Ten.Two Hundred & Three
1. From this spot at the table I can see the morning arrive. Saturated colors stacked behind the silhouettes of rooftops.
2. Even though I'm trying to cut out gluten again, I decide on drop biscuits. I halve the recipe because 6 cups sounds like too many drop biscuits for the five of us.
3. They are buttery and pillowy with just enough chew. But they needed a tad more salt in the dough. Or perhaps a honey butter.
4. More laundry.
5. I let her know that I'm not ghosting. It's just that something has come up and it has taken over whatever little bit of vacant space was there.
6. Imagining the conversations that need to be had. I am still a little afraid.
7. I really need to take down this Christmas tree. It's dead and droopy, the slightest touch sends 1000 needles to the floor.
8. Pinot Noir with the pork. I think I'll use the leftover pork for pho.
9. I can't tell what's real and what's not.
10. I guess, maybe I should just start small. First, take down the garland. Then remove the branches tucked away on window sills and atop the wine rack. Pack up the snowman cookie jar? Yes. Little bites at a time. Sometimes this is the best approach.
Ten.Two Hundred & Two
1. Up before the alarm. It's amazing what you can do with an intention and an extra five minutes.
2.The sound of the shower. How you can hear the voice of water.
3. Scones with a little bit of leftover glaze. I just drink my hot water with lemon, forgetting to make myself a little espresso to start my day.
4. 7:03 am.
5. I decide that I'm going to use this day as a day of rest because soon, there may be no time to do this.
6. I set the meditation app for 10 minutes. I can't keep my brain quiet but I think the act of just sitting still changed something.
7. Once I let it go—decide that I have permission to let it go—I feel my whole body relax. Like I added an extra inch between each rib. There is room to breathe.
8. I rip out "Back to the Land" and think of how my mom calls me her hippy child. Which I think means that I've always had my head a little (lot) in the clouds. That I love simplicity and ease. That I believe in freedom and love for all. That I talk in a way that most people my age don't talk. That I'm all about ideas and possibilities. That at the end of the day, I just want to sit in the woods with my coffee and read and write and grow my own food.
9. I tell him that I'm excited, but also terrified.
10. But I think this is a natural reaction to the big, big dreams coming true.
Ten.Two Hundred & One
1. I hear the crash of glass from the recycling truck and remember that I forgot to take the trash out last night. I rush to get my coat and boots and drag the container to the curb just in time.
2. I can see the colors beginning to form in the sky. This means that it will be sunny today.
3. When you are up before the first light begins you learn how to tell the weather based on the shape of dawn. It reminds me of that time we were out in the vineyards shooting with Adam—at sunrise—and how he said he could forecast the beauty of that day's sunset based on the color and cloud formation of the morning sky.
4. I am still thinking about darkness. About the journey into the unknown. What I will name this period once it is over.
6. In between sips of coffee it's laundry, bathrooms, vacuuming. It's putting it back together again just enough for me to be comfortable with it all coming undone.
7. The dentist.
8. I think I am going to go back to decaf. I don't like this latest sleep pattern since the reintroduction of caffeine.
9. The irony is that I'm reading a book about focus, about deep work, and I am reaching for my phone more and more. Because right now my way of avoiding is by choosing this form of distraction. Because I know there is heavy and hard work ahead.
10. I'm returning to the vision. Remembering the light. It's time to unload, re-evaluate, and invite in.
Ten.Two Hundred
1. More snow. Not a lot but just enough to be a nuisance and so I run outside to push it all away with the shovel. But it's still cold and it doesn't take long before my fingers begin to burn.
2. Tuesday's are my favorite days.
3. The drive to Naperville is slower than usual. Brake lights. Snow flying off of tires. But there is just enough yellow light from the sun to make it bearable.
4. Not my whole arm, just the inside, right below the bicep and just about the elbow crease.
5. I step inside the kitchen and think, "how can I make the rest of my afternoon more beautiful? When I return, what will make this space feel more full of ease?"
