Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Seven
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Mosquito buzzing near my ear.
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A little too wrinkly.
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Leftover vegetables with the breakfast sausage. Counting down the minutes until they all wake.
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Supernatural.
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The roll-up is down which means today will be a light day.
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They say the song reminds them of a movie. I laugh to myself; I am old enough to have heard the song on the radio. Delilah, to be exact.
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I roll the windows down and turn off the music. Just the sound of the air rushing through the car, the tires rolling over acorns and leaves, a leafblower.
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I catch up on emails while sitting in the pickup line. He asks for the podcast with the scary stories.
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His answer is always the same but so is my question.
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Praise the leftovers.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Six
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A regular clothes day.
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She’s already awake? Oh, yeah. Birthday pastries.
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Half a blueberry muffin, coffee with oat milk creamer, water, a view. The clacking of my fingers on the keys in between bites and sips.
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I think of the worst-case scenario. It is not ideal, but it is doable.
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This is not sustainable.
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A handful of friends are gathered at the top of the stairs and yell “happy birthday” as she exits the car. Someone has a gift. I am both curious and happy and uncomfortable.
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Working in the car gives me headaches now. I look out the window and notice how much thicker the fog is on this side of the range. Sometimes the treetops poke through. Everything is shrouded in a milky haze.
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She is now the easiest to shop for.
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At the end of the meal, they bring her a toque signed by the kitchen staff.
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Decisions need to be made.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Five
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Just barely enough sleep.
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Cereal for them. V8 for me. Coffee with oat milk creamer. Tiny cup.
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Life imitating art: the irony of me trying to take a call about the challenges of working mothers while also trying to wrangle the kids into the car to take them to school. Another real-life moment.
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A familiar face that I’m happy to see.
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I reread the pages on pumpovers while I wait for the car to fill up with gas.
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I volunteer to rake so that I can stare out of the roll-top and take in the view of the vineyard and the hillsides in the distance.
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A wave of sadness as I eat my sandwich. That feeling of stuckness, of not knowing what to do next.
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I really want to get into these bins but I have to leave.
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Unexpected space.
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Too tired for ice cream.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Four
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Back to the noises on the roof.
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The quiet.
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Everyone is still asleep as I pour my first cup. Pink streaks of clouds in the morning sky.
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The light is good and I have things to say and so I lean the phone against the leg of the chair and try to capture what it is I am feeling.
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Forgot to wear my nightguard. Can still open my mouth. Feels like a tiny miracle.
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Just trust yourself.
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I am not documenting enough.
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I keep having visions of myself laying down, sprawled out on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. Everything is okay. I am just there in the quiet, not doing a thing.
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More work and no sleep.
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If I’m going to be awake in the middle of the night, at least I’m in a vineyard where the stars are bright and the air is cool.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Four
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Still tired but up early.
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Have I forever lost my ability to sleep in?
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Blueberry bread for them, leftover garlic toast for me.
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Just the three of us today. I like the quiet.
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She asks me how I’m doing. I tell her that it’s meditative. And it is.
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Soup and quesadillas for lunch. I am more hungry than I thought I would be. I should have had more than one garlic toast.
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It’s hot in the sun, but not as hot as yesterday.
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After I am done, we talk about the challenges of doing what we’re doing, even though we’re doing what we want to do. I am still shifting things around, trying to figure out what works best, and I still don’t have it figured out.
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I tell him that I’m really tired. He says that he can tell. And at this moment, I feel a little bit better. To have it acknowledged by someone other than myself is a bit of a relief.
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Is “this slaps” still a thing?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Four
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I want more sleep.
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I try to do the time math in my head. Yes, if start now, I can be done before the game.
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I don’t realize how tight all of my muscles are until we start to move. Even I am groaning today.
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Fast fingers.
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I tell her that I am dead. However, I tell her all the other things I am and that all together I feel like I should be dead.
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The sun feels particularly unkind today.
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Car show in this tiny downtown.
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Can’t seem to get the offense going. 0-0 at the half.
