. But we’ve all done hard things.

10. I burned the pizza. I just don’t have the energy. Something about a combination of working on a weekday plus being late to pick up the kids from school plus the empathy for the woman in the tasting room plus the rain. And also knowing the other work that awaits this weekend.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Five

1. 3:32. Where is that watch?

2. Surely there's no way I'll be able to get back to sleep now.

3. Putting butter on toast. A flashback to the small kitchen in Georgia where my grandfather would make toast by putting it in the oven. Sometimes each slice of bread was topped with a piece of very orange cheddar cheese.

4. “I dealt with extremes on the other end. I think the hottest I’ve ever felt was 156 degrees in Iraq.” Ah, a vet. I make a note in my head to thank him for his service later.

5. I want to see where this road will take me.

6. A quick bite at the Mexican restaurant in the strip mall down the street. One chicken, one asada, one el pastor. Plus a chicken tamale please. Margarita with salt on the rim.

7. We have a guest staying the night and I am no where near prepared. Work both Friday and Saturday. Where to squeeze in grocery shopping and cleaning and cooking and making the room just right.

8. I’m still feeling bad about the plan not working out. But life happens and it’s OK. I know what I can handle and adding one more thing won’t help me much. But I still feel like I’ve disappointed them.

9. He boo’d me.

10. Maybe I should just try.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Four

1. No more pain. No more pain.

2. Today, making nettle and oatstraw infusions. Once I pass this certified exam I can get back to my herbalism studies.

3. The first light. Deep blue sky on one side and the yellow-gold glow on the other.

4. He's taking them to school today. It's a small thing that feels like a big thing for which I'm very grateful.

5. Laundry.

6. 46 days. North Coast, Central Coast. How come I can't ever find anything on Livermore Valley?

7. I remind myself that it took us 3 years from the day we actually agreed that it's what we wanted. The no is just for right now. Trust the timing of things.

8. The shape of the hills in the distance. The blades of the turbines turning so slowly. Bright green and blue and the cotton ball clouds. These clouds have names. I will learn them one day.

9. It's cool in the shade but then the sun hits by back and it's burning a hole between my shoulders.

10. I miss my camera.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Four

1. Tuesday, Tuesday. How is it only Tuesday?

2. The weather app said it would be cloudy but it's all sun. The clouds are low but the sun is just right there.

3. Snow on top of Mt. Diablo. I wish I could pull over and take a picture for my friends back home.

4. She asks if California has changed me because here I am asking about a 3-room tent.

5. There is a version of myself, California Alisha, that is not like Chicago Alisha. I recognize this. California Alisha moves outside of her comfort zone. California Alisha thinks she could lay in a tent on the beach and let the waves lull her to sleep. California Alisha just might camp in a tent. California Alisha learns to relax.

6. Bed. Heating pad. Unusually bad.

7. The day just goes by too quickly. 1:45 is too, too soon.

8. Dinner? Chicken Teriyaki. Yes. That will be easy.

9. Science fair. I'm just glad we did it. Done is better than perfect. The littlest one wants to do it too. No, oh, no. I suppose we have to.

10. He says that the cramps are probably so bad because I haven't been doing my yoga and exercising like I used to. He's right. And I hate to admit it, but it's true: my body was its best version of itself—meaning I had the least amount of PMS symptoms and less pain— when I was gluten and dairy free and doing Bikram twice a week. But oh, to give up Parmesan and focaccia. I don't know if I can do it again.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Three

1. It’s too early. I can tell. Yes. 4:25 am. I opt to toss and turn for another hour instead of disturb anyone else by getting up.

2. I wake her up so she can finish writing her results and conclusion plus there are still pictures to print and glue down.

3. What time is it?

4. Rainbow.

5. Double rainbow. How can you have a bad day after seeing this?

6. The sound of the rain against the roof. Plink. Plink. Plink.

7. New moon. I give myself permission to make a vision board instead of study. Beyonce, a quote from Ralph Lauren, the interior of a photographer's studio showing her fine art prints, glasses of wine and plate of food on hand-thrown ceramics.

8. 2014 Qupe Grenache.

9. The realization that we might have to be present for the entire 2 hours tomorrow.

10. I tell him that I just need a creative outlet, and today it looks like this.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Two

1. “I was just going to watch tv.” Uh-huh, right. I send him back to his room, mainly because I know he’s tired and I want a little bit of quiet while I start breakfast.

2. Brown sugar. Brown sugar.

3. Ok. So we’re still doing this. I ask her to write down everything she needs so I can run to the store to pick it up. This seems simple enough.

4. In a way, I admire her persistence. Maybe, at the end of all of this, she will indeed absorb some skills. But next year…next year I know what to do.

5. Clenched.

6. My introversion is kicking in. I’m fighting the urge to complain about going to the neighbor’s house for the game. I don’t want to socialize. Plus this science fair project is due tomorrow. Plus I need to study for my certified exam. But I already made the caramel corn so there’s that.

7. Waiting for ice to melt.

8. The caramel corn gets devoured. I finally meet my immediate next door neighbors and find out that they also have a teenage daughter. 3 potential babysitters. Amazing.