6. The tulips are drooping and reflective of my own state of being today: bright, soft, fallen over.
7. But tonight we'll gather and it will be good because it's always good. At least it's always good for me.
8. "Our poems formulate the implications of ourselves, what we feel within and dare make real (or bring action into accordance with), our fears, our hopes, our most cherished terrors." - Audre Lorde
9. The hour goes almost too quickly. My writing is rectangular. Meaning that I write and then box it up. Make it a container to revisit and explore on some other day.
10. Today is day 200.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Nine
1. There is snow but I can't tell how much. The depth of it doesn't really matter. I know I have to shovel.
2. It is higher than I expected it to be. I will be out here for awhile.
3. It's hard not to curse at winter for being itself, or at my husband for not being up and awake to do this for me—even though I'm shoveling at 6 am and I am the only one who appears to be out and working this morning—, or at my children who are not yet old enough to do this themselves.
4. The thing is that the cold is so painful. In temperatures this low, regardless of the thickness of the gloves, my fingertips burn. The sensation brings tears to my eyes. It takes a good 45 minutes for my hands to feel normal again once I am inside.
5. So I dream of warmer places and remind myself that I will be in California two different times next month and then again in April, and then New Orleans in June.
6. My eyes hurt from staring at the screen but it must get done. Each image brings me back to the individual and their story and that is what I like about editing: you get to relive your experience with your subject.
7. This is the year of investing in myself wherever I can.
8. I scroll through and look at all of the posts highlighting Martin Luther King. I can feel the sourness of pessimism rising up. How do we move past memes into real action and change? What does that look like? What do I want it to look like for myself.
9. I ask him to just bring me some dessert.
10. Tomorrow we gather.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Eight
1. 7:58 am.
2. Peel and slice the ginger, two cinnamon sticks, half a lemon, a couple spoonfuls of honey. Fill the pot and let it simmer.
3. I eat a small bowl of cereal and take my tea up to bed.
4. We recount last night's dinner. That soup—boy was it good. The people—so nice and fun. The kids—no crying. We need to do this again.
5. Deliberate practice.
6. "The woman's place of power within each of us is neither white nor surface; it is dark, it is ancient, and it is deep." - Audre Lorde
7. I wake up from my nap and remember that it is supposed to snow. And indeed the snow is beginning to fall.
8. The way the light reflects on the white, white snow. Even though it is past dark, there is still the illumination of sky.
9. But I'm ready for the warmth of sun and crawl back under the covers and pretend that I am somewhere else.
10. This week.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Seven
1. The little bit of green between yellow and midnight blue.
2. I can tell it's going to be a bright day which is good. I'm ready for a little sun. It've been so dark.
3. Tonight is soup night and there is still so much to do.
4. Basketball game. We win but they still frustrate me. No one jogs to the bench. They still won't put their arms up on defense. I have to remember that they are only 10.
5. Back to class and though the soreness is gone I am still a little tight. It's been a long time since I've done something that feels so unnatural. But I'm finding joy in this challenge to push myself to do something I've never done before. To be okay with the feeling of being uncomfortable.
6. I find the pork bones, bamboo in a can, dried shitake mushrooms and yellow tulips.
7. First the seaweed, then the mushrooms, then the pork bones, bacon, soy sauce, mirin. This is the broth. Fill your bowl with noodles, a soft boiled egg, kimchi, pork belly, bamboo, scallions, seaweed, top with broth. Slurp and get messy.
8. Table full of people. A little bit of music. A little bit of candlelight. A lot of Riesling.
9. Tired. But the good kind.
10. I hope they let me sleep in.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Six
1. Open eyes. Remember that it's Friday.
2. Bring butte, water, brown sugar, a little bit of salt, dashes of cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla to a boil, then stir in oats. Bake. This is what I make on days I don't know what to do for breakfast.
3. Coffee plus list-making. Hunting down a ramen recipe. Tomorrow is soup night and the theme is Asian. Must also think of wine pairings.
4. I relisten to Isabel Wilkerson's episode of On Being as I drive into the city. The way she talks of The Great Migration—it is making me think of all of the men and women who left the homes the new in search of a new kind of freedom. A freedom they had to define for themselves under the racism they experienced. It makes me think of the ingenuity, creativity, and courage of black people in America. Of all immigrants in America.
