Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-Two
1. Gratitude for the 24-hour grocery store. You can tell a lot about a person's week based on their trash. Today is trash day and I'm out before the recycling truck and so I can see the cans overflowing with pizza boxes and TV boxes and air filters. We make more trash in this house than we did in the last one and I'm not entirely sure how or why but I want to change that.
2. The way the light of the morning is falling onto my desk. I should capture this. The beginnings of the day. The one thing about not posting on Instagram is that my camera is not in my hand. We need to become familiar again.
3. The spiderwebs are getting bigger.
4. I will wash the walls and the doors and the baseboards today so that I can paint on Friday. That's the thing about white walls: they show all the evidence of the living.
5. Nothing I am doing is working right. I think it's all in my head.
6. The little one and I go for a ride. Now that he's on two wheels, the world feels so different. As sad as I am that he won't hold my hand in public anymore, I love moments like these where he and I can do things that excite him. Plus I just needed the fresh air.
7. I find a few books in the library but none are exactly what I was looking for. The selection always feels so limited. I can get almost anything digitally but I want a real book. I like to flip pages and feel the texture on my fingertips. Reading is such a sensual experience.
8. I try to work on the computer outside but the between the glare and the loud talking by the landscapers a few houses down, I decide to call it quits and fold laundry.
9. I realize that I've been stewing in shame and guilt and fear for the whole day and this is why everything I've touched is paled over. So I go back to the journal and write while I stir the risotto, circle back to my why, write my gratitude in all caps.
10. The garden is wild. All the tomato plants are now fruiting, there is so much basil and sage and thyme. The okra is beginning to flower. There are two large green bell peppers and the watermelon wants to creep up the side of the house. I like this. I like this a lot.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty-One
1. Almost a year of this. Really? It doesn't even feel like it's been this long.
2. I wonder what I will do with all of these words. Some of these are the beginnings or the endings of poems that have yet to be written.
3. But we're out of cheddar cheese I think and so this might not go over very well. So it's just bagels and fruit like the day before.
4. This headache just won't go away.
5. All of the details for Fever Dreams 2019 are typed up and written out and now all that's left to do is to email all of the women in the upcoming weeks and cross fingers and toes that this is something everyone is needing again. I know I need it.
6. I'm thinking of her making her way to France. I am sad that I won't make it this year. Maybe next year or the year after that.
7. I lay down to try to sleep off the headache. It feels like a needle is being pressed into my left temple. I want to stay awake and read but I close my eyes and turn onto my side.
8. I wake up with a start. In the dream it was already 4:30 and time for me to make dinner. I go down and get more water and a few crackers and then lay back down. I am grateful that I can rest.
9. Then what am I really doing?
10. Maybe I can't do hard things.
Ten.Three Hundred & Sixty
1. Dream of remembering my yoga posture and driving long distances.
2. Grassy shadows.
3. No one seems to like my "figure out breakfast on your own" mornings. I'll cook tomorrow.
4. I go through and map out the months and feel this weight on one side of my body that means that something is not right. I've spent far too many years questioning my intuition, wondering if I've confused it (intuition) with resistance to the hard stuff.
5. I can do hard things.
6. I know this is a library book but I begin to dog-ear the pages. This is a book I'll need to go and buy and reread later.
7. "How can one, however, in any other terms than in the symbols of power?" - The Fire Next Time
8. I fold the laundry and think and think. Then I grab the notebook and write to her. A letter I will probably never send but I think that maybe bits and pieces of this will become something. I try to explain these three anchors and what they mean to me at this moment: "honor life," "legacy," and "sovereignty." These words are hefty.
9. At some point, I ought to vacuum up these spider webs in the sills. I make a mental list of all things that will need to be done. It doesn't overwhelm me. But it is a very long list.
