Ten.One Hundred & Thirty-Two
1. 4:48 AM. I keep waking up way before the 6 o'clock alarm.
2. The quiet is productive though. And I'm not so tired that I feel like I need an afternoon nap. So maybe this is my new time. 5 AM. I don't know. That sounds so early.
3. Strawberry muffins from a mix, bacon, orange juice, fruit. They eat and then make their lunches. I can tell that the novelty of this responsibility is wearing off. I enjoy being able to sit back and read and answer questions from the living room with my coffee in my hand.
4. It's cold in the basement. If I'm going to keep my office down here, I'm going to have to prepare myself. Socks and slippers and sweaters.
5. When you have dreams and goals so big that you are overwhelmed and don't know where to begin so you just keep writing them down over and over again and hoping that the answer will show itself to you.
6. Everything feels tight.
7. Pot roast and mashed potatoes with some crusty bread.
8. I feel as though I cannot say anything. I remember feeling this way before. I remember feeling this way most of my life.
9. I'll figure it out.
10. I can't seem to keep my eyes open.
Ten.One Hundred & Thirty-One
1. The way the light is creeping over the rooftops. Indigo sky turning to faded denim, a thin slice of emerald, pale lemon, mandarin skin.
2. The sound of the heat blowing.
3. I step outside to toss the recycling into the can before the truck makes it to the house. There is a light layer of frost on everything. I can see my breath. The moon is still clear, bright, white light.
4. Fireplace on. Warmed water with lemon. In the quiet and the semi-dark I write my pages. I've been waking up at 5 every morning. A little bit of a curse, but mostly a blessing.
5. On these mornings when breakfast is self-served there's an added spaciousness to my day. So glad I made this shift after returning from the desert.
6. I edit the photos from our session. I took way more than I thought I would and will deliver way more than I originally intended. There's a softness and a kindness in her eyes. I always wonder if people see themselves the way I see them.
7. She's asked the most thoughtful questions, quoted me (I'm quotable?!), made me remember and think.
8. Five months away from Fever Dreams. 25 weeks or 175 days to be exact.
9. This is hard. Parenting is hard. The last few hours of the day are always the hardest. And I can't give him what he wants in this situation. I'm just trying not to burn dinner.
10. Stranger Things.
Ten.One Hundred & Thirty
1. Up before the alarm, sweaty, mushed between the two of them.
2. Learning to love these dark mornings to absorb the quiet before the day begins.
3. Tuesdays are my favorite days. I say this every Tuesday. It is always so true.
4. I ask for conversations to be had and for peace. These two things feel opposed. But I need my whole home to be in order.
5. I miss kicking through the big piles of leaves that collected on the sidewalks. This reminds me that I promised myself I would take more walks.
6. Potatoes in the oven. The oldest and the youngest at playdates. I go from closet to basement to closet to find bits of pieces of myself to stick up on a wall, tuck into a corner. I dig out some old artwork from the kids and add them to the clipboards. I fill the empty frame with squares of California. I stare at the frame—the 12 squares of California and rattle off the vineyard, the location, the sidewalk. The last picture is of my feet stepping on the fallen olives in front of Spottswoode in St. Helena.
7. Blue cheese sauce. The remainder of Steady State.
8. Election results.
9. "I don't want to live where there are any extremes. Unless it's Kindness. I only want to live where the extreme is Kindness."
10. This is kind of how I expected it would feel but those are not the words I expected to hear.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Nine
1. The return of the sun.
2. She is already downstairs. My early bird is earlier than usual. I move around her to make my coffee. She's asking me things my brain can't process just yet.
3. I grab the cookbooks off the windowsill and sit to make the meal plan for the week. Chicken pot pie, skirt steak and baked potatoes, this french-inspired dish called mustard chicken, pot roast.