5. "The heart is the last frontier." - Isabel Wilkerson
6. Today's interview is on the south side. The woman is large in stature and in personality. I realize that she is my mother's age but doesn't look like it. Her smile is infectious. She's *really* smart. And by smart I mean that there is something behind her eyes that only some people have and she has it.
7. Nikki Giovanni and her obsession with space. And how she keeps called #45 a fool. It must be that certain age that causes you to lose all filters.
8. Daydreaming of warmer days.
9. I am convinced that I'm a little more rooted in myself because of the amount of time I've been able to spend in conversation with black people this past month. I underestimate the importance of being with those who understand you—not because you are black, but because there is a common history and an unspoken language. And because even if we didn't grow up in the same kinds of neighborhoods or in the same kinds of families, we are all still black people who have grown up in America and that is something no one but another black person can understand.
10. I think I'll try again.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Five
1. 3 am. I turn over and try to sleep for a just a little bit longer but all I can think of is the day ahead and how tired I am.
2. And it's still so dark.
3. Bacon, croissants, fruit, and coffee. I set down my cup somewhere and then lose it. I remember that it's in the laundry room and go to retrieve it but now it's cold. I keep losing my cup.
4. The grayness continues and I try to conjure up memories of the sunny days spent with my toes in the grass.
5. I pack up my lights and grab a kombucha and get in the car. Today, I'll meet her on the north side. The drive is slow. I listen to Andre Mack of Mouton Noir Wines and some big shot from E & J Gallo talk about how wine professionals should approach people who are new to wine. Like, basically, the goal is to have more people drink it. So let go of your idea of what is good. Remember that everyone has a starting point.
6. It might have been the best cornbread I've ever eaten in my life. I stuffed it all in before I even made it to the on-ramp.
7. I can barely keep my eyes open. As I sit, the sky gets darker and darker. It is only 3:15 but it looks like 4:45 and all the light is gone. I feel claustrophobic. Like I'm trapped in a box.
8. He says that I look like a woman who does not want to cook dinner today. He is right. I am not. He runs out to get a dinner that I won't eat because I am still full from the cornbread.
9. The way they laugh among themselves between bites.
10. Bath with salts and oils and nature sounds from the meditation app. I feel a little dehydrated when I get out.
Inspiration - Burgundy
Burgundy is almost always on the brain. Stare into as many glasses of wine as I do and you too will only see red. No not red, burgundy. It's one of those colors that feels sexy and smooth, so rich and decadent. It's dark and moody and, in the right tone, a little devilish. - A
“What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe. It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.”
“Her blood is dancing, she wants to live, and there is no life here.”
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Four
1. Up before the alarm again.
2. Everyone has eaten and they are back upstairs playing quietly. I can barely keep my head up. I take my coffee upstairs and stick my legs back under the covers.
3. Maybe it's the weather. The low-hanging gray. It's bright, but the light feels empty, if that makes sense. There is no glow, no warmth.
4. She texts me to let me know that today's interview needs to be rescheduled. I am beyond happy. I need a day to rest, I think.
5. I feel guilty resting.
6. Make a list of gratitudes.
7. Sushi and sake for lunch. The house is a disaster. I try to pretend I don't know this by just keeping the kitchen clean. I just have to keep my head down. I know this is only temporary.
8. But the fatigue. We determine that it might not be the coffee, but the lack of iron. The weeks of no caffeine were also the weeks of a heavy burger and steak diet. And it could also just be winter.
9. Her smile.
10. I lean against the shower door, eyes closed, draped in the warmth of the water. Ready for tomorrow.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Three
1. Their lights are off.
2. The sky outside. How it's milky. Silhouettes of trees, bare and naked like skeletons.
3. I open the back door and take a deep breath. It's just barely above freezing but the air feels a touch warm.
4. Caramelized onions and peppers get stuffed into potatoes, topped with bacon and cheese.
5. It feels good to be back at the counter. Because Tuesdays are still my favorite days. And because this is still the place where some kind of restoration occurs.
