Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eleven
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The tap-tap-tap sound of the rain on the roof.
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French press coffee. Apple slices and crunchy peanut butter.
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Milky fog sandwiched between thin evergreens.
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Need to float.
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I eat the last two crepes.
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Closed eyes, heating pad, Great British Baking Show playing in the background.
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Not sure I’m a fan of this.
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Two weeks from yesterday.
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Massican 2020 Vino Blanco.
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Who’s going to put these kids to bed?
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eleven
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We should have won that game.
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Toilets first.
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I make a cappuccino and then another. Thick foam from the whole milk. A little sprinkle of sugar.
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What is my role in this?
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I make a shart right down an aisle and then wonder if I am being immature.
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But this is only the first time. Maybe not the last.
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There’s a chill in the air reminding us that winter is on its way. The sound of the softballs smacking their gloves. The soft astroturf pressed against my knees.
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Reminders that life isn’t fair. Oh, to be a pre-teen.
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Steak and scallops and potatoes and green beans and 2010 Salvatore Molettieri Taurasi Vigna Cinque Querce and 2018 Spottswoode Cabernet.
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Crepes!
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“I told you I liked them.”
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The rain has started and you can see your breath in the air and the sky is pitch black.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ten
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Game day.
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Stiff neck. Thank goodness she’s coming today.
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Migraine.
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I let myself take it easy.
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The sound of the tree chippers in the distance.
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I never ate.
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My shoulders are overloaded and I am trying to calm my nerves and I wonder if I will ever get to a point where I am not nervous.
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These wind turbines make me miss the hills of the east bay.
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29-38.
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We stand in front of the school under a streetlight while we wait for their parents to arrive. A hawk lands on the telephone lines across the street.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Nine
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Up before the alarm.
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I can’t remember where I put the elf.
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Nettles instead of coffee.
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Morning pages and I still feel scattered.
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I think we did good.
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There are worse views when stuck in traffic.
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Driveway covered in a blanket of golden-brown oak leaves. Green things popping up through the mulch.
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Mindset.
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A lack of focus and energy, but maybe tomorrow will be different. I tell them to watch basketball tonight. To dream about lay-ups and free throws and good defense.
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Probably shouldn’t have done that, even though I needed to.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eight
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I can’t remember exactly what happened in the dream, I just know that it’s worth trying to replicate.
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I find the leftover coffee from yesterday’s stop at The Station and pour it into a mug. If I add cream and sugar will it not taste like day-old coffee?
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The darkness.
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It feels like pressure.
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Another alien story.
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Droplets on browning leaves. Raisanated grape clusters clinging to the vines. Everything is wet and sleepy.
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Babka and chai. He is even more interesting in person. Smart. Smarter than smart.
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Four caramels and an Italian batard.
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The thudding of balls against the floor and the chatter and the laughter.
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Patience.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Seven
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I tap the bottom of the carafe against the sink and hear the glass break.
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I use a flashlight to find his uniform. It is still too dark to see anything.
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We need a better system.
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A dead fox in the road.
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A real coffee, please.
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She reminds me to officially sign the kids up for little league as she walks out of the pharmacy.
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It feels much warmer than they said it would be.
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“It just feels weird not having anything to do. I mean, besides laundry.”
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Even though it’s my day off, I offer to do the books for the game.
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It didn’t come.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Six
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Coffee first.
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Bacon and hashbrowns in the oven.
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I make a list, but there isn’t that much on it.
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I am disappointed. I know the girls will be disappointed.
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We head down the hill and I look out over the valley floor. The fog is dense and everything is muted and quiet. It feels like winter.
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Through the screen, I can see that she is on her sofa in the living room and I am instantly transported to mornings with her and coffee. There are a few things I miss, and she is one of them.
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It must be the weather.
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How am I going to get these done?
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Only 19 days which is not a lot of time. It is almost no time.
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I think I can breathe a little more easily now.
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I tell him that I’m just worried that I’ve lost my freedom.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Five
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I look for the deep yellow of their lights through the window.
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Another foggy start to the day.
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The checker isn’t wearing a mask. On our way out, I glance back at the door. I don’t see the sign. We stop at Model Bakery. Again. No signs on the door. But everyone inside is still wearing a mask. I am confused.