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Still can’t quite figure out tomorrow. I slide the last handful of skittles into my mouth.
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I tell him that these Saturday night games are worse than the baseball night games and then I feel my eyes start to close.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Three
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Flashes of lighting. I check to see what time it is.
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Loud thunder and then the sound of rain. Rain! I smile and try to go back to sleep.
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Everything is wet. That is a very good thing.
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It’s kind of like survivor guilt and I don’t really like this feeling.
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Everything is changing. Nothing stays the same. What can I do to make it easier on myself?
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Just enough time to shower before we go. I am still sweating. She is on the floor of my hallway helping the repairman fix the washing machine. When will I have time to clean the house the weekend? There will not be any time.
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I can’t remember the last time I was in Oakland. I watch the landscape change. We cross over a bridge, the name of which I do not know. Below us water. Out across the horizon, shadow mountains and haze. Everything looks grey-blue, like an old black-and-white photo.
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“I thought the tickets said no tailgating?”
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Where did I go wrong?
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Surrender to your truth.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Two
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Early to bed, early to rise.
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Maybe not that early.
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Losing grace.
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Time slipping through my fingers. How do I make it slow down again? Breathe.
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Things are humming.
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I hop into the Sbin to find the pig. Grapes almost to my waist. I dig around with my hands. Grapes up to my biceps. But I find it.
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“It’s a real-life moment. That’s all. Just a real-life moment,” I tell him. It probably doesn’t make him feel that much better.
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I hop in and foot tread 4.5 tons before I go.
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Right. Use clearer language.
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Two baskets to the laundromat. We find a washer to hold it all and then walk to the grocery store and then grab a glass of wine while we wait. There are worse things.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-One
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No. Not yet.
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But I did it.
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Done and done and done.
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I stop and take a picture mainly because it really is such a beautiful place and I want to be here and that is a good thing.
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I do it from memory and that makes me feel good.
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I am a little embarrassed but I realize that the feeling is just insecurity, lack of confidence. Because I don’t want to mess up. Because maybe there was something I didn’t understand. But mostly I don’t want to mess up.
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They say something about a job they had before where all they did was stand at a belt and sort. I laugh to myself. This is exactly what my mind is craving these days: repetitive work with my body
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I am sweating and people seem concerned. “I’m okay. I just sweat easily,” I say. She brings me cold water. I stare out into the vineyard and think about the old house and the garden and how I wish I had another piece of land to work on.
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I show him the tanks and the caves. “Can I work there when I’m fifteen or sixteen?” he asks.
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So many things to say.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty
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Night sweats. Must mean it will be hot today.
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Change in plans. Roll with it. There’s nothing you can do about it now.
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I am early enough that I can sit in the car and finish up emails and posts and still be early for work. But I really need to figure out this new routine.
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Brix and temp.
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It’s better to be slow.
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I pick leaves from the berries on the sorting table and try to write the article in my head. I think of everything that needs to be done. There is something meditative about this process. I forget to switch and make additions, but the other two have it covered.
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Tacos and guac.
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And….there it is. Right on cue. I laugh on the inside, but it’s more sad than funny.
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I ask them for help. I tell them that I need them to go to their father more often for things. I am not home all day like I used to be. I tell them that there are many things happening right now and I just can’t remember. I need them to rely on their father. They seem to understand.
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Thank goodness for leftovers.
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I can do this. I’ve done it before.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Nineteen
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That bird again?
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Out of flour for the biscuits.
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We laugh at how long the line is at 6-something in the morning. He asks me if I’m always up this early and what’s my name and if I live in town and what do I do. I answer all of his questions and he tells me they call him “Uncle Norm.” I don’t ask him what he does because I’ve gathered that he’s lived here for quite some time and he has a Gamble Family Vineyards hat on and a six-pack of Fetzer Chardonnay for the day’s festivities. He says he knows my new employer from one of the local churches. “Now that we’ve met, I’m sure I’ll see you all the time,” he says as we walk towards our cars.
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Drop biscuits brushed with melted butter.
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I should maybe come to the laundromat more often. It’s quiet in here.
