Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Five
1. Just 15 more minutes.
2. More clouds. I might be angry because it’s been too many days since I’ve seen the sun.
3. I do the dishes and dry the containers for their lunches and wonder why I didn’t start this a long time ago.
4. Coffee times two in the Freemont Diner mug because I need a taste of California today. So much gray.
5. I do my morning pages for the first time since my return from the desert. Maybe this was my problem—I haven’t been making the time to write myself back to center.
6. More edits.
7. It’s an early dismissal day. I talk him into taking me to lunch. Sushi. I out eat him today. A Sauvignon Blanc/Semillon blend from Margaret River Australia instead of sake today.
8. The article in Chicago Woman Magazine. It’s arrives at the perfect time. Right when I know I need the validation and the encouragement to stay the course.
9. I try to nap. I’m struggling with my energy levels. This feels like an ongoing battle, me and my body. Is it food? Is it the coffee? Is it depression? Should I just get back to doing yoga?
10. Two shoots tomorrow in Evanston. Nerves. But ready. I think. So much of this year has been about stretching myself into uncomfortable places. Trying to remember and believe and trust that this is what it feels like to grow.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Four
1. Why did I schedule a parent/teacher conference for 7:30 in the morning?
2. The sound of the recycling truck always startled me. The thunderous crashes and the flashing lights are too much for this time of day.
3. She assumed that I work outside of the home. I always think it’s interesting when this comes up. I always wonder if teachers assume that only white women stay home. Or is it just that these days, most households do have two working parents? But I’m almost certain that this assumption is also tied to race.
4. Ceaseless prayer. This morning, cleaning is my prayer. Dragging the cloth across the mirrors, bending to pick up and scrub, loading and unloading, rocking the broom back and forth—all of it a prayer.
5. He asks me if we need to move. I chuckle. I don’t need to move. But I am allowed to be sad and to miss things.
6. I am angry because I am scared. The work of building a community for one’s self requires vulnerability and courage. I am scared of not being able to recreate what I once had. I’m scared because I’m having a hard time holding the possibilities of what my new community could look and feel like.
7. I think that once you name a thing for what it really is, it’s much easier to shift it.
8. No one seems to be as into this roasted tomato and garlic pasta as I am. I will remove it from the list.
9. So many ideas and not enough energy to carry them out.
10. Tomorrow we’ll try again.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Three
1. 6:30. Wait, how did that happen?
2. The cloud cover this morning is too thick to sniff out the early morning light.
3. Everyone is so concerned about their costumes. Halloween is my least favorite day of the year.
4. I really need to renew my tags.
5. I tell her that I’m really just feeling angry and I want to feel angry and I feel like it’s just.
6. Quibo for lunch. Te Helado. Carnitas and Camarons. Conversations on the past, present, and future.
7. Why am I so angry? In my mind I see the word “anger” inside of a box and then two arms extending downward.
8. Loss. I am angry because of loss. Isabel left. Lisa left. Alan is leaving. I left. I have no immediate community. I miss my friends. I miss my streets. I miss my school. I miss my trees.
9. Sadness. I am angry because I am sad. Because I miss my friends. I miss my streets. I miss my school. I miss my trees. And even though I am never alone I still feel lonely.
10. There’s still a lot of candy.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Two
1. The smell of the heat blowing in.
2. The darkness. Like night. I can’t wait for the time to change; I want my sunrises back.
3. Coffee times two. Exchange the costume. Buy a black shirt. The wind is kicking and I am bracing my body against the cold. Winter is coming.
4. Winter is coming and this should be no surprise. 9 years I’ve been here and every time the season shifts I can feel the dread rising up. I’ve had only one easy winter here...one easy winter when life was lined up exactly the way I needed it in order to thrive. I am worried for what this winter will bring up for me.
5. I edit photo after photo from my trip to the desert. There are the tens of cacti I will print out and hang. There is a Javelina and some coffee mugs and saguaro tattoos.
6. I tear out and glue down some words. The one that keeps coming up for me is art. What is my art? How am I using it? How can I make a living from it?
7. I see her name pop up on my phone and know I need to answer it. She had her baby in July, Thomas. He is named after her father who just passed away. First time mom just now getting more sleep. Her voice is still the same: a little nasally with a thick North Carolina drawl. Everyone needs a Kristin Cook.
