Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Seven
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Cold fingers and toes.
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Quiet on the roof this morning.
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Already past 7:00 am.
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The sky is gray and low and it really feels like fall.
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I start to climb the ladder. I think of how only a few short weeks ago the idea of climbing scared me. There are many things I am no longer afraid of since I began.
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At lunch, we take an imaginary trip to Rome.
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One day I will write a story about this twenty-year-old green sweater.
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Pork chops and apples. The smell of allspice and sage and clove. Potatoes. She says it tastes like fall.
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Dana Scully.
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Three antacids. Three more. Five.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Six
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4:14 am. Oh boy.
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But there are things to do and I can do them now if I get up.
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Two eggs, scrambled. Three pieces of bacon. One liter of water. Patiently waiting for the sun to rise.
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“I got my contacts on in one try!”
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“Alisha! Are you feeling strong today?” “Barrels?” “Barrels.”
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“I said I wanted to be as good as him by the end of harvest, but now I’m beginning to wonder if that’s really a goal I want to achieve.” She laughs.
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PB & J.
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We head down the hill. Left, or right? Wait. They are very particular. I need to slow down and think this through. I glance over and look down at the dry river bed below.
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Good attitudes.
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Probably shouldn’t have finished that cold coffee at 5:00pm.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Five
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We’re still here.
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There are still too many loose ends, but I will tidy them up as best as possible.
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Against the silhouettes of the firs and redwoods, the glowing sliver of a crescent moon.
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Still only one contact in the eye.
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Great. Not just one day home, but multiple days home.
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The layered noises of a fruit day. I settle myself in the cave and get to work.
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I wipe down the sides of the bins and start to plan the next thing. Not next year, but the year after that. April. It has to be before fire season. I listen to myself dreaming again and am grateful for the return of free thought.
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Surprised but not. These were not good terms.
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Certified.
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This is going to be fun.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Four
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Quiet.
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I can’t find the lighter for the candles. I’m sure it’s in her bedroom.
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One cup of coffee together staring out over the trees. The sun is coming up between that narrow V of the valley. Purple and pink and blue under the thin gray strip of fog.
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I count twelve hot air balloons dotting the horizon.
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Sundays.
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She has so much poise.
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I tell him it was a frustrating day today because I made too many mistakes for my liking. He tells me that mistakes are good. He is not wrong.
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There is still much to do.
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The 10-year-old breaks it all down, tells his bigger brother that it’s time to get over it. We are laughing. From the mouths of babes.
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Will I make it to 9 o’clock?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Three
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Morning meditation.
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Less moaning than last week, but still feel all the places that are sore and tight.
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I pause at the top of the stairs and look at the way the light is falling across the space. It is still quiet. It is still so very beautiful.
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Coffee in a regular mug, in the car, with white pants. Living on the edge.
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He says that for not the one very hard thing, we wouldn’t be experiencing all of these really good things. I am not entirely convinced that the only way to good is through pain. But perhaps the pain brings clarity.
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I fill a cart with pumpkins. I remind him that last year I didn’t buy fall decorations because we were evacuated.
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Tank sample of syrah. Barrel samples of the rose and chardonnay.
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Laundry and more laundry.
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I pull the cards and they are all contrary. Not surprised. Upside down is exactly how I feel.
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Long night but a good night.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Two
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Later and later. Need to reverse this trend.
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I keep looking at the book that I put on the table. I still haven’t broken it open. It’s just sitting there waiting for me.
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The beginning of the end.
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I always pause right at this point on the walk up from the patch of dirt where we park and take a deep breath.
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Time alone in the cave spur.
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It makes me feel less old to hear them say they have carpal tunnel pain.
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Snicker’s brownie.
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Everything is temporary.
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He asks me if I even know how to add another person to FaceTime. I don’t. He does it for me. Is this a sign that I’m getting old - that the kids now know how to do things with technology that I don’t?
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Quieter tonight.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-One
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The things on the roof are quiet this morning.
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He remembers to wake himself up in time.
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He beats me to the coffeemaker.
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Where are my slippers? Where are my slippers?
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I devour the ham and cheese croissant and wonder if someone there has been reading my stories. Perfectly flaky, but way more ham and cheese.
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Twenty-five minutes is a long time.
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Looks like mostly Kit-Kats.
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He drives. I take in the scenery. I daydream, create new people and places and lives.
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It's not that I can’t, it's that I'm not sure how to while also being in alignment with my values.
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Always more questions than answers.
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Someone is playing loud music and it is almost 11pm. I can see nothing. No extra lights. I just hear and feel the thumping.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty
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Almost too cold.