10. I pick a dessert for our guests to enjoy on Sunday. A kind of deconstructed strawberry shortcake. I'll need some small mason jars for this. I'll use fresh mint from the garden. I'll whip the cream by hand. It will be a good Sunday.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Nine
1. The way the windows are wet with humidity. How tiny beads of water trickle down the glass so slowly. It looks like it will be a hot day.
2. I take the bread out to let it come to room temperature before baking. I think of the way the dough felt in my hands yesterday evening before I rolled it flat. So light and elastic.
3. Today's practice feels hard. I let myself let it be hard and remember that it's just hard today.
4. Today I actually sit down and draw out the maps. I tell him it's hippie moon-centered goal-setting.
5. We snuggle up to watch more Twilight Zone. This is the only way I can take a nap these days.
6. It's a perfect kind of day for the pool: just hot enough in the sun to feel the burn but to not sweat; just enough people to make it feel lively but not overwhelming. The middle one is closer to being able to swim. At least the little one is letting go of the ledge today.
7. The smell of tea tree oil.
8. The tomatoes are overtaking everything. I push away limbs to uncover the rosemary and the thyme. I am a little overwhelmed by the abundance. But I am receiving it.
9. Chianti Classico with Chicken Parmesan.
10. The only thing about a pool day is that it wipes you out.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Eight
1. He asks me if I know what time it is. I guess 8:30 but it is 9:30.
2. Well, I do wake up at 4:30 every day so maybe I needed these extra 5 hours today.
3. I take a peak at the garden. The tomatoes are choking out the rosemary and the okra. I’ll need to prune them back.
4. The Fire Next Time.
5. Well, she is tenacious.
6. Two little white butterflies off in the distance. The sounds of cars going to and from. I wonder where the deer is and if we’ll see her again.
7. I think of his words and how he said all the things I’ve been thinking about about people and Christianity and to survive as a black person.
8. It just seems like my heart won’t stop breaking.
9. I’m not sure I liked the movie but it did make me cry.
10. We need more stories about death.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Seven
1. Still raining. Cool enough for jeans.
2. The way the soft light of morning illuminates the typewriter and the notebook and the wax and the candle. The way this space finally feels like sacred space. Gratitude.
3. Trying to come up with meals that can feed all of us while I try to honor what my own body is calling out for. How maybe the food doesn't have to be that different for all of us.
4. Still raining. I run the aisles for the regular items and add a few special items like a wedge of manchego.
5. He asks me about the lockbox on the front door. Are we moving? I don't know. They are moving. They have only a few more weeks before they head back to a place that feels more like home.
6. I help the girls make cookies. It warms me to know that the last time they spend together is doing this.
7. Maps.
8. I tell him I don't feel like making dinner. He orders pizza. I breathe a sigh of relief
9. I finish the pint of Madagascar Vanilla Talenti. Some things aren't ever worth their cost. This gelato is.
10. Wishing you didn't know the things you aren't supposed to know.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Six
1. Raindrops on windows.
2. We are supposed to meet with friends today but it feels like a good day for cleaning and drinking tea and reading books.
3. I hear footsteps while I try to finish up yoga. I know who it is. I told her not to come down until 7. But she just really wants to make scones.
4. Something in the dough is not quite right. This is the one things about letting go: choosing to be open to an unfamiliar experience.
5. It's kind of unreal to see my images on a major local publication. I'm honored and proud and it only makes my mind race.
6. Our plans did change and so I spend the morning cleaning. We empty out her dresser drawers which become receptacles for craft trash and I wonder what we'll do about her as she gets older. She is just a messy kid. I know that's part of her creative spirit but we need to introduce some order.
7. Still raining.
8. No tea and no books. I turn on Twilight Zone instead and he comes in to curl up with me as we watch one of our favorite episodes, The Odyssey of Flight 33.
9. I think we'll take a break from tacos for a while.
10. He still thinks I've told someone.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Five
1. No yoga today.
2. Bacon and eggs and hash browns for breakfast. I don't want coffee but I do. I'll make some coffee too.
3. How is it almost the end of June already?
4. She calls me up to tell me that there is a deer in the backyard. It looks like the same doe from last summer but alone. Her coat is deeper and a little thicker but the limp is still there. I can't believe she's alive.