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Darioush. On the plate: Ossau-Itary, Mimolette, grapes, figs, pistachio butter, and dill micrgreens. In the glass: 2020 Viogner, 2018 Merlot, 2018 Cabernet Franc, 2018 Cabernet Sauvignon, 2018 Darius II.
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BLT and water and truffle chips before the next stop. The sun is bright. I am still hot from moving the clothes in and out of the laundromat.
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Frog’s Leap. He opens up a 1998 Merlot and we taste it side-by-side with the current release. There is no mistaking that these are relatives, “Uncle and nephew,” he says.
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I thought I had more time.
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I confess to her that I’m not sure I will survive these next 30 days. I’ve done it to myself.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Eighteen
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Again.
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Close eyes. Take a deep breath. Try to listen only to the sounds of the waves.
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Grapefruit, hard-boiled eggs, sourdough toast, bacon, her homemade fig jam, coffee.
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The irony of butter on my toast and oat milk in my coffee.
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Guilty.
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Biale.
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Time.
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Everything and nothing.
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They don’t know what “Frazier” is. We laugh.
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She finds the old phone and shows me a picture. We search through the rest of them while I make the cobbler. They are babies - 1 year, 3 years, 5 years. Funny faces. A game called “Huggies”.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventeen
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It’s probably only 4:00am and I should just close my eyes and try to go back to sleep.
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Awake again. Still dark. Not yet 4:00.
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I stare at the reflection of the streetlight in a puddle of water. Where did the water come from? Everything else is so dry.
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No river, only bed.
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She makes a joke and I laugh while trying to hold the pose, abs tight, legs quivering.
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The day already feels long.
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So hungry.
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The hustle and bustle of harvest. We taste the lees from one of the barrels, eat a few chardonnay grapes, move in and out of the way of the forklifts.
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Everything looks different.
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I try to write the post in my head and pray that bits of it will stay there long enough for me to remember.
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It took me over an hour but they are always worth it. Always.
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Start over again tomorrow.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixteen
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The whizzing sound of water pushing through the irrigation hoses.
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Darkness.
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The season is changing.
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Who is driving whom to what places in which cars?
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The shift in energy due to the finality of things.
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Slow and steady the first time. Alone in the dark and quiet. Going to need a heavier jacket.
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Incremental progress.
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They keep asking for things and I keep having to say “no,” and I can see the disappointment in their face. Things have changed. Things are always changing. Is it truly for the better?
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Will they remember this as the break in the relationship, when everything was different. Am I losing them? Are they losing me? What is falling through?
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It’s just not how I like to head into a weekend with a guest. But grateful for their understanding.
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Gott’s for dinner. I let them get ice cream.
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I’ve got to learn to relax.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Fifteen
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It must be the sound of the irrigation I’m hearing.
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Brisk.
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Today is less complicated but still feels very full.
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The truth is that everyone is not having the same experience, even though we think we are.
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I suggest a red polo with the blazer this year, just so that it looks different from the last two years. Really gotta get this kid a suit for Christmas.
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Delivering delight.
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I actually do like cleaning.
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Smells like burning rubber.
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Perfect weather for a glass of wine out on the bench. We watch people go up and down the sidewalk. You can tell it’s the weekend by the way the people are dressed. I think of the conversations in the apps. How much of this is good for the town, how much of this is bad? How do we strike a balance?
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You can change your mind when presented with new information.
Ten.One Thousand,Five Hundred & Fourteen
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Is this the last of the coffee?
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I stir the oats slowly while I listen to the coffee percolate. These dark mornings remind me that summer is over, a new season is upon us. I do not mind the dark.
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Cold feet.
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Relief.
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She asks me for an update. I tell her that it’s best that I call because it is a little more complicated than it seems.
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She always reminds me that I get to choose joy and trust in what I am able to manifest for myself. “You wouldn’t be sitting there in California if you couldn’t.”
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Intuition never lies.
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Blessing of the grapes. A few stories.
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I want more time.