8. We eat dinner at 4:15 because basketball practice is at 6:30 and no one wants to run around with carnitas in their belly.
9. This is going to be a long season.
10. “Your life is always calling you...”
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-One
1. The thin and thick of the clouds. The pale yellow seeping through the gray.
2. The pancakes are too thick and burning. And I don’t care. But I kind of do. I make some eggs.
3. The drive alone will be good for me. The sun is out and the trees are blowing.
4. Being with this family makes me smile. It’s chilly but really a beautiful morning to be here.
5. I take a little extra time making my way home. I get the noodles and the construction paper before heading to the downtown. I’m looking for something. I’m looking for myself.
6. I mix the dough. I haven’t made this recipe since we moved into this home. The wetness of the dough, the smell of the yeast, the sound of the spoon scraping against the sides of the bowl.
7. Chicken Noodle Soup.
8. Edits.
9. We FaceTime them. They ask about the Halloween costumes and school. Dad asks me about the desert. I can feel my face begin to glow from the inside.
10. Remembering.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty
1. Up late but still downstairs before everyone else. I look for ancan of biscuits to stick in the oven. One apple and one pear left.
2. The way the soft gray light illuminated the pomegranates on the windowsill.
3. Meal planning. Salmon with rice noodles in a ginger broth for tonight. I think I’ll make a crusty bread and chicken noodle soup tomorrow. Carnitas, roasted tomato pasta, and Korean chicken thighs round out the rest of the week.
4. It looks like rain on the window but when I exit the car I feel the sleet against my cheek. Oh, winter is coming.
5. In the Target parking lot I let out an exasperated sigh. The wind and the gray and the wet. I miss the desert even more.
6. How am I going to do all of this?
7. I gobble a few pieces of flatbread and crawl beneath the cover.
8. Stress makes me sleepy. I think I saw an article once that explained this phenomena.
9. Oreos or Vienna Fingers?
10. Fraiser re-runs.
Ten.One Hundred & Nineteen
1. Today I have to be up with the alarm. I see no light yet outside.
2. I’m nervous.
3. I sit down at the computer and write an outline for the children who will most likely be up before my husband: here’s what to wear for the weather today; here’s what to eat for your breakfast; here’s what to put in your lunch; don’t forget your snack.
4. It’s so cold that I wonder if we should have rescheduled. But we are here and I have found a nice clearing.
5. I need to trust myself.
6. I find a Premier Cru Burgunday and we drink that with steak and frites and end with creme brûlée and a decaf coffee.
7. As we make our way home I think of that quote from Anne of Green Gables where she says she’s grateful for Octobers. Even though it’s overcast, ribbons of red and gold and green tie up my eyes. And I remember that on some days I do really love it here.
8. A few moments of rest.
9. I need even more rest.
10. I scroll through real quick and see that I haven’t really missed much at all. That maybe I prefer the quiet messiness of my own mind over the noise that happens in these virtual spaces. A reminder to be constantly evaluating my container for media consumption. What truly feeds me? And what just leaves me empty?
Ten.One Hundred & Eighteen
1. I sleep in again. This combination of dark and cold makes me move so slowly.
2. Today is the day I’m going to have them start making their own lunches. No one complains. I lay out the containers. Only have to cut up a couple of apples. I watch them as I drink my coffee.
3. In feeding myself, they learn to feed their own selves.
4. So much laundry.
5. Maybe we will be here longer than I think and so maybe I ought to relax into this space. What would it be like to really move in?
6. The sun is lighting the house up.
7. Since I began reading The Cooking Gene, I’ve been caught up in more genealogy research. Research that I don’t have time for. But it wants to eat up all the space in my head because I am always wanting to know the origins of things. I want to know where I come from.
8. White cheddar cheez-its and the last glass of Beaujolais.
9. Costume shopping + school book fair + a day spend cleaning all the things = taco night.
10. He’s not home yet.
Ten.One Hundred & Seventeen
1. So dark. He's right up against me and breathing in my face. I have to crush him to reach the phone and shut off the alarm.
2. Apple-cinnamon muffins for them and an english muffin for me. Coffee.
3. The yellowing of the trees in the backyard. I wonder if I will see the deer again.
4. I'm a little nervous for this morning's portrait session. But if I can just trust myself, then it will be okay.
5. She looks just like her sister. The light in her apartment is amazing and the color of brick in the alley is just right. I love when people relax and come to life. I love that I get to really see them.