4. My teeth are hurting. I can't tell if it's the candy or the onset of a cold. It's funny how you feel and experience illness in the body so differently as you age. Inflamed sinuses now make my gums swell which make my upper teeth ache. Being outside in temperatures below 40 degrees makes my fingertips go numb. I ought to take a break from the candy anyway.
5. The laundry never ends.
6. The tall tree in the corner of our property is beginning to change. Its thinning itself out and the leaves are this lovely soft yellow. It looks so graceful.
7. I kind of like making dinner at 2. The rest of the evening then can be spent of getting homework done without burning a pan.
8. Today the one-hour practice feels long. I am a little out of it, distracted from my day. But it's fun to play with them. I'm glad that my oldest and I get to have this thing together. I also love that I'm learning to use my voice.
9. So dark.
10. I am tired tonight. It's not yet 10. The only things that managed to get done today were home things. My "day-job" things like getting kids to and from school, straightening the house, grocery shopping, laundry, cooking. No time to do the creative work I wanted to do. I told her the other day that my advice to creative mothers is to start with a smaller canvas. But right now I'm wanting a larger frame.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Eight
1. I am squished between the two of them. Instead of moving the baby I crawl over him and make my way to his bed, get under the cover and close my eyes.
2. I can’t fall asleep again and instead replay bits of my earlier dream: eating dinner with Boo, walking around New Orleans with my old roommate Ginny, trying to catch a flight to somewhere alone.
3. I heard two of the kids in the loft watching tv. I know that they don’t know the time has changed. But they are quiet.
4. Cappuccinos made with coconut milk. Daydreams of dried lavender. Gray skies. Fireplace on.
5. At least there is a fireplace here.
6. I warm up the loaf of sourdough, slice it up and lay the cutting board on the kitchen table with butter and strawberry preserves. One bowl of mixed berries and one bowl of grapes.
7. I need to get out of the house. To be alone. Even in the rain. Turns out everyone likes to go out on Sunday afternoons.
8. Her home felt so loved on and lived in, layered with story, an extension of her self. I want that. I am craving that.
9. Leftovers for dinner.
10. Journaling at night. Writing myself out of insecurity. A fresh idea. Taking the questions into my dreams.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Seven
1. Alarm goes off at 6. I turn onto my back and listen to the whirring sound of the air purifier.
2. The floor in the kitchen feels cold. I turn on the kettle, bring down the coffee beans, light a candle and turn on the fireplace.
3. I am not looking forward to the fullness of today. To the way every Saturday will be until the new year. Three different places to be before noon.
4. I keep thinking of the conversation in the podcast episode about mindfulness and her belief that it doesn’t require meditation. That mindfulness is a choice you can make in any given moment. That it is the act of noticing new things.
5. The game isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. We still lose. And I am okay with that. This season is going to teach me how to communicate better with children. It’s going to teach me patience. It’s going to teach me how to have fun again.
6. I feel like my lesson to be learned in this life is how to use my voice.
7. I feel it rising within me again. While she’s in gymnastics I sit in the car and write it all out. I don’t want to stew in it any more.
8. What am I wanting to do with this life?
9. Prosecco.
10. Time changes tomorrow. I will change tomorrow. Everything is always changing.
Ten.One Hundred & Twenty-Six
1. No school today. But a conference. And there’s a little slice of sun.
2. I offer strawberry muffins but they choose frozen waffles instead. I make the coffee and settle in front of the fireplace to write my morning pages.
3. The woman in the front office asks me if I’m there for a conference and I say yes and she tells me to go right on in. It’s just that I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where any of the classrooms are.
4. The two teachers ask me if I’ve logged into the system yet. I tell them I haven’t; everything is still so new.
5. I wish they helped new parents as much as they helped new students. Why is there no one assigned to us to help show us the ropes?
6. Quick edits before making the drive to Evanston.
7. Mindfulness/Mindlessness.
8. She hands me a loaf of sourdough bread wrapped in white paper.
9. My friends.
10. So full I can’t even say any more about this day.
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.