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I sit in front of the fire and write and write some more and think about reading, but know that there are other things that need to be done.
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Fairly certain I could eat a ham and cheese croissant every day.
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That alone was exhausting enough.
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Always behind on laundry.
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The turkey vultures are gathered around something that is now unidentifiable.
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How very, very persistent he is.
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Rice Krispie treats.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Four
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Competition Day.
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Not what I want to see first thing in the morning.
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Their excitement is evident. It’s the day when they get to see if those three-hour practices have paid off.
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We build a fire before practice. I try to focus on my breath, but I just hear my frustration.
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I work on the words in my head. Unfortunately, this is a conversation I know how to have.
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There is a slowness to the day that is almost uncomfortable.
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Why does she think she can be in here without a mask on? In some ways, I honor the audacity to not do the one thing everyone else in the store is doing. But also - why? Why, for the 5 minutes you are in here can you not just put it on?
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If one was coming, I knew it would be her.
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Two rolls of Lifesavers Butter Rum candies.
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“Are you okay?” “No, I’m not okay.” “Why?” “I’ve got to write this text to these parents.”
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It’s not fair. It’s just really not fair.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Three
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Thicker fog this morning. A cooler start to the day.
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Hard to tell if he really is sick, or if he’s just trying to stay home and play video games.
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Stuck upstairs.
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Fog still thick, weaving itself in and out of the trees.
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Woodchipper is back.
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He goes and gets him from school.
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The hours are passing so slowly, but ultimately, that is a good thing.
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“We’re soft?” They feel offended. We laugh. They drive down the lane and we bump them with pads. They feel tougher and that’s the goal.
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Patience is a virtue.
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Cravings.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Two
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Better today than yesterday.
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I’m sad about the old start, but I like this new one quite a bit.
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The soft glow of early morning.
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Santa mug.
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This is the gift of gratitude.
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Pajamas secured. One extra for Pop-Pops.
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The chipper is loud today, so loud, and of course, I have a call, an important call, but I stay put because this is the best light and the most comfortable space, and it somehow has to work.
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“This is turning out to be a very good week,” I say.
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Am I overreacting? No, I’m not. This is the convergence of the -isms and insecurity. Because, how dare I come into a space and be more successful than everyone else?
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A forgotten Snicker’s bar for dessert.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & One
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So tired.
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If I’m tired, then I know the girls must also be tired.
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I forgot it’s enrichment day today.
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“Remember that you belong there,” he says to me as I gather my things.
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“I only have a twenty. I want fifteen dollars back in change, please.”
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I come around the curve and ahead of me, the horizon stretches out in a hazy silhouette of mountains, light gray to deep gray. Below are large swathes of glittering green grass and gilded leaves. I remember that I do get to live in this beautiful place.
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Not awkward at all.
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As always, I have more questions than answers.
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I tell him that I remembered that as long as I keep working hard and maintain my integrity, I will be okay.
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Still haven’t baked anything this week.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred
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Slow to rise.
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The last bits of apple pie with my coffee. I sprinkle a few walnuts on the top for texture and protein.
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One day, they will look back on the fact that both of their parents dropped them off at school every morning, and be grateful for it. These little things count, I think.
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I realize that for the first day in quite a few days, I am actually quite calm about the situation.
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This is what I miss about wine - the education.
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This 2018 Mt. Brave Merlot, though.
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I gather my things and set them by the door. He asks me if I have everything ready. Of course, I do.
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She complains that her shorts won’t stay up. Coach grabs the extra pair we packed and tossed them to her. “They came in handy,” we say at the same time. “Always be prepared.”
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58-18. A win.
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And to think that this is one of our closer games.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Nine
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The glow of the lights from the neighbor’s house.
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A better night of sleep, but not by much.
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More ham and sweet potatoes.
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Shorter pours of coffee so that I finish a cup before it gets too cold. The Santa mug does not hold heat.
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I remind myself that I am a good and fast writer and therefore I should be able to knock out this draft quickly.
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Ticking the boxes.
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Good energy today. You can feel it.
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The light is slowly fading away. The silhouettes of bare branches reach out over the road like witches’ fingers. The thud of car doors closing as children slide into the backseats of cars.
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This salmon tastes different. Oh, it’s trout.