5. I play the songs from the Fever Dreams playlist over and over again. Next October seems so far away but it really isn't.
6. The wildflowers and grasses are almost as tall as me. I had forgotten how beautiful this park is. Red-winged blackbirds everywhere.
7. He tells me something he's not supposed to tell me and now I can' think of anything else.
8. How many feelings can you feel all at once?
9. Sparkling Malbec on the wicker loveseat out back. Gravel between my toes. A cool breeze that turns over the leaves but won't keep away the gnats.
10. The last bit of Talenti from the jar.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Four
1. More spiders in webs. A moth too.
2. Feeling parts of the body that haven't been felt in such a long time. I've missed this level of awareness.
3. We talk about the writing life and social media and whether or not any of this is good for us. And also, we must be crazy to want to be writers and submit ourselves to this kind of torture.
4. Back to wine studies. I must plan as if I will take it again at the end of October. Why did I throw away all of those note cards?
5. I lay down for a few minutes and close my eyes and just breathe.
6. I grab "The Fire Next Time" by James Baldwin and tuck myself into the corner of the alcove, feet propped up against the cool stone, a small bowl of almonds placed precariously on my belly.
7. There is a lot of sage that needs to be harvested, And thyme and oregano and basil and cilantro too. I didn't prepare myself for what to do when everything is so abundant. I don't have enough baskets for collecting or hooks for drying. Why hadn't I set myself up to handle success?
8. Rigatoni with a pork ragu, rosemary focaccia and salad greens from the garden.
9. We sit outside while the rain falls. It is still humid but the temperature has dropped and there's a cool breeze that snakes its way into the corners. The sky is grayed over and everything is quiet. I just watch the birds and the leaves and listen.
10. It was worth the price.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Three
1. I can tell by the opaqueness of the sky that it will be another hot day. This is one morning where I won't be too cold for yoga in the basement.
2. A big black bird descends into the window well to eat a slug. It leaps up and out to go do whatever it does with a slug.
3. Mapping.
4. I write about the things I do instead of writing and decide that for the next 45 minutes I’m going to just write whatever comes up.
5. I write a page of questions to ask her; five haiku, a few pages about trusting myself.
6. We catch up on life and on Fever Dreams and on other projects. I tell her that the book did indeed change my life.
7. We head to the library. I find another herb book and pick up The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin.
8. More dates added.
9. Old John Mayer and a painfully late dinner.
10. Breathing.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Two
1. 5:30 am run to the store for syrup and challah and coffee. She wants to make him french toast for Father's Day.
2. I show her how to grind the coffee beans and which buttons to press on the maker. I see her in me. She is a caretaker, to some extent, and I both love this and am worried by it. I guess it will be okay as long as she learns to take care of her self.
3. I keep thinking about what she said. About how she was surprised by the other kinds of work I do. I realize it's because what I am really so good at is what I really want to do. What would it be like to do only that—to write only my own words, to only run creative retreats, to only run writing workshops, to feed people, to make people think in ways they've never thought before, to create sacred space for people to gather and experience one another.
4. I think back to how I described what I do with people at the On Being Gathering: I facilitate experiences for women to explore their creative truth in the form of online and in-person workshops and retreats. Yes, I just want to do that.
5. It's been open for only 6 minutes and the parking lot is full. We are here for steaks and wine. We find a package of ribeyes and settle on a 2012 Hietz Cabernet Sauvignon.
6. We stop once more for and get a bottle of 2010 Chateau Lalande-Borie Bordeaux.
7. I close the book. I am done and undone.
8. I forgot the whipped cream for the shortcakes. She comes with me to the store to grab a few more ingredients and decides to grab a bag of chocolates for her father.
