Ten.One Hundred & Twelve
1. 3:45 in the morning. Wide awake.
2. It’s 5:45 and I get dressed and head outside to catch the first light.
3. The sound of my hiking shoes on the gravel. I am afraid of my own sounds. As I cross the little wooden bridge my eyes begin to fill with tears.
4. It’s the silhouette of the cacti against the fading night sky. I find a rock and stand on it, breathing, listening, taking it all in.
5. I climb up a little bit and turn around to face the mountains just as the light of the sun begins to illuminate the crests. I watch the earth come out of the shadows.
6. Depending on the angle, the cacti can look like crosses. And indeed this land is holy.
7. I want to learn all the names for the plants and animals I am encountering.
8. I trust myself.
9. Road runners.
10. I needed this.
Ten.One Hundred & Eleven
1. I sleep in an extra 30 minutes. Maybe it was the manchego that gave me such strange dreams.
2. I make the lunches and offer fruit loops for breakfast so that I can empty the dishwasher and put in another load.
3. When I drop them off I put the car in park, run around the rear and hug each one, tell them I’ll see them again on Monday. I feel the pang of mother guilt.
4. Why is it that when we leave we have to be so accommodating?
5. The ride to the airport is quiet. I am anxious about my travel. Because I am doing it alone. I tell him that I’m never nervous when he’s with me.
6. As I inch along in the security line I realize I left my water bottle in the bathroom.
7. I’m in the middle seat but can see bits of earth through the window. The mountains look like pointy stacks of cheap cocoa powder.
8. I can feel the accumulation of too much dairy in my gut.
9. I really hope the three of them are not getting on my plane.
10. I roll down the window to type the code and then can’t keep my head inside the window. All the stars. I am here.
Ten.One Hundred & Ten
1. I need to get used to these chilly mornings.
2. I hear the crash of the recycling truck and snacth my robe off the hanger and run downstairs in my underwear. I’m not fast enough and I’m stilk half-naked.
3. I like that they like smoked salmon.
4. I need hiking shoes, a canteen, lotion, and sunblock. And to do all the laundry.
5. Memory card is clean. Camera is clear. Battery is charged. The large tripod fits on a diagonal. Ready.
6. I’m getting better at this planning ahead thing. You’d have thought that after three kids I would’ve had this planning thing down by now. But I don’t. But I’m gonna keep trying to find the ways to make it easier on myself.
7. I still haven’t bought any candy corn.
8. The trees are turning and turning.
9. I open up my bag again and survey the contents. I think about how I might capture the stars and the smiles and the cups of coffee. How the hiking shoes are not only good for the Arizona landscape but for the ground I will root into once we move to California.
10. Gratitude.
Ten.One Hundred & Nine
1. I wake up in the middle of the night—or maybe it’s early morning—and see something the color of amber that’s sparkling through the window. A star? Another planet? An angel? I am bleary-eyed and have to pee.
2. The thin and cold air takes my breath away as I stand on the front porch and take in the sliver of moon.
3. I have a vision in my head of a levitating apple.
4. Tuesday. My favorite day of the week.
5. I listen to the latest On Being episode with Joan Halifax. Everything she is saying is so applicable to my life right now. It makes me want to pull over the car and close my eyes and let her wisdom wash all over me.
6. I should get back to meditating.
7. He has me blind taste two wines and rate them on a 100-point scale. Research.
8. The weather today. And the sun. How it’s rays are a slender shade of yellow that breaks through the trees.
9. Culver’s Night for a school fundraiser. Do I need this burger? No. Do I want to do dishes? No.
10. We FaceTime him to wish him a happy birthday. I’ve gotten out of the habit of having the kids call them. They joy on his face makes me want to do better at remembering.
Ten.One Hundred & Eight
1. I can feel the cold creeping in over the top of my blanket.
2. I decide to sleep in and then immediately regret my choice because now everything feels rushed.
3. The moon is a shining white crescent in the indigo sky and I feel so lucky.
4. I write the “thank you” notes, 14 of them. I hope they can read my writing. I hope they know how much I love them.
5. Warm chips and salsa for lunch.
6. The way the wind is blowing and how it reveals the lonely red leaf. I am sometimes that leaf, steadily changing while everything else is stubbornly staying the same.
