Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Five
1. I am not the first one up and this is my least favorite way to start a weekday morning.
2. This morning's sunrise reminds me of the desert: the colors look dusty and low. So today might be partly cloudy?
3. Robins at the back door searching.
4. He's forgotten his glasses again. He asks if I will go home and bring them to school for him. I say "no." I feel only a little guilty about this.
5. Thinking of ecosystems and how that translates into an every day life. If an ecosystem is about the network of interactions among organisms and between organisms and their environment, how can I create a better functioning exchange between myself and my family or friends or broader community? What does a healthy ecosystem look like for me?
6. Pomodoro technique for today's tasks. I had forgotten how effective it is for me.
7. He is gone for the afternoon which means I have the house to myself for just a few more hours. There is never enough quiet time.
8. I reattach the legs and worry for just a moment that I'm not strong enough to lift it on my own but I do and now it's almost done.
9. Reclamation of space.
10. I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Four
1. I should really figure out what star or planet that is. I love when I see it twinkling in the dark morning sky.
2. At the end of the dream I watched a fish being caught. Not just any fish, but a big fish—the kind they catch on the big boats out on in the sea and I said to myself, "maybe it's time to become a vegetarian."
3. I offer to make him bacon so he can have a BLT for lunch.
4. I take a bite of the bacon and wonder what it would be like if I did become a vegetarian. Really, what would it be like if I made a lot more new and hard choices based on the information I already know.
5. Tuesdays. It feels like forever since we've sat together but it's only been a week.
6. The hours are dripping.
7. I have just enough time to eat last night's leftovers, fold a few baskets of laundry and watch one episode of Versailles.
8. Boys and baseballs.
9. Because some days you just need it to be easy there are tacos on Tuesdays.
10. I text her to say that I am feeling called toward work that is not the work I'm doing now. What shape does it take? How do I make it possible? How I do I make it so that the ones who need it most can have it?
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-Three
1. Something about the early morning sky doesn't look quite right and then I remember that the glow must be from snow that's fallen overnight.
2. The lawns are blanketed in snow and the streets are wet and this Monday morning feels soft.
3. I've forgotten to buy coffee again and so I'm settling for a cappuccino but it's not enough to keep the headache at bay.
4. Must drink more water.
5. We catch up on life for just a bit before we decide to get to work. Two weeks. Only two weeks.
6. The sleet continues. And I'm not even mad about it because it's Chicago and it's April and we all know good and well that it could snow in April, maybe even in May. I try to keep my eyes on the green.
7. Three mallards at the edge of yard, one female sandwiched between two males. We watch them waddle before they take flight.
8. Poetry in the pick-up lane. I read it over and over again and hear her voice in my head. I am listening.
9. I convince them one by one that they will like the squash. It's just like sweet potato, I say. Anything will taste good with bacon and onions.
10. The homework assignment is to write a poem with your family and this is my most favorite homework assignment. This one is going on the chalkboard wall.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-One
1. The youngest one is laying on the floor, illuminated by the glow of the television screen.
2. The arrival of light.
3. We arrive and no one is there. I am frustrated but let it go. It's sunny, we're out together as a family, I'll find another $20 table.
4. Black Panther.
5. Why has it taken so long to have a movie that is full of whole characters - strong characters?
6. He helps me pick a bottle of Domaine Giacometti. A Patrimonio from Corsica. Something I've never had before.
7. I have yet to put a poem up on the chalkboard wall. I've been waiting for the very right one to find its way to me.
8. The relief that comes from knowing you now have access to better tools.
9. While limitations can often set the conditions for greater creativity, better tools allow for efficiency. And sometimes it's efficiency that matters most.
10. If images and words are what shape my reality, then what visions am I holding close? Whose words and what voice am I in communion with? What am I making and speaking into creation?
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty-One
1. 2.24 am and he sidles up next to me in the bed.
2. 5:20 am the alarm goes off and I press him flat against the bed in order to turn it off. Then decide to just roll over him and wake up. There is much to do today.
3. Beneath the navy are even strips of orange and yellow and red. This means there will be sun.
4. She tells me that the onions are not caramelized enough. I've created a foodie monster.
5. He says that there's no way to use the plywood. Not for this kind of project. Which means I am on the search for something else. And I've wasted $25.