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Different. Not bad. But different.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Eight
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The second nightmare is a continuation of the first.
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Ham and sweet potatoes and coffee.
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I scan the bookshelves and reach for ‘East of Eden’. I sit in front of the fire and notice how many pages are dog-eared. I flip to one in the middle and see words circled and underlined in pencil.
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The upside is that there will be time to read.
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Unstringing lights.
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The article outline takes shape quickly and I am relieved and confident that this one will be easy to write.
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There really is never anything in this Target.
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I worry that I will have to pull over on the side of the road and this is something I never have to do but I really feel like I’m going to do it right now.
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Now they’re getting into the spirit.
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Not again.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Seven
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This amount of sleep is abnormal.
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More coffeecake for them. Leftover ham and scrambled eggs for me.
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“7:50 and no one is here yet?” They trickle in slowly, but everyone is on time. Barely.
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We wonder if it’s cultural conditioning. Boys are expected to devote their lives to their sport. I don’t see the same kind of expectation for the girls.
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Staring into the sun while I eat garlic fries. It feels busy down here.
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We sit on the bench outside of the barbershop and talk. We look at the trees on the roofs of cars and rate them. “It’s really noisy here.” “And this is not even a big city,” I say. “It’s just that our town is so small and quiet that this seems so loud.”
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He takes the corners a little more slowly than usual.
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I get her Christmas list presentation. It’s animated. I’m impressed. “I wonder where she gets it from?”
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It’s not yet 7pm.
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How am I this tired?
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Six
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Nine hours.
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I stick the coffee cake in the oven and then slice a leftover dinner roll in half, slather it with butter, and put it on the rack above the coffee cake.
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Neither one of us is a fan of this season but we’ve agreed to bake something this week. Something that will bring delight. Pavlova for her, a tart for me.
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I try to bring my thoughts to the present, to my breath. I try to unclench my jaw and focus. There is never a Friday where I don’t need this time with her.
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I tell him about the dream. I hope it is one of my prophetic ones. It felt so real.
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What will be different?
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Two kids down, one to go.
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She’s cleaning her room and listening to Christmas music. If nothing else, I will do it for her.
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Thanksgiving 2.0.
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“A Charlie Brown Christmas.”
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Five
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Quiet.
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The sound of the coffeemaker percolating, a faint quacking sound in the distance, the crackle of the fire.
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I haven’t spoken to him in a while so he is my first call.
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It just seems like we’re all in a rough spot right now. I remind myself that life is cyclical. There is always an up after a down.
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The dough bangs against the side of the bowl as the hook whips it around. I resist the urge to stick a podcast in my ears. It’s good to be alone with your thoughts.
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Three bowls in the drawer. They still have milk in them. “What were you going to do when they started to smell?,” I ask. He shrugs his shoulders.
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It’s been too long since we’ve all been together for a holiday, and that makes me sad.
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Small bowl of leftover beef stew.
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Oysters and champagne.
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Stuffed. Everything a delight. Gratitudes.
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Four
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A slew of weird dreams. Time to wake myself up.
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I remember that she wanted waffles for breakfast.
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“You’re so patient.” “No, I’m not. “I’m just trying to establish a baseline of you being patient.”
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But it’s all just so beautiful.
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We’re probably in the same boat. This might be the first of many trips back.
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Relief.
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He asks me if my back hurts. I remind him that I just finished a job where I was bent over picking up heavy things so it’s not so bad.
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Tired.
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Time for a break.
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“Marcus Aurelius asked: ‘You see how few things you have to do to live a satisfying and reverent life?’” - Digital Minimalism
Ten.One Thousand, Five Hundred & Ninety-Three
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Regular clothes.
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Cold. Not even 40 degrees. Feeling like winter.
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Kix.
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I forgot about the tree work in Rutherford. I pull a u-turn and head down the trail instead.
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I crane my neck to see if their cars are there. This is a thing I do now every time I drive past the winery: seeing if I can figure out who’s parked in the driveway, if they’re in the caves, wonder if he’s using his basketball hoop.
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No husband, no kids. Coffee and almond croissants and quiche and real talk.
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There is no such thing as control.
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I check myself.
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Put the phone down.
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The softness of a freshly washed bathmat.