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It gets hard and harder to keep track of the days.
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Simple pleasures.
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I am early and so I take a few minutes and walk a little bit in the vines. The morning sun is golden and bright. Parts of the canopy stretch overhead. At my feet are some freshly-fallen grapes.
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The first one takes too long. The next two take as long as the first. That’s progress.
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I tell him that I think we have the same philosophies but I may need to help her with organization.
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Cheese curds are $11.36 after tax and I’m pretty sure that’s four dollars more than they were during baseball season.
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I laugh at the absurdity of it. I am the secret.
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He’s such a funny little man.
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I sit in the car and wait for him to finish practice. The sky shift slowly from a pale and dusty blue to dusty pinks and oranges. It is a peaceful sky.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Nine
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Keep forgetting to wake him up at 6:45.
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Too much clanging. This is why I need to get up earlier; I need my quiet.
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File under ways you know you’re an adult: the weight of your new iron and the way it glides over her t-shirt fills you with joy.
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We start to go down the rabbit hole.
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Nirvana and then Stone Temple Pilots and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Pumpovers are much faster when the music is harder.
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Classic PB & J.
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More like relief.
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Progress.
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The countdown.
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But the not knowing.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Eight
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Too soon.
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I ditch the hashbrowns for the mini dutch babies to see how well they go over.
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Candles lit. Coffee in hand. Slow down the breath.
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I know what this is. I know what this is.
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I hear something scurry beneath the red rocks.
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But it really is a beautiful morning. Down here, the sun is bright. The air is still cool. The sky is flat and blue, except for clouds here and there.
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I am noticeably stronger than I was even two weeks ago.
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Too many giggles at lunch. But is there really such a thing as too many giggles?
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We walk to get the trash bins off the train. Mount Saint Helena has a shroud of clouds around it. I can’t stop staring.
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He pretends to not be proud of himself.
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Three flu shots and one first-shot of COVID-19 vaccine.
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The smell of rain.
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Harvest playlist.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Seven
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“I threw up.” Of course, you did.
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With bleary eyes, I start to try to clean what I can see. I whimper every time my hand lands in a wet spot. I sprinkle baking soda over the top and hope that will sop up enough of the moisture overnight.
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Alone in the quiet.
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Perfect circle of a waffle. Melted butter. A light drizzle of maple syrup. Hot coffee. Candle. I eat alone on the sofa.
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I like Sundays in the cellar.
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I drop a siphon in the keg. Oh, dear.
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I think and think and think. This is the best thing about this job: I get to do a lot of thinking.
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Margaret’s quesadillas are a thing.
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I tell them that I combined all of their advice, and it seems to work.
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Maybe I can figure it out.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Six
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Just need to vacuum.
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I light the candle. I like that there are seven wicks. The morning light is still starting to creep in.
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I stare out at the trees and think of all the things I wanted to do that I did not do this year. No hiking, not enough trips to the beach, not enough vacation time used. But there is still time.
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There is still time.
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I need to be more grateful.
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An eruption is always the result of a slow build.
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I should have gotten the fries.
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I always say that it’s worth it. But is it? Will it be?
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Suprise visit.
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We’re only human.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Five
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Those wild little friends above my head.
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The iron is officially dead. I search for an alternate plan. Then I wonder if I’m being silly. Everything I’m wearing will be covered in grapes by the end of the day anyway. Will anyone notice a wrinkle in the knee?
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The sunrises are the best this time of year. The golden glow of morning spills into the valley, filling the corner of the room with its light.
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What is working? What isn’t working?
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There is nothing on the board. I am confused but mostly worried The board is always done when I arrive.
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It is not a question or a request.
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Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
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The fig tree by the mailboxes bore no fruit this year. Or maybe the squirrels were overzealous and plucked the baby fruit right away? The ground is littered with dried leaves. The tiny oak growing out of the rock has withered away.
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I clean. He does his homework. I peek over his shoulder to read his words. Maybe the message is starting to stick.
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“I think Frasier would be funnier to me if I was an adult.”
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Four
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Birthday morning.
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These mornings could be better.
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Something is up but I can’t quite figure out what it is.
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At least we’ve figured out how I can still do this: be with them on their way to school each day. That is something I am unwilling to give up.
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Need more reps.
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He says he wants Gott’s but I talk him into steak and a good bottle of wine to enjoy at home. That’s where we all want to be.
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We stop and have wine after taking him to practice. Inside is one of the Gowan family members. Her cider will be on tap tomorrow. We talk about Anderson Valley and how much we love it up there.
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“We have the power to co-create the world we want to live in.”