6. It still surprises me to see someone smoking in a car with the windows rolled up. I try not to stare. But I can't help but judge. I'm working on it.
7. I go to three different thrift stores and find nothing but a globe. Everyone is excited about the globe. I am still desk-less.
8. Back in the old neighborhood. I don't miss the downtown on weekends but I do miss being able to walk to people and things when I wanted to. I miss my long morning walks on tree-covered sidewalks.
9. The smell of tomatoes and garlic roasting. These I will take down the street for a recipe-sharing-ladie's-night thing.
10. I'm still trying to figure out where and how I belong here. Three months ago I had thought I was going to be leaving again but now I'm here. And I want to be here. How do I stay?
Ten.Two Hundred & Eighty
1. Almost to 300. It doesn't matter and yet it does.
2. The morning sky is low and I see no promise of sun just yet. I hope that changes.
3. Back to frozen waffles for them. For me, I'm choosing steel cut oats with blueberries and walnuts and a drizzle of honey.
4. The hardest part of the week is making a meal plan for the upcoming days. There are foods that have now fallen out of favor: blueberries, my muffins and scones, beef tacos, chicken noodle soup, pasta and sauce.
5. We are there before IKEA officially opens but I need protein so we head upstairs to the cafe and I eat a small breakfast of eggs, two sausage links and a scoop of unseasoned potatoes. The lift coming in from the windows is soft and the tables are being filled by elderly and those with small children. For only $1 a plate, it's easy to see why this is a draw.
6. Four legs for the desk.
7. He tells me the plywood is warped. I'm still going to figure out a way to make this desk this weekend.
8. The crane is back. I love to watch him glide. The line of his body from beak to feet, the way his wings are outstretched as he rides air. So regal. So free.
9. At least the sun is out today and that enough to warm the face.
10. I do really like it here in the spring and summer when the sunlight lingers in the kitchen, and the music is loud, and the glasses are filled with wine and we sit and talk and cook and laugh, watching the sun set behind the berm. I never thought I'd say that I'm so glad to still be here.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Nine
1. Up before the alarm.
2. I hear feet on the stairs as I begin to add the flour. He's up early again, too early, but I let him make his lunch.
3. No one is eating the muffins. They are going for the frozen waffles instead. I think maybe it just means we need a break from the muffins. But I don't mind. It means I get 40 minutes of my morning back.
4. Still hunting down poetry.
5. I want to fix my basement workspace but there is no time today. Too many phone calls that require me to be tethered. So I'm on the floor of my bedroom tucked between the two corners where I get the best light.
6. Less than 3 weeks until Fever Dreams.
7. This particular call feels serendipitous. I need the stretch. It's what I asked for.
8. Sometimes things just happen the right way and you say "yes." I need to get back to saying "yes." I would thrust out my "no" too quickly and closed myself off to opportunities. But now, I feel safe enough to be open again.
9. They gobble up the orzo tossed with the pan juices.
10. What would I change if I could go back? Does it even do any good to ponder such a question? No. I should be thinking, What kind of future do I want to create?
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Eight
1. There is a dusting of white over everything. Surely it can't be that cold?
2. In the kitchen I can hear the wind whipping. It's almost like a roar. The oldest is already downstairs making his sandwich, claims that he couldn't sleep. Neither could I.
3. It was perhaps the worst sleep I've had in a long time and not because of dreams, but just an inability to calm the body and the nerves enough to rest deeply.
4. The clouds parting. The wind must be forcing it.
5. Rectangles of sun on the stairs, in the hallway, slanted against the wall.
6. I watch 2 more episodes of Versailles. I still can't decide if I want to keep watching it. I have conflicted feelings about this king. I think this means the show has good writing.
7. The same kind of thoughts reappear every month at the same time. I know that there is a language my body is speaking to me that still feels foreign.