6. 37 days until the On Being Gathering. 49 days until Sonoma & Napa. 106 days until Fever Dreams Collective. This year of numbers.
7. Beaujolais with some duck prosciutto and the bacon jam crostinis. I finish with a big cup of coffee and a thick slice of cheesecake with the best graham cracker crust I've had in a long time.
8. He orders pizza.
9. I can feel the weariness in my bones. But I know I say this to myself all of the time: "I'd take this kind of tired—the kind of tired that comes from doing the things that matter to me—over anything else."
10. I think back to what she wrote to me...about how, astrologically, it is time for me to face the hard work needed to make my dreams a reality. So I can either surrender or work my tail off. I'm choosing the latter.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Two
1. 4:58 am. It must be nerves.
2. It's the first day back and since I am cultivating ease, it's frozen waffles and fruit for breakfast.
3. I am in this shirt that is too low-cut for normal wear, if I'm honest with myself. But I love its texture. It's shiny and smooth and falls pleasantly.
4. Traffic into the city can be so unpredictable. I am 40 minutes early for today's shoot. I sit in the car and finish a few podcast episodes. Watch the students walk on sidewalks turning from snow to slush in the morning sun. Everything is a little golden.
5. On to the next.
6. They must not see very many black women at this particular Starbucks. Everyone turns to look at me when I walk in. Caramel Macchiato and back out the door I go humming Demi Levato.
7. Maybe it's because I was humming Demi Levato too loudly?
8. It doesn't even matter.
9. We ask one another what it looks like to be free, to live from the sacral energy, to be the embodiment of bold expression, to be able to be in a feeling state without being overrun with emotion.
10. Sometimes a name or a photo from the past pops up and you know that what you thought had been buried and covered over, blessed and healed, is still a tender wound.
10.1 I believe in signs. I always have. And I believe in the interconnectedness of things—that sometimes there is an inextricable link to a place or a person. That for some reason, things return to you. And that sometimes it's to show you how far you've come. And maybe sometimes it's to show you how far you still have to go. Or maybe, sometimes it's to show you that it's okay. That in this case, you had been right all along and that, at least in instance, there is no such thing as severance.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-One
1. The light is slow to come today.
2. Blueberry pancakes that only three of us will eat. But three is enough.
3. I can barely put a blueberry into my mouth. The tightness of my triceps is painful but kind of in a good way.
4. Also the muscles around my rib cage.
5. Fast Company.
6. The milky gray sky and the slowness of this morning.
7. I see no fewer than 8 accidents on my way to the studio.
8. This space. One day, also this, for myself.
9. But this is what he claimed for himself. He claimed it and then it came to be.
10. The Poet.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety
1. Dark. Somehow darker than usual.
2. This is the last Saturday before we return to school. Back to the normal routine. These two weeks have gone by fast and yet so slow. There's a part of me that will miss the looseness of these days.
3. Scones. Same Jamie Oliver recipe except without the blueberries and a cinnamon glaze instead of lemon. I shred frozen butter for these and the texture is divine.
4. Hot coffee plus fire plus words.
5. I find myself wanting to write about the things I said I no longer wanted to write about and I think about what that means for my own life as a writer. I writing is a study of my own interior, then to what and to whom and I really saying "no?"
6. I am here but nervous. But excited. Trying something new.
7. This requires letting go which is something I'm not that great at. It also requires a certain level of comfort with and about one's body; perhaps this is something that will develop over time. But the awkwardness of doing a new thing is a welcomed feeling today. I am so tired.
8. Two Rieslings: one from Alsace and one from Mosel.
9. The box is filled with dried flowers, the colors of which make me want to cry. I am so lucky to know her.
10. I know I'm going to be sore tomorrow.
Ten.One Hundred & Eighty-Nine
1. Emerald green in the sky.
2. Hot water with lemon. Thinking about what to serve for next week's soup night.
3. There's that little bubble of doubt that begins to surface when getting closer to your dream mean giving up something that you already have and love.
4. I stick my feet right up against the fireplace while I read. There is no getting away from the cold.
5. Laundry and The Others.
6. Lobster bisque, apple and manchego salad, glass of Shaya 2016 Verdejo from Rueda. I don't think I've had much Verdejo. I need to add it to my list of summer whites.