7. He asks me when I’m coming to volunteer in his class. Insert mommy guilt.
8. Indifference.
9. Beef stroganoff because I need some comfort food.
10. Ready.
Ten.One Hundred& Seven
1. I hear a shrieking sound and think it’s just a truck at the Home Depot before realizing it’s just one of the children downstairs.
2. I keep miscounting the scoops of coffee and just say screw it and start it up.
3. Her pumpkin bread.
4. We gather around the island and feed the kids and talk about jobs and insurance and unions.
5. I am missing her before she even pulls out of the driveway, standing with the door wide open, cold October morning air pushing in.
6. I don’t really know what to do with myself so I sweep.
7. Poldark.
8. I make some matcha and journal at his desk.
9. I’ve been stressed about the 6 mini photo sessions lined up but realize today that it’s not the shoots but the driving that’s at the root of the anxiety.
10. Apple pie—the kind with the crumb topping—and vanilla ice cream. Her words “Defiant Magic” run through my head. The gravity of those words.
Ten.One Hundred & Six
1. The fire is still burning.
2. She arrives today. It’s been two years. Too long.
3. I dress myself and then undress myself to start the cleaning. The rain is falling hard. I’ve been up since 2 in the morning; the white flashes of lightning and booming thunder made it hard to sleep.
4. I put headphones in my ears and find the cloths and sprays, start another load of laundry, pretend that I can’t hear anything but what’s playing through the ear buds. I’m sorry (not sorry) that I can’t hear you.
5. The water is high is some places. Where was this rain last month? I’ve been thirsty for a long time.
6. The museum is mostly empty and so we can sit and catch up. I want to continue to nurture my friendships from the old neighborhood. These are the ones I trust the most.
7. Pie plus bananas plus ice cream plus tortillas plus cheese.
8. They are here.
9. It’s the first time I’ve seen all five of them together and I’m in love with the way they family. Can “family” be a verb? To family is to love.
10. Of course we talk until 1:30 in the morning.
Ten.One Hundred & Five
1. The fires are still burning.
2. This morning we’ve been blessed with slices of light.
3. I hear the geese and look up to see 30 or 40 of them flying overhead in formation.
4. I drive out there early to journal and read before we meet. I pick a seat facing the large window so I can watch the people walk by. In many ways I miss this town. In many ways I do not.
5. The sense of otherness.
6. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen your entire face.”
7. I sometimes find myself talking too fast when I’m excited about something. And lately I’ve lacked focus.
8. Pizza for dinner.
9. After a few glasses of wine I say something about Poldark and fantasy and dreams and feelings and how in so many ways I’ve been closing myself off.
10. 1 sleep.
Ten.One Hundred & Four
1. His nose is on my nose. He’s really getting to big for this. I’m uncomfortable and yet I can’t say no.
2. I make the muffins first. Blueberry again. Then the lunches and the snacks while I listen to the song on repeat.
3. I stand outside in my bare feet as the wind blows my sweater open. I have “thank you” cards to write. My bed for the gathering is secured. I’m going. I’m going.
4. I love that in my receiving, I also get to give.
5. She and I talk for almost 90 minutes even though we will see each other in two sleeps. Because that’s what best friends do. And I cannot wait to tell her everything over wine.
6. Laundry. These ordinary things that make a life.
7. Poldark.
8. I leave early to get capers and to get a few extra minutes in the pick-up lane to journal. On my way to the store I listen to “Covered in Rain.” In the store my stomach is doing that thing where it’s turning, like I’m about to do something scary. Feeling can be scary.
9. What would I say if I could?
10. There are these rules once you make the agreement.
Ten.One Hundred & Three
1. The darkness.
2. The way the light reflects in the puddles on the pavement. I love the way wetness settles you in.
3. But the fires are still burning.
4. I am still crying over everything. And this is not a bad thing. Just a thing that feels unfamiliar. It is a good thing, I think.