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He gives me a rundown of what is happening this afternoon for each child and where each child is and where each child needs to be. Then I tell him about all of the things I learned today. I had a good day. I needed a good day.
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He manages to talk me into meeting most of his requests. Maybe it’s because he’s the baby. Maybe it’s because he’s so persistent.
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“Look at the sun,” I say. “Like a neon sign,” I say.
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“…self-narration and self-archiving known in Western society as “journaling”. Our journals, the catalogs of our lifetimes, form life libraries that confirm our testimonies to our future self and descendants. Our written narratives are the foundation of our matriarchal integrity, and the act of journaling postures us to live in wisdom, lives of dignity and virtue in a society that profits from our mental enslavement and dissonance between past, present and future.” - Chimene
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We could tell a more compelling story.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirteen
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I open my eyes and look at the windows. Still dark.
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But no more dreams about the forklift.
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Double-check the schedule.
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Something is off. I try to ignore it.
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Sneak peeks at beautiful things. The sun is out. At this moment, the sky is clear and the light is thin. It looks like fall.
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We don’t make it all the way down the hill and maybe it’s a good thing.
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Well, I might as well just say it.
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“This isn’t it, is it?” They tell me where to go next. Just follow the road around the curve. I make it out of the gate and then turn. But I’m still not sure.
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“Did you find it okay.” “No. But I left early enough so that I could get lost and still be on time,” I say.
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Not ready for that. Am I ready for anything?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twelve
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Not yet time for the alarm.
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Missed call from Mom.
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DM from Mom. I need to call.
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The last time she talked to him was 8:00pm her time.
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I call her. We talk. Every scenario goes through my mind. What are my options? I text Roxy. I DM Bear. I search the Twitter feeds. I ask for the address and the name of the neighborhood. I search Facebook. I find what I think is the page for the home owner’s association. I tell them the details: My mom is not there. We can’t reach my father. I just need someone who can give me information.
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But it is so beautiful. The fog. The cool air. The grapes. The green vines. There are worse things.
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I keep checking my phone, even though I know I shouldn’t be checking my phone.
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“I checked on [him]. He is good.” I screenshot the message and send it to everyone else.
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The videos make me even more nervous.
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I pass. “Needs more practice,” it says. Well. Considering I’ve only done it for three hours, I’m okay with that note.
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Remember lunch next time.
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I am not just angry. I am sad. I am sad, but not surprised.
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I really like it here. I really, really like it here.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Eleven
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I shouldn’t be awake yet. I blame it on the forklift dreams.
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It will be a full day.
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The Weather Channel app only gives you a ten-minute trial. Ten minutes! But ten minutes is enough for me to know that it’s a Category 4.
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Hazy morning skies. Hot air balloons floating along the horizon. Which ones have just taken off? Which ones are landing?
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Slow stroll through the store. Some things are the same. Some things are different.
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It’s almost like he’s forgotten everything he learned.
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“We need a basketball hoop,” he says.
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“Going to try to sneak in a nap?” “No. I can’t nap. But I can rest.”
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Scores his first touchdown on a 34-yard run. Then scores the extra point.
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“It’s okay. You can smile. You had a good game.”
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Where did I hide the caramel sauce?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ten
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I laugh at the dream. So worried about the test.
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I tell her all the things and her reaction tells me that I'm not the crazy one.
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Bagels.
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Already so hot.
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Drying uniforms on the front deck.
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We all try to stay in the shade but it doesn't keep us from sweating.
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The smallness of this world.
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I laugh. I look out over the view.
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2018 Bevan Cellars Otogeny Red Blend. 2016 Bevan Cellars Tench Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon. 2017 Bevan Cellars Tench Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon, The Calixto. 2018 Bevan Cellars Tench Vineyard Red Blend, EE. 2019 Bevan Cellars Tench Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon. 2018 Resolution Cabernet Sauvignon. 2019 Per Us Ines Cabernet Sauvignon. 2019 Chase Zinfandel, Hayne Vineyard.
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Someone is playing music. Mexican mariachi. The sky has cleared and the stares are bright.
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“You couldn't have done this in Oswego,” he says.