8. I miss my strength.
9. Tomorrow I'll write a poem on the chalkboard wall. I need more words.
10. Star Jasmine and old vines / Lay claim upon the ghosted land, / Then quiet pools whisper / Private childhood secrets. - from "California Prodigal" by Maya Angelou
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Seven
1. There is a dampness in the air that thickens the cold.
2. 6:15 and I am still the only one awake though I won't be for long. I can already hear the birds and their fervent chirps.
3. This is a no-make breakfast day for me: frozen waffles of mini-bagels and fruit.
4. The drive is long but necessary. They've built townhomes on the corner now and it looks so different.
5. Tuesdays with them. It feels like it's been more than a week. Every day this year has been long and full, slow and yet fast.
6. Paperwork. Three weeks to go and this is the last bit of formality that needs to be done. No, there is still more to create, but that is the fun part.
7. It's 4:45 and I need to close my eyes for a short nap. I'm progressively more and more fatigued.
8. I think I'll write a blog post about the books and experiences I've had this year that are making me rethink everything. How much shifting can a person do at one time? Do we have a responsibility to those closest to us to ease into change? But sometimes you just need to rip off the band-aid and dive right in. And also, what's realistic? This is where I am stuck—between my fantastical ideals and reality.
9. Roasted chicken and green beans and leftover potatoes. I forgot to light the candles.
10. These words repeating over and over: ..."a softness over people." - from "Soft" by Kay Ryan
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Six
1. It's an hour later than I usually wake up.
2. I want to take a walk but it's only 18 degrees. The sun is bright but it's still too cold.
3. There will be a delivery today of a large piece of plywood. I intend to make a very large desk out of it. Maybe it will just lean against the wall and become a giant moodboard.
4. At the library I find Nye, Nelson, Ryan, and Giovanni. I will start here.
5. We both stand and look through the windows at the expanse on the other side and talk uncomfortably about pergolas and shade.
6. Since when did arousal equal shame? I'm back to thinking about senses and sensuality and what happens to the creative life when we separate ourselves from feeling.
7. Moon marked and touched by sun / my magic is unwritten... - Audre Lorde, "A Woman Speaks"
8. And then I remember that there is only momentum when there is movement.
9. The box contains tiny treasures from India: prayer flags, a cloth-bound notebook, a tiny cloth doll, a mala, an image of Ganesh which I place in my windowsill next to the branch from a Polish Palm Sunday service.
10. Circle back to "why."
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Five
1. It's too cold to be outside this morning and so I get up early to set the eggs around the house, trying my best to not wake the children with that rattle sound of the jelly-bean-filled eggs.
2. I should probably prep the cake. We have a late harvest Mouvedre that we should drink. It's begging for Chocolate Cake with Salted Caramel Icing.
3. The book is still so full and and bright white against the soft, pale blue sky.
4. The robin and I stare at one another through the window before it takes off. I'm half hoping it's nesting somewhere on or near my house so that maybe I might stumble upon a nest or those beautiful blue eggs.
5. It's been a year in this house. One year. Time goes by so quickly.
6. I ask them to please just let me drink this last cup of coffee slowly. It will be the last time I get to sit down for today.
7. First the bread dough. Then the cake. Then the potatoes. Then the frosting. Then back to bread. Then frost the cake.
8. I've fed him this cake before but I think back to the words of Thomas Keller I read in the Ad Hoc at Home cookbook where he says that one of the ways to improve as a cook is to make the same recipe over and over and over, perfecting as you go along.
9. I am unpracticed at so many things.
10. Burgundy, Beaujolais, Muscadet.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Five
1. It's too cold to be outside this morning and so I get up early to set the eggs around the house, trying my best to not wake the children with that rattle sound of the jelly-bean-filled eggs.
2. I should probably prep the cake. We have a late harvest Mouvedre that we should drink. It's begging for Chocolate Cake with Salted Caramel Icing.
3. The book is still so full and and bright white against the soft, pale blue sky.
4. The robin and I stare at one another through the window before it takes off. I'm half hoping it's nesting somewhere on or near my house so that maybe I might stumble upon a nest or those beautiful blue eggs.
5. It's been a year in this house. One year. Time goes by so quickly.
6. I ask them to please just let me drink this last cup of coffee slowly. It will be the last time I get to sit down for today.