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At dinner, she asks when we can go to Boonville again. “December, maybe. After harvest.” “What about your basketball schedule?” “Oh. Right.”
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One of these days, I will get better at this.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Three
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Still so sleepy.
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He leaves for more coffee. How did we forget?
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I needed these few minutes alone.
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One tiny feather. A good sign. A good sign.
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I take a few moments to take it all in before I get to the top of the hill. It is peaceful, still cool, but the color of the light is changing.
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We taste through the fermenting lots from lowest brix to highest brix. He describes the vineyards as he pours: location, what it’s given him in the past, what its current state is telling him. He tells us that we will do this each week.
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Sticky fingers.
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There was no reason to rush.
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By golly, he’s doing it.
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A realization of new limitations. What if I can’t do it all anymore? What I don’t want to do it all anymore?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-Two
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Not the same dream, but a good dream. Also one I want to remember.
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But all I really want to do is write. Not the kind of writing I’ve been doing, but the kind of writing I really like to read.
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“Action breeds clarity.”
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Yeah. I should probably stop drinking coffee but I just bought another container of creamer. Okay. After the creamer is gone.
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I laugh to myself.
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It’s a little thing but an important thing.
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She asks me if I’m balancing everything ok. “Barely hanging on by a thread,” I say.
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I triple check everything and I still missed something.
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I stare at myself in the mirror. I realize that this is growth: going into a new situation knowing that I will make a mistake and being okay with making that mistake. The first time in a long time I’m not beating myself up over making a mistake.
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“Life is hard.”
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“…Are we crazy?” “I like to say ‘romantic to a fault.’”
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty-One
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I need to remember this dream. I repeat the details in my head over and over again. This could make for a good story.
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I think about all of the writing I have not done. How she asked me what my routine is for writing these days. How I said that there is no routine. I just work from 6:00am to whenever I fall asleep.
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Dark morning skies.
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Out of oat milk creamer. I don’t think I’ve had enough coffee yet. Or maybe I’ve had too much already and that's why I’m yelling.
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We come a different way and from this view, you can see a stretch of vineyards atop a plateau, bright green and glistening in the morning sun.
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The one thing about all of the wineries I’ve worked at is that they are all so beautiful. And that makes a difference - having someplace so beautiful.
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Clean and sitting in the sun while waiting for the children.
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I ask how she does it. How is she doing the things she’s doing?
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Lighting the candle.
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The twists just don’t want to stay in.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Thirty
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He’s coughing again, this time in hus sleep.
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Can’t fall back asleep.
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Not ready.
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Clear enough to see the sea. He asks me if I want him to pull over.
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I sit quietly and stare out the window while I sip my coffee.
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Yes. This is where I should be.
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All the way to Knights Valley before he turns on the music.
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Gratitude for help.
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They are right. The best thing to do is keep quiet.
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What next?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Nine
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Up before everyone. Room-darkening blinds.
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I try to listen for the rain they promised but don’t hear anything.
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A sliver of lightt.
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We stand outside in the rain and wait. Take of football and parent group and the town. She says she likes to keep.her meetings short. I say we're on the same page.
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Belgian waffle with strawberries, double the whipped cream. Diner coffee is sometimes the best coffee.
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Glimpses of the ocean through rain-streaked windows.
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The weather is slowing down the time.
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The words run through my mind more than once. I know what this is. I've been here before.
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I watch him on the sidelines and wonder how he feels.
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Under the tent in my parka. Two cup o’ noodles, water, and skittles for me. Deflections, defensive touchdown, and a win for him.
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House full of kids. Pizza. Water. Wine. Laughter. Thuds. I'm glad I brought my slippers.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Twenty-Eight
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So, so dark.
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Sourdough toast, bacon, a scrambled egg, tall glass of orange juice, coffee. Quick work on the computer.
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Every morning, right around this time, I start to feel my heart race. Probably the coffee.
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In some ways, I will miss the two of us working together like this.
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After the first two, I find my rhythm. I thank them for their help. He tells me he likes the way I do pumpovers: “You’re so clean.” Well, the tanks are clean but my pants are covered in wine.
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I forget that there’s no nozzle on the hose and soak myself with hot water. The only thing I can do is laugh.
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I laugh some more.
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Conference call in the pick-up line.
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A glimpse of sunset through the trees. Muted bands of orange and pink and blue layered behind rugged shadowy mountains and trees. “This is why we came here.”
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The road twists and turns so much that I worry I will get carsick.
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He admits that he was crying because he was scared we were going to run out of gas on the road.
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Ice cream while we wait.
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“It’s been a long day,” he says.
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I ask him a question before realizing his eyes are closed.