9. Even in the shade, the heat is oppressive. I can feel the weight of every bead of sweat collecting above my brow. But there is also something pleasing about the stillness of the air.
10. I eat another shortcake.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-One
1. Sleeping in.
2. The ground is wet from dew but the soil is still quite dry. I set about to water it. A strong breeze blows the water back toward me. I laugh.
3. It's going to be a hot, long drive into the city for this shoot today. But hopefully it will be worth it. The editor says she trusts me which means I need to go into this trusting myself.
4. Birthday parties for kids you don't know. I drop him off and use up some store credit from a Christmas return. The mall is a dark and empty place.
5. I put pull on and pull off pants and shirts. This is another reason I do not like to shop. I have a hard time with what I see in the mirror. I keep trying on clothes. Keep trying to rewrite the stories I have about myself and my body. I realize that I've ignored these stories because I created space for myself where there are no scales and no full-length mirrors.
6. At last a pair of shorts that I can convince myself to purchase.
7. I always get nervous before these kinds of things. It's been a while since I've shot some food. And this is my first newspaper assignment so I'm extra nervous.
8. The restaurant is small and a little dark but I think I know how to work with this space. I remind myself that I am a natural light photographer. This is what I work with exclusively. I know this kind of space best.
9. "It’s the quality of a particular interaction that creates the replication of energy." - John Paul Lederach, On Being
10. I'm miles and miles away from the redwoods, barreling down the highway headed home, but I listen to them speak and am back in the lushness of that weekend. I remember Shabbat and how to listen and how to speak and how to observe and how to rest.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty
1. Snooze.
2. Dreams of being places that I do and don't want to be. People seem to be confused.
3. Nowhere to be but here.
4. Donut run. One very old pick-up on over-sized wheels with two large American flags attached to the bed. In the parking lot of the donut shop, A bumper sticker with a heart, a cross, and a gun. An American flag bandana hanging from the rear-view mirror. I think maybe I don't belong here after all.
5. I dip the old-fashioned into my coffee before heading down to the basement to work.
6. It looks like rain but I don't think it will fall.
7. I didn't realize I was supposed to pick him up. I round up the two of them and get in the car to drive to Naperville. The ride there feels longs. My mind is just preoccupied with so many other things.
8. I follow the thoughts all the way through and realize that it's not anger but shame. The shame of being a black person who cannot swim and thus a black woman who's kids cannot swim.
9. Turkey burgers again for dinner. I think I was able to convert him with these.
10. I forgive myself for feeling shame.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Nine
1. I let myself sleep in until 5 because it's cleaning day. The clouds are pushing east and the air is quiet.
2. Knowing versus Learning.
3. Today just feels like the day to stop. And then I realize that it's exactly two weeks until my birthday and so yes, this makes sense. I've been really into numbers lately. Not necessarily numerology, but just paying attention to what numbers I'm seeing and how they make me feel.
4. I still don't like the idea of announcing digital sabbaths but it feels necessary to do so. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I never know how long I'll choose to be gone when I leave which is kind of the interesting piece when it comes to these kinds of breaks. Sometimes one week is enough, sometimes three weeks is not enough.
5. Chairs.
6. The impulse to check is strong.
7. I drive all of us to Naperville to spend a little bit of time with friends. I always get asked when I'm going to move back. There's always a house for sale. Maybe. Maybe if he gets a different job with a bit of a pay-raise then we might move back. I try not to think about that. Right now, despite my feeling of loneliness, moving back isn't the focus. Rooting is.
8. I grab the chairs and they are just brown enough and not red at all and I'm relieved.
9. She asks if we can talk about other things, not grow-up things.
10. We look up and see the sky. The sun is setting. The sky is the color of cornflower and the clouds are a pale pink. I can't move back. I'd never see these kinds of sunsets.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Eight
1. What time is it?
2. The windows are sweating so I already know what kind of day it's going to be.
3. I drag myself down to the basement for a quick yoga session. It's warm outside but so cold down here. I need to remember to bring a sweater.