7. First the bread dough. Then the cake. Then the potatoes. Then the frosting. Then back to bread. Then frost the cake.
8. I've fed him this cake before but I think back to the words of Thomas Keller I read in the Ad Hoc at Home cookbook where he says that one of the ways to improve as a cook is to make the same recipe over and over and over, perfecting as you go along.
9. I am unpracticed at so many things.
10. Burgundy, Beaujolais, Muscadet.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Four
1. Usually the morning sky has a way of slowly unfolding itself but today, it's quietly erupting in shades of purple and orange and pink.
2. I'm trying not to be upset about it. Because it's really not his fault and yet it is. But it means that I have to do today alone and it feels unfair.
3. Bacon. Leftover bagels. But they're still sleeping.
4. This morning's method of distraction appears to be searching for pendant lighting.
5. We find him a chiropractor who take him this morning. He's better, but not at his best. He promises that he's not doing to ditch me today. I do feel better with this acknowledgement.
6. Her vision is changing. As long as there is no rapid progression, there is no need to be concerned.
7. You can tell by the way he engages with you that this job, this job that most of us would not want to do, brings him pleasure. He radiates joy, tells us we should go see Black Panther.
8. A Wrinkle In Time.
9. Love is always the answer.
10. A late dinner of chicken noodle soup eaten around the counter.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Four
1. Usually the morning sky has a way of slowly unfolding itself but today, it's quietly erupting in shades of purple and orange and pink.
2. I'm trying not to be upset about it. Because it's really not his fault and yet it is. But it means that I have to do today alone and it feels unfair.
3. Bacon. Leftover bagels. But they're still sleeping.
4. This morning's method of distraction appears to be searching for pendant lighting.
5. We find him a chiropractor who take him this morning. He's better, but not at his best. He promises that he's not doing to ditch me today. I do feel better with this acknowledgement.
6. Her vision is changing. As long as there is no rapid progression, there is no need to be concerned.
7. You can tell by the way he engages with you that this job, this job that most of us would not want to do, brings him pleasure. He radiates joy, tells us we should go see Black Panther.
8. A Wrinkle In Time.
9. Love is always the answer.
10. A late dinner of chicken noodle soup eaten around the counter.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Three
1. Footsteps. I am not amused.
2. Maybe there will be bagels for breakfast. I am unsure of what to make this morning. There is not enough butter left for baking. Not enough bread left for toast. No granola and only a touch of milk.
3. You can't please everyone. Even when there are bagels.
4. What I had not expected was the amount of private messages I would receive. Not nosy. More like expressions of concern and noticing.
5. Grocery day. He is leaving as I am coming in. Him in bright blue shoes. There are only a few things in his cart today: two gallons of skim milk, a large package of chicken breasts and something else I can't quite see.
6. This morning I linger, remembering that there really is no other place I need to be.
7. Because it is spring and because what I intend to do is make a home, I decide that today I will wash all of the baseboards, trim, and doors.
8. How even in only a year a home can take such a beating.
9. Where are the safe spaces, the quiet spaces, the warm spaces where we retreat to for comfort, care, inspiration, and rejuvenation? What does it mean to provide them? How do you create them? Where are they already in existence? Who gets access to them?
10. Full on pasta, wine, and fellowship.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-Two
1. The owls are near.
2. I can't see the stars from the bathroom window which means the rains have come.
3. Scones with a cinnamon glaze. I think, maybe I have lost my old ways of healing.
4. We are not the only ones with the idea of getting there early. It is Spring Break, after all. I decide to jump because I also need to play. I need to remember what it feels like to fly.
5. I know I will be sore tomorrow but I am grateful for the relative health of this body, that I am young enough to be able to do things like this with them. My main motivation for staying healthy is to be able to cross-over my son.
6. I search for toilet paper holders, cabinet hardware, and light fixtures.
7. I tell her that I've spent the last few weeks writing up business plans and working on a resume and that none of it feels right. And yet I must do something. I need to do something. What I really want to do is just tend to home.
