Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Nine
1. 399.
2. 5:15 run for coffee. I grab 4 pints of blueberries too. Why? Maybe these will become a dessert.
3. I make a mental list of what needs to be done: meal plan, grocery list, shopping, dusting all the baseboards, cleaning hand prints and fingerprints off the windows, water the lawn.
4. Still some time to read before the store opens. Dragonflies and butterflies and the finchs are singing.
5. DOCG Chianti for under $10. I’m intrigued.
6. It is hot. Very hot. But I’d rather sit here right now and fill my head with stories to distract me.
7. I hear them but I can’t see them.
8. I finish Children of Blood and Bone and am not ready for it to end. Now my hands feel restless. I decide that I'll straighten up the kitchen again and then find the next book to read.
9. Heart Berries. I retreat back into my hot corner of the alcove. Though I am not sweating, I can feel the salt accumulating in the creases of my skin. My eyes are drying out from the hot wind. But I still want to sit here.
10. Lately, I can barely keep my eyes open past 8:30. Sleep comes fast and hard.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Eight
1. I miss the tall grasses and the faint scent of Queen Anne's Lace.
2. Coffee. Leftover potatoes. Bright sunlight. Water from the sprinkler hitting the windows. Where did the cicada go?
3. I watch Monarchs chase one another. Then there's a cricket jumping around my feet. Then a giant bee. This week has been the week of insects.
4. Ruined plans.
5. I am not the only one trying to navigate a relationship with an elder that just won't go right. I feel saddened that so many of us are experiencing that disconnect, but also comforted in knowing that I'm not the only one.
6. Their house is under contract and while I'm happy for them it makes me sick to my stomach. At this point, everything is subjective. We know the home shows well. We know the home is priced right. We know that it has the best lot in the neighborhood. Someone will see it and they will love it like we do. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
7. I pile leftovers onto a baking sheet and warm them in the oven Mostly pieces of roast chicken, Brussels sprouts and turkey burgers.
8. Everyone says to be patient.
9. It's quiet on the street tonight. Except for the house with the newly engaged couple. There is laughter and car doors slamming shut. Sprinklers and the rattle of bike chains. I press my feet against the stone in the alcove.
10. Hot shower. So hot I can barely stand in it. Even with the fan on the steam almost chokes me. And yet it still feels good.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Seven
1. His birthday. Lucky number 7. I like odd numbers best.
2. I can't sleep so I get up before the alarm. 4:45. I've been tossing and turning. I haven't had a good night of sleep in several weeks.
3. I water the garden and the petunias and the hydrangea. The front lawn needs love too. We didn't get anywhere near the same kind of storms my friends got in the east. Everything is so dry.
4. I have to wake up the older two so we can get out to breakfast. It's his favorite place and one of ours too. Hibiscus mimosas, coffee, harvest potatoes, bacon, eggs, English muffin. I am full but in the best way.
5. She and I ride through the neighborhood and take the trail all the way to 5th Street. We are moving slowly though. My thighs are burning. Maybe it's the weight of breakfast. Need water.
6. Price drop is official and we pray it brings bodies through the door. It's hard not to be in a little bit of a panic when you're not sure if there's additional support if we're unable to sell the house. What do you do? Do you rent it? Do we live apart and somehow scrounge the dollars for him to be in an apartment until the house sells? There is a way to make it work no matter what but I'll take option one please. Let's just sell this house.
7. But if only it didn't have to end this way on his birthday. Everything is always my fault. I know that this is what she believes. That I am the reason she doesn't see her grand kids. That I am the reason they don't want to spend the night. That I am the reason we are moving to California. Of course, it's always easier to blame a stranger than the ones closest to you--or yourself. One of the things I've learned through the years is to be extra conscious of how I treat my children now so that they want to spend time with me later.
8. It's still eating away at me.
9. He asks me to make a vanilla cake with salted caramel frosting. Done and done. Everyone is full from a hearty breakfast and lunch and we skip dinner and go straight to presents and cake.
10. I think of a tornado...how in the center it is calm and quiet. That is what we have to do now. We have to keep finding the center where there is stillness. Yes, everything is being broken up and swirling around us, but there is still peace to be found in the chaos.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Six
1. I just don't feel like watering today. I'm wearing the jumpsuit and the hems will get wet if I go in the grass.
2. Deer. Not the mom but the baby that really isn't a baby any more. It looks at least another foot taller and leaps over some of the tall grass before disappearing into the thicket.
3. I still grind the coffee beans in the laundry room so that I don't wake any one up. I just want everyone to sleep for as long as they can.
4. Peace this morning is watching the fog rise up over the water behind the neighbor's house. It's spotting the dear. It's sitting on the concrete step feeling its coolness beneath my feet. It's a few deep breaths before assuming the duties of the day.
5. His birthday is tomorrow and because of what life has become these last few weeks, I am just not buying presents. They are resetting the Target but what I need is still intact. A Cubs hat, a NASA t-shirt, a headset and some Nerf bullets should be sufficient. That's one of the things I love about him is that he's so enthusiastic about everything. He is almost always happy.
6. Butterflies.
7. I give myself time to read a few chapters of Children of Blood and Bone before I get back to laundry.
8. I tell her that my plan is to channel all of this energy into creation. To focus on generative thoughts and not on anxiety.
9. I feel good about this game plan. I am hopeful. I am just ready to be done, ready to move forward.
10. Clouds that look like mountains. I can't not hum 3 by 5 when I look at the sky. A bit of a rainbow. Seems like a good omen.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Five
1. Gray skies. Window blinds blowing in from the breeze.
2. He asks me when I'll make a homemade breakfast again. I laugh. I am grateful that he appreciates my efforts in the kitchen. I am annoyed because he sounds spoiled. And because he doesn't understand that right now, with everything going on, this is just what I need to do for a while.
3. The DMV. It's faster than it used to be but I still wish I hadn't lost that piece of paper that would have let me renew my license online. All kinds of people and faces. Quiet time alone in the car. It's good to get out of the house.
4. I sit down in the alcove with coffee and my journal and begin to write. I text him and then come back inside. I decide that the best way to use my energy is to act as if they will come to our house next. I make the bed, start putting away, the laundry, put away the dishes.
5. Those same people now want to come see our house. I make the kids go downstairs and sit at the kitchen counter while I clean the bathrooms and he vacuums the bedrooms. We drip sweat up and down the stairs and finally, in the car.
6. Caramel and chocolate donuts. Sitting in the parking lot. Kids arguing in the backseat. I think of all the times my parents had to do this. I don't ever want to have to do this again.
7. This week's menu says it should be chicken tacos but I don't feel like tacos. I feel like something