4. Blueberry muffins. I forgot how satisfyingly light and airy the batter is once everything has been mixed together.
5. "Being at home in a given place means recognizing the rocks, the plants, the winds, and the waters and stars of that place in your own body, and your body in the rocks, the plants, the winds, and the waters and stars of that place. It means more than having memories associated with a given place. It means learning again how you and those you love and admire, in every physical, metabolic, chemical, mythical, and spiritual sense it can be means, are made of the things that make the place you belong to. That is the alchemy of belonging. This is where home comes from." - Die Wise
6. My shoulders and neck are sore from me trying to retrain them into alignment. Poor posture as a defense mechanism. Poor posture as a result of holding so much in that the body feels the need to cup itself in order to contain it.
7. I teach myself a few new things and it feels good.
8. I drag the blanket out of the back of the car and spread it on the grass, half in the shade and half in the sun. His gift to me was pizza ordered in for dinner so that I could continue to read and relax. It is a gift indeed. More time to feel the breeze blow down the back of my shirt.
9. "The culture lives in the language." - Die Wise
10. The right book at the right time is an elixir for your own becoming.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Seven
1. I decide that I don't want to do yoga this morning. I mean, I probably should, but I know that I don't have to. I just need to rest.
2. Fat robin perched atop the soccer goal.
3. All the white petals on these baby hydrangeas. I was worried that they wouldn't survive because they seemed to have shriveled so quickly after planting last summer. But both of them are so green and the one closest to the door is blooming.
4. He meets me in the alcove and we talk. He sees what I mean about the birds—how close they come to you, how comfortable they feel to dance and chase right in front of my face. It's interesting how my lists also help him to see everything differently too.
5. That feeling of talking face-to-face for the first time. How you get to then hold just a little bit more of a person's essence. We talk about the subjectivity of what one cup of coffee is.
6. I decide that this will indeed be the summer that they learn how to do more. I think about my role as a mother and my hope for my children. I've always said that I want them to be Independent Free Thinkers. Well, we need to work on the independent part. I have the oldest two bring down their clothes and show them how to run the washing machine. I think we all feel a little more empowered.
7. But there really is something pleasing about freshly vacuumed carpet.
8. But why can't I find any affordable dining chairs?
9. This is summer: plastic colored cups strewn about the yard, a stray helmet, a sidewalk full of bicycles, girls running barefoot, boys kicking soccer balls, the weight of the air so thick and humid.
10. So much goodness today. Plant seeds and then harvest. Actually, sometimes you don't really plant them. Sometimes you just scatter or toss them up into the air and then one day poppies rise up to greet you in your wholeness.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Six
1. 3:55 am. I know I won't be able to fall asleep again.
2. 4:25.
3. The way the street is wet from last night's rains and the way the streetlights make the water glisten.
4. There are spiders and slugs clinging to the window wells. I really need to get these covered.
5. Finally a frame for this image. All the dried eucalyptus in a vase beside it. Right here above the tub where the soft light will always hit it. This might become my new favorite spot.
6. Canceled plans mean a sense of ease about the day. It means more time to read and to write and do more laundry.
7. He sees me in bed. Even though he's smiling, I always feel judged. I justify it with having been up since before 4 am. But does it really matter what time I woke up? When you're tired, you're tired. It's taken me a long time to let myself be okay with resting.
8. It's taken me a long time to enjoy the privilege of resting. The next iteration of my life and my work will be helping other women to find a rhythm of rest in their lives and work. Yes. I think that's going to be a thing.
9. When I write down the list of things to do it doesn't always seem so big. But the few things that are there are large. And they're exciting. And they're heavy. And. I'll just get to them when I get to them.