5. She tells me that she had a dream and that the dream was about power.
6. The red on all the tree tops. Now I am thinking of Thanksgiving and then Christmas and the way snow the snow will look out back.
7. The next three weeks will be full: Tucson, basketball coaching (?!), 7 portrait sessions across the city and suburbs.
8. She and her husband and her children will be here in three sleeps.
9. No one warned me about the evils of homework.
10. I think, sometimes I do my best work in the dark.
Ten.One Hundred & Two
1. Dark skies this morning.
2. I feel like all of the patience I collected while at Squam has slipped through my fingers.
3. Tuesdays are the best days.
4. I am overwhelmed by the love. So overwhelmed. I almost can’t hold it.
5. We talk while I drive. I wish I was there with her. We’d drink wine on the weekend and she’d say really enligthening things to me that I sometimes wouldn’t understand. And I’d love it.
6. Pinot Noir Salt. What?! She made me cry into the box.
7. I also cry in the car writing about crying into the box.
8. The fires continue. My heart is still in tiny pieces.
9. The rain is coming down and I make focaccia in the dark. The smell of the yeast is strong. The dough is soft and elastic.
10. I’m not really sure how to say thank you.
Ten.One Hundred & One
1. No alarm today because there is no school. The sun is just beginning to rise. Muddy shades of orange and pink.
2. Granola for breakfast. I hope they eat it.
3. I make the ask because I know that if I don't, I'm not going to get what I need. And I need this.
4. Sometimes you ask and you are overwhelmed by the ways in which others show up for you. Because they believe in you. I wonder if I believe in myself as much as everyone else believes in me.
5. I watch my Instagram stories and see that Napa and Sonoma are burning. My heart is breaking as I watch the violent way in which the earth is being engulfed in flames. I think of my friends and the people and the places I've come to love. My future home.
6. Why am I making something for dinner that needs to be started at 3 pm?
7. He keeps talking about the fires. The coworkers who have lost homes. It stresses me out. It scares me. I think of everyone who has nothing. And not just the ones in the fires, but the ones in Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands and Houston. And the ones who lost and are losing not because of the natural disasters but because of the cultural and economic disasters.
8. We are so not in control.
9. I'll get to that resume tomorrow.
10. How to have both a full and a broken heart.
Ten.One Hundred
1. Early. Coffee. She won’t stop asking me questions. I keep yelling at everyone to stop touching the balloons. I look at the clock and know that there won’t be time to make the tissue paper flowers.
2. The little oe and I head back to the old neighborhood to see some friends. I still know the order of the streets. The trees feel so large compared the saplings that are just beginning to mature in my yard.
3. I miss old houses.
4. We talk about life on the front porch as the sun settles in overhead. I miss my friends. I miss my old streets. I remind myself that it’s okay to miss these things.
5. The prep.
6. 5 very giggle girls.
7. I sneak a handful of gummy bears while no one is looking. And 2 Rice Krispie treats.
8. The colors of the setting sun. Not the sun but the way the color of the sun washes over everything else. Everything looks more holy.
9. Definitely don’t regret the chalkboard wall.
10. My brain wants to stay up late to do all the things it knows it needs to do in order to prepare for this week. But the body is saying no.
Ten.Ninety-Nine
1. Today is the day for so many things but I'm just going to start with coffee and light.
2. The unceasing questioning takes the fun out of it.
3. The three of them pile into the backseat, legs looking long and lean. I have to do that mom thing where I snap my head around to look at them and set the expectations for this morning. I am pointing my finger at them. I am every mother in this moment.
4. It's really funny how you grow up thinking about all the ways in which you're *not* going to be like your parents, only to see little bits and pieces of them spontaneously erupt out of you.
5. Party City is one of the levels of hell, I'm sure.
6. We decide on a gold and turquoise color scheme, an ice cream cake, a movie, and a small craft.
7. My brother calls me as I'm touching up the chalkboard wall. He's so much better than me at making calls. We talk about his new house and colors and ideas for wall art. We talk about our parents and how we're so different from the rest of the family that we grew up around. He tells me how he told her, "You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take," and I remind him that the other 30 year-olds are just doing what 30 year-olds do. We are the old heads at 32, married for 10 years and with children.