6. I take Lake Shore Drive to I-55. In another life I might try to live in the city, walk the edges of the lake on chilly mornings like these.
7. Austrian sparkling rose.
8. It's always good to see her and to hear her laugh. I can't wait to hug her in person. It's so hard to believe that we're only 6 months away from this dream we've co-created.
9. Dinner is going to be so late.
10. There is nothing on my schedule for tomorrow. It's a home day. A day to catch up on the things that slipped through while I was away. I still haven't unpacked my suitcase or my toiletries bag and there are bits of desert scattered on the floor.
Ten.One Hundred & Sixteen
1. My body is fighting with me. I don’t want to get up. I feel like I need a whole day of sleep.
2. This is the thing about leaving: having to come back without (yet) a system that eases the transition.
3. But Tuesday’s are my favorite days.
4. We talk about the importance of ritual and I think of how I can begin to incorporate something for myself and for the children.
5. I need a new planner.
6. I have returned to find that the treetops have now yellowed, and that some of the limbs have already been shaken bare. Little blankets of wet leaves line the roads. Yes, everything is changing.
7. Beaujolais at lunch.
8. Ham and potato soup made with stock of ham hock and collards. It’s earthy and savory and rich. But I had promised myself I’d cut back on the dairy. There’s always tomorrow.
9. We gather. There’s almost 20 of us in total and we read and write and share. I forgot about how much joy this brings me. I am taking note.
10. I keep saying that I just need to get through today. But that doesn’t feel like living.
Ten.One Hundred & Fifteen
1. It’s my last morning. I had planned to do yoga but now I feel like I need a different kind of movement for work through the feelings.
2. I walk up and down the road five or six times. I lose count trying to catch my breath. My phone says 34 flights, 1.2 miles.
3. I take a cup of coffee and the watercolors and scissors and the cyanotype prints to the big rock that overlooks the dried up creek bed. Wander & Wonder.
4. I paint another saguaro and then cut the prints into thin strips and weave together the indigo. This is the right kind of play for me.
5. Permission.
6. No, now it’s time to claim.
7. I am practicing the language for the renegotiations that need to occur.
8. He asks me if I’m sad to come home. I say “yes.”
9. But I am less anxious than I was just 24 hours ago about my reentry.
10. I get a seat for the flight. Three and one- half hours to Chicago, non-stop but already feeling like I am home.
Ten.One Hundred & Fourteen
1. Javelina sighting.
2. I walk even further up the hill and wait for the sun to make it up and over the mountains. A whole pack of Javelinas walk in front of me, staring and snorting at me as they walk by.
3. I don’t know why I’m crying.
4. I’m pretty certain I’m going to get this saguaro tattooed on my arm next year.
5. Spinach and bacon and sausage and mushroom in this strata. Coffee. Water. Mandarin oranges.
6. I confess that I’m anxious about returning home. Something is not right and I can’t articulate what it is I just know that it needs to be changed.
7. Growing pains.
8. So much receiving.
9. I take the watercolors out to the big rock that overlooks the dry creek bed. The sun is beating down on me, ants are marching against my thigh, and the watercolors are drying up before in can even paint them onto the page. I paint a saguaro and some prickly pair
10. What am I truly hungry for?
Ten.One Hundred & Thirteen
1. The coolness of the air and the sound of my shoes in the gravel. This morning I’m not as scared.
2. I walk a little higher up this time to get a better view of the city resting down below. The woodpeckers are active and loud.
3. I face the sun, white-yellow and intense.
4. The saguaros are turning this gorgeous gold-green and the dried grasses look like they are glistening.
5. She tells me to go to the big rock. I find it and stand there for a few minutes before I stretch myself across it, hands behind my head, knees up, face in the sun.
6. I don’t know what I need to know yet. Or maybe I do. I feel emptied and yet frenetic.
7. I’ve always wanted to do this.
8. Tamales. Beans. Salad with avocado and pomegranate and roasted carrots. I am being fed so well.
9. Fire. S’mores. Conversation.
10. A sound. A wild sound. So scary that we all run inside. It felt like a warning.
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.