10. I think back to the conversation. "What are you going to do with them?" (Them being my followers.) "Connect," I said. "This is a creative outlet," I said. Very little of what I do makes sense to those on the outside. Sometimes I care too much. I'm learning to care less and trust myself more.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Five
1. I think what it is is that I had worried that a post of mine might have offended my neighbors. That maybe what they read was that they are not my people. What I meant is that I didn't know who here might be my people so please raise your hand if you are. See. I still care too much what they think.
2. This is also a childhood wound. I carry this story of always being the odd one out, of not belonging, of being misunderstood. This is why I so deeply care about belonging, why I am always trying to find home.
3. We talk a little bit about my feelings at the island. I acknowledge that it's my own stuff I need to work on. Someone responds in a DM to say that she's learning how to honor her introvert-self while also finding ways to be seen by others. Yes, this.
4. More and more white petals on the baby hydrangea bushes. I need to take a picture to show Aunt Janice.
5. I sit down to write a newsletter and it feels good to be back. There is a tiny but mighty little community that sits right there. I tell them that they too are essential for living.
6. Everything is just an experiment anyway but I need better systems.
7. The great thing about choosing to watch a really bad horror movie is that everyone has to leave you alone. So I drink Lacroix in my underwear and watch "A Cure for Wellness" and this feels like a good way to spend a cloudy afternoon.
8. I worry that she'll think I'm flaking on her if I cancel on her tomorrow. But really, who wants to go to the pool when it's not even 80 degrees?
9. Philosophical questions that don't have any answers.
10. One more sip of pinot before I fall asleep.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Four
1. Slept in long enough for me to consider grabbing donuts but the pressure is on for scones.
2. I have her gather all the ingredients and squeeze the lemon juice to make the glaze.
3. I love the cloud-cover and the low rumble of thunder and the sound of the rain. Storms feel like a deep inhale.
4. He flips through the books and looks at the maps of Fixin, Gevrey-Chambertin, Saint-Aubin. I remember how badly I still desire to learn French and that this is the last year I can try to retake my certified sommelier exam without starting over with the introductory.
5. I get it, I really do.
6. I want to take a nap but I know if I do I won't want to get up for the block party so I grab the book and head outside to the alcove to read. I'm too cool in the corner of shade and so I sit on the step and drape my dress over my legs and sit in the little bit of sun that's peeking through.
7. I ask him how he wants to die. Then we realize that there are more adult things we need to do like make a will or a plan for the children. The things you have to talk about once you get to a certain age.
8. I tell him that we don't do the things that require lawn chairs but that maybe it's time to get some for next year's block party.
9. Pulled pork, kebabs, macaroni and cheese, homemade empanadas, wine and water. Some conversation.
10. All of these people and yet this feeling of being alone. Maybe it's an introvert thing. I am not one to walk up to a group of people to introduce myself. Most people can't, really. Engagement is a two-way street. So I know that I shouldn't take it personally. But I am. I tell him that I sometimes worry that because so many of the people here only know me through my Instagram that it might affect how they interact with me. That maybe I wish they couldn't see everything I post and say before getting to know me in real time, face-to-face. It shouldn't really matter. I am who I am and eventually they would see and learn what I'm all about anyway. I think I just wish that I didn't care.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Three
1. Twinkle lights on and a bit of a chill in the air.
2. I’m moving slowly. The rain is coming. I can see it in the clouds.
3. No, I will continue to follow my gut.
4. I am trying to see it all from his point of view. I hear him. I understand him. But I can tell that it’s not landing in me how he wants it too.
5. Grocery shopping with three children. What I thought would be torturous turned into a moment of awareness for them and gratitude for the food they eat. I hadn’t thought about how, out of convenience, I’d been shielding them from a life lesson.
6. I have them help me unload the car and put the groceries away. Yesterday I was yelling but today I feel empowered.
7. Two Oreos.
8. I could quit it all but then what would I do?
9. Flank steak and potatoes and asparagus and mushrooms and blue cheese sauce eaten quickly before drinks with friends.
10. Community.