7. I think back to earlier this morning when I was fixing her ponytail. How I asked her to turn her body, por favor. "What does that mean?" Please, in Spanish. I guess I should say, s'il vous plait. We need to get back to studying our French. "I know."
8. We lay in bed, three of us, snuggled up beneath the covers. He and I close our eyes while the little one watches Jurassic Park for maybe the 100th or 200th time. It's a sweet and quiet moment.
9. Vouvray with honey and lemon chicken. Also making sure I drink more of this next summer.
10. I keep thinking about 33 and what I want it to look like. How I'm ready to grow up a little bit even though I don't exactly know what that means.
Ten.One Hundred & Eighty-Eight
1. I don't know how so many people miss the sunrise. It's the most forgiving time of day.
2. The scent of the oranges as I curl away the peel.
3. This sweater and its vibes. He tells me I look like I belong on a mountain somewhere and I say, "yeah. Like one of those mountains in California that Adam is always on."
4. But there's this call back to my writing roots. We talked yesterday of accountability. What is it that wants to be written?
5. There is so much.
6. I twist my neck to catch a glimpse of the old house. I know that it's their Subaru parked in front. The base of the porch column is still falling apart, as are the steps to the deck. I still miss it.
7. We talk in her foyer for 45 minutes. I still miss her too.
8. I remember now why I never come to Barnes & Noble to shop but it's the closest book store to me and, honestly, there's no romance in shopping on Amazon. I use leftover Christmas money to buy The Cooking Gene and three magazines: Darling, Fast Company, and Click.
9. Chicken tacos, guacamole, and a game of War.
10. I have letters to write.
Inspiration - Dusty Rose
Sometimes a color feels like a long lost friend. Or like a cloud you'd love to rest in. That's the way I'm feeling about this particular shade of pink. It feels fresh and new, elegant and feminine. Soft. And maybe those are all the things I wish to feel for myself right now. I sense the shift and this next evolution of self is seeking a sophisticated simplicity, cultivated ease, a curated aesthetic grounded in the natural beauty of things. - A
“Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.”
*all images sourced via pinterest
Ten.One Hundred & Eighty-Seven
1. Thin mornings.
2. Coffee and the hunt for deer.
3. No one is happy with my make-your-own-breakfast attitude.
4. When do they go back to school?
5. Today I really did only put three things on my list: edit photos, talk with Robin, do the laundry. I'm craving coffee and books in bed while the sun comes in.
6. There are so many things I feel uncertain about. I'm constantly praying for discernment. To trust the feelings in my body. I'm still trying to break the habit of over-intellectualizing.
7. Need to read some good books.
8. Pot roast and mashed potatoes. Merlot.
9. I stuff the laundry back into the baskets and drag them off the bed so I can craw beneath the covers. Maybe tomorrow it will get folded.
10. I still have a crush on Fox Mulder.
Ten.One Hundred & Eighty-Six
1. The color in between the yellow and the green is the color of the skin of a good lime.
2. Their outdoor lights are still on, turning the white snow a very pale shade of blue.
3. Leftover bagels for breakfast. Because, yes, today is also about Ease. Maybe every day is about Ease. I still love the tagline for Apiece Apart: Cultivated Ease. Yes. I want Cultivated Ease.
4. It's so cold that my face hurts. No one wants to shop for groceries in -13 degrees. But it is quiet. And the thing about temperatures this cold is that it often makes for a very bright and clear day. Still so blessed by the sun.
5. Three deer run through the back yard. They are still here.
6. Website finally done. And I am not sure that it will make much of a difference but at least, for now, it does feel more like me.
7. They moved from Washington state to here. I wonder how they're holding up in this cold.
8. In one month I'll be in Santa Cruz. That's what I keep telling myself as I watch the temperature hover around 3 degrees.
9. Sometimes it's just more motivating when you think someone doesn't believe in you.
10. I sit with the towel wrapped around my head, trying to let the oils sink in. What will be different about tomorrow?