8. The sound of geese honking as they fly overhead.
9. I get sidetracked by numbers and sheets and forget to start dinner.
10. Riesling and Vouvray, both just a tad sweet, tasting like summer.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-One
1. Her light is already on and it's not yet 6am.
2. The sound of glass breaking as it tumbles into the recycle truck. Night seems to want to stick around.
3. She's writing a story on my computer and though there is work I ought to get done, I don't want to break her away. I was her, twenty-something years ago on my mother's word processor writing story after story.
4. Mary Oliver's book on the craft of poetry. Some of these terms sound foreign to me but I appreciate her point, which is that even in these days of free form poetry, there is still an art to crafting a poem that's worthwhile.
5. Every choice matters.
6. The robins seem to be creeping in.
7. One large swatch of yellow light in the hallway that feels restorative.
8. I am feeling restless. I start over. None of this feels right.
9. We argue over ripening and brix and then realize that maybe we both mean the same thing.
10. Still, the Malbec from Cafayate Valley in Salta, Argentina is a great pairing with tonight's steak and chimichurri.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy-One
1. Her light is already on and it's not yet 6am.
2. The sound of glass breaking as it tumbles into the recycle truck. Night seems to want to stick around.
3. She's writing a story on my computer and though there is work I ought to get done, I don't want to break her away. I was her, twenty-something years ago on my mother's word processor writing story after story.
4. Mary Oliver's book on the craft of poetry. Some of these terms sound foreign to me but I appreciate her point, which is that even in these days of free form poetry, there is still an art to crafting a poem that's worthwhile.
5. Every choice matters.
6. The robins seem to be creeping in.
7. One large swatch of yellow light in the hallway that feels restorative.
8. I am feeling restless. I start over. None of this feels right.
9. We argue over ripening and brix and then realize that maybe we both mean the same thing.
10. Still, the Malbec from Cafayate Valley in Salta, Argentina is a great pairing with tonight's steak and chimichurri.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seventy
1. Window streaky with rain. Today is an indoor day.
2. The low grumble of a machine that I can't quite name. A truck rounds the curve dragging a large trailer behind it filled with scrap metal. Garbage day is tomorrow. He's too early.
3. This reminds me to ask my neighbor for scraps of plywood.
4. I miss the weight of my camera.
5. We're the first ones at Chuck E. Cheese. This seems like the worst idea but it's the best. I shoot basketball with the oldest, watch my youngest perfect his aim shooting at thin yellow ducks, and encourage my daughter to do something else other than the get-rich-quick ticket schemes, all before the madness of late morning.
6. I whisper "vanilla milkshake" but the kids still hear.
7. Ok. I know what I want to do. So now, what?
8. I start the soup and the sky is gray and the light in the kitchen is soft and I want to grab my camera to capture the quiet moodiness of it all. It feels ordinary and significant.
9. As the soup simmers I sit down to write two long overdue letters. In them I apologize for my tardiness. It seems necessary to do so, even though I know the expanse of grace under which I am covered.
10. Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee
Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-Nine
1. I see a bright star, or maybe it's a planet, through the window and watch it twinkle. Bright white against a navy sky.
2. There is no breakfast for me to make this morning but I want the extra time to plan out this morning's activity. The plan is to start some seeds today.
3. The whirring of the coffee grinder. I'm always afraid I'll wake someone up.
4. Last night he told me that I should write more poetry. I should. I mean that I want to. That I mean to study it and understand it so that my own way of writing is enriched. Because maybe I Ill believe that I'm a poet after all.
5. Annie Leibovitz Masterclass while I wait for everyone else to wake. Then I give him back his office so that he can meditate.
6. We purchase seeds: sunflowers, corn, okra, sweet peas, spinach, two types of lettuce, three types of tomatoes, some type of flower I've never seen before, dill, chives, and lavender. This feels like more than I can take on but I think we will do good. More herbs and perhaps some peppers will be added later.
7. Because we're staying.
8. I need a better plan though. A real plan. Not just, I'm going to plant these things and see what happens. Because, ultimately, I do want to see the fruit of my labor.
9. We decide that I should probably start making my own pasta. If I can make bread, then surely I can make pasta.
10. We sit back into the sofa, fireplace one, stems pinched between fingers, watching them read quietly from the same book while eating coconut cream popsicles. We wonder if it really could get much better than this.