9. Everyone is so nice. And that is great. And it makes me wonder whether or not we’d need to look anywhere for a permanent home.

10. Tired. Tired.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-One

1. 7:06. I must have needed the extra sleep.

2. The slow arrival of morning light through the rain clouds. I think I still hear the gutters dripping.

3. I do my make-up but keep my robe on. I take my coffee back to bed.

4. She’s still wanting to do this project. I help her take pictures of her materials.

5. The way the sun is peaking through the clouds and touching the tips of the hills.

6. What shade of green is this? It’s almost electric. Almost too bright and fluorescent to be real.

7. Three familiar faces.

8. I am thinking of what I will do tomorrow: slow morning, another cup or two of coffee in bed, maybe I’ll finally write a newsletter, read a little bit, make more flashcards, Super Bowl party. Good thing we have younger kids to use as an excuse to leave a little early.

9. The manager repeats a compliment about me given to her by one of the guests today. If I were a fairer shade I would have been very red.

10. The tangelo is a little sour but very juicy. A little bit of moonlight is reflecting off the clouds and I can see the silhouette of the hills and mountains. It’s still an eerie drive in the dark even though I’m getting use to this road at night. Looking forward to lengthening of days when this commute will be filled with soft golden light.

Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty

1. That watch. 3:32 am. I gotta figure out how to turn it off.

2. How is it already February? Soon enough it will be March and then school will be out and then it will be Christmas again.

3. Rose-gold sunrise. A layer of popcorn clouds.

4. Tea instead of coffee.

5. Gladiolas. Pink and Purple. So tall. No mantles in this house on which to display them but I’ll make room for them somewhere.

6. Leftover chili in bed. Can’t seem to stay warm.

7. Anbaugebiete. Beirech. Einzellage.

8. Big fat drops on the windows.

9. Real estate alerts. Not that we’re doing anything any time soon, just trying to gather data. Making notes of what I like and what I don’t; where we might be able to find a decent lot size to accommodate my gardening plans and she-shed dreams.

10. I can still hear the rain dripping off of the gutters and onto the cement outside the door. Steady in its rhythm like a lullaby.

Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy-Nine

1. 3:32 am. Great. I doubt I’ll be able to get anything out of the next two hours.

2. I think to what he said: “You don’t have time for anything else.” It is true. And yet it is not. There is always time for the right thing.

3. Cleaning day.

4. I wonder whether or not I should put down the spray bottle and write instead. But the truth is that this kind of work, this regularly scheduled cleaning, is helpful to me. I get to sort out all of my feelings.

5. “When I’m on The New Yorker podcast, I’m going to read ‘To Reach Japan’ by Alice Munro. Deborah and I will talk about what it says about motherhood and womanhood and yes, it will be so good.”

6. I catch what I just said to myself: “When I’m on The New Yorker podcast…” What a lofty goal. But also, not entirely impossible.

7. We told him just last night how important it is to visualize himself being really great, hitting balls, catching balls. You gotta visualize yourself succeeding. Right.

8. “Smells clean.”

9. I put Tropic of Cancer in the bag designated for library returns. I gave it 6 chapters. It just didn’t do anything for me.

10. He missed all three pitches. How can you be perfect at something you’ve never done before?

Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy-Eight

1. Boiled eggs with beet horseradish and a few slices of bacon.

2. He’s eaten three bowls of cereal. Everyone was up and out here before me again. Gotta get rid of this cold.

3. Oh, no. Not another one that wants to do a science fair project. He’s dead set on the volcano. She is beginning to freak out about the fact that her spherification project is due in 5 days. How hands on am I supposed to be about this?

4. There are only two of them in the car and this makes for a quieter ride. Take away one, it’s always so different.

5. Why the tension?

6. It’s warmer outside on the patio, in the sun, than it is inside. I ought to bring a small table out here so that I can write with my back warmed by the mid-day light. Remember to look on Craigslist for something suitable.

7. I stop for crossword puzzles and sour gummy worms.

8. The sound of the ball hitting the glove. A good and hard swack. I wonder if he appreciates having a mother who will throw a ball around. He goes inside to change his shirt and pick off a lemon and an orangey orange. The smell of citrus on my fingertips.

9. I wish they hadn’t changed this PInot Noir so much. It used to be so elegant.

10. Edge.

Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy-Seven

1. Don’t want to get up.

2. Cinnamon Chex.

3. If only. If only everyone would do what I asked the first time I asked it.

4. Now all three of the magnolias are in bloom. Bright pink petals against the clear blue sky.

5. I think of my friends back in Chicago. I think of the cold. I think of how me moved at the very right time.

6. Flash cards and more flash cards. The good thing is that some of this I really do remember. 54 days.

7. Afternoon crash. A little bit of tightness in the throat.

8. More Alice Munro in the pick-up line. I don’t want to put it down. I wonder how many accidents occur because people are trying to read and drive at the same time?

9. When you’re trying to listen to the New Yorker Poetry podcast but people keep coming in to talk to me. Futile.

10. Can’t get warm enough. The irony of being someplace considerably warmer than where you left but also needing to be conscious of your energy usage which means keeping the house at such a low temperature that your hands and feet are constantly cold.