8. Perspective.
9. I want to go to sleep but there is still more walls to touch with the magic eraser.
10. I still haven't made the pom-poms.
Ten.Ninety-Eight
1. These last few days with no alarm have been nice. But I miss being the first one awake.
2. I make a meal plan full of things we’ve never had before and this excites me. Newness is good.
3. Blue heron, white heron, mallard duck. I wish I knew more names of things. To be able to give a thing its proper name is to respect it.
4. I’m trying to think of all the things I need for this birthday party of hers. It’s not so much a party as it is a gathering of friends. I should just relax. They’re only 8 years old. Anything I do will be just fine.
5. I pick Gia Mia for lunch.
6. Mushroom toast, beet salad, calabrese pizza, tiramisu. They always bring two spoons; I am the only one who eats dessert.
7. I get the potatoes started for the gnocchi.
8. I miss walking the kids to and from school. I miss the trees and the conversations and the fresh air.
9. This tomato broth. The kids eat double and triple helpings.
10. In two weeks I’ll be in Tucson. I have no expectations. I just want to put myself in the way of beauty.
Ten.Ninety-Seven
1. When my eyes finally open there is so much light. I know it must be late.
2. 7 AM. It’s okay. I am the source of time. I repeat this to myself while I brush my teeth and wash my face. I tell everyone that they need to get dressed; frozen waffles or granola for breakfast. I apologize for waking up late. Why am I always so quick to apologize?
3. He is talking to me about the paint on the ceiling and unevenness along the trim. He suggests that if it’s too hard for me to do it right then perhaps I shouldn’t do it at all. Noted.
4. I accidentally press “cancel” instead of disregard. Decide to surrender to the moment and take a break to write my morning pages and eat lunch. Surrender might be the word of the month.
5. I dig up a resume. It’s 3 years old. I wonder what I was trying to apply for back then. Today I just want an easy part-time gig at the local wine shop. I also spot a social media job for a local high-end grocery store. Food and wine. Food and wine.
6. Trying to stay open. And keep faith.
7. Chicken pot pie. I’m making it all wrong. But I think it’s gonna be okay. Fresh sage and rosemary, butter, can’t be that bad.
8. 2015 Valle Escondido Gouguenheim Pinot Noir.
9. Belly rubs. I say that I want this to be over but the reality is that I don’t. One day they will no longer need me. But right now they still need me to tuck them in. I love this. I love them.
10. I want an ice cream cone. Haagen Däz. Something like a praline. Yes. Candy coated pecans and some kind of of caramel.
Collecting Beauty in Wine Country
I don't want to claim the title "Lifestyle Blogger." It doesn't feel natural on my tongue. Instead, I'm going to call myself a "Collector of Beauty." Yes. A Collector of Beauty. This rephrasing gives me the space to do what I do best which is notice. Really, isn't that what a writer and a photographer should be doing? Noticing?
There's this really fine and faint line between capturing life and noticing it. One can become so consumed with trying to find what they should capture that they miss the real beauty of what's occurring around them. It's why I rarely photography my food before eating it. I want to eat my gnocchi with black truffle shavings while it's still hot. And I want to drink my rosé while it still has its chill. Instead of trying to find the highlights and shadows in the barrel room, I want to listen to her tell me about the fermentation experiments she's conducting. And when I meet her for coffee on Washington Street, instead of thinking about the Instagram-worthiness of the courtyard, I'd rather listen to her tell me about the one time the police got called while she was celebrating her birthday.
Ultimately, I do believe that it's my desire to be so fully present in my life that gives me the ability to see the truly extraordinary moments that exist in the every day. I have to somehow trust that the most important moments will find their way into the little crevices of memory for when I need them most. Because this life is really too good and too big for the viewfinder.
Alas, here are some of the moments that I collected during my most recent trip to Yountville in August.
The North Block Hotel sits at one end of Washington Street in Yountville. Spanish tiles line the staircases and the doors are wooden and heavy and it's so quiet. It's become my favorite little retreat.
Redd Wood is known for its wood-fired pizzas but I love the simple breakfast served here each morning for the guests at North Block. Coffee and pastries from Bouchon Bistro are the perfect start to an early morning, but the granola is killer. I'm still trying to get my hands on a recipe.
Isn't this vintage truck just the coolest? Hunter Gatherer is new boutique in Yountville.
After seeing people line up each night before it opened, we decided to give Ciccio's a chance. It's Napa Valley so of course there's great wine, but the cocktails and pizza can't be beat. Cool vibe. It's where the locals go (which is always a good sign).
I could spend all day sitting in front of The French Laundry Culinary Gardens.
It had been awhile since I'd been in wine country in the summer when everything is green and ripening. It was such a treat to be able to touch and taste the fruit. The rolling hills of B.R. Cohn in Sonoma are so beautiful this time of year. Really, any time of year.
Ten.Ninety-Six
1. Up before the alarm.
2. The sky is low and gray. The rain is coming. I light makes the lunches and the bacon and light the candles.
3: He’s gone and they’re playing quietly upstairs. I step out onto the back stoop again to feel the breeze.
4. No self-portrait today. There are times when I get bored with myself.
5. Coffee from the Bialetti.
6. I decide to skip writing for the day and enjoy the quiet by painting the wall that runs beneath the stairs. The funny thing is that I’m so bad at painting but I’m trying not care. I know he’s gonna say something about the paint on the ceiling.
7. But it’s still black and moody and I love it.
8. Bewildered.
9. Boundaries.
10. Leftover chicken noole soup and fresh focaccia with smoked salt and rosemary. It’s been so long since I’ve had my palms on dough.
Ten.Ninety-Five
1. I stand outside as the light begins to peek through the clouds. The breeze is soothing. I know there are lunches to be made but I just want to stand there and watch the colors change.
2. This book came to me at the right time.
3. I no longer need google maps to tell me how to get there.
4. This circle of women feels like Home. I want to always be at Home, where ever I am.
5. Scallops. Lobster bisque. Linguine with clams. 2012 Gilles Noblet Pouilly-Fuise. A quiet lunch at The Turf Room.
6. It’s time to get back to my wine and spirits studies. I tell him that I’m going to start with Italy first. I think I am ready to begin again. I’ll retake the exam in March. I know I will pass next time.
7. It never feels like it but there is actually time for this. For all of this. What needs to get done always gets done.
8. The tops of the trees are beginning to turn. Shades of deep red and burnt-orange and banana yellow. This is my favorite season.
9. I’ll figure it out.
10. I decide to clean. The bathrooms needed it. I needed it. This is how I fix myself sometimes—through cleaning. No one bothers me, I can observe my thoughts, I sweat a little. It’s like a meditation.
Ten.Ninety-Four
1. Up before the alarm because the weight of his head has made my arm fall asleep.
2. Pastel skies and the rumble and creak of a garage door.
3. Two blue jays by the back stoop. In and out of the trees they go, chasing a much smaller and much darker bird. I feel like they might be good medicine.
4. Ladybug in the car fluttering around.
5. The weather today. Warmer but somehow not. The breeeze, maybe.
6. Vigilance.
7. The things that didn't get done: the writing, the laundry, the errand-running.
8. I have a running list of book titles and not very many ideas for books. I mean, I do. I do have ideas. They are little seedlings of ideas and I'm waiting patiently for them to sprout and flower into something that feels a little more alive. But for now, I'll just keep collecting titles.
9. I pinch off some oregano, clip some rosemary and sage. The extension of this heat means that I've harvested another 3 pounds of tomatoes and twelves jalapeños are wanting to break through. But I am ready for the grayness of rest.
10. I say to him that I am still sad. That I'm still not sure that moving here was the right choice. That it really doesn't matter now anyway because here we are and I'm sure everything will be just fine. And then I think back to yesterday and how everyone asked the same question, "how do you like it out there?" and how I could feel myself trying not to sink. Maybe I just need more time. It took me 5 good years to find my footing there, to feel like I belonged. I've only been here 6 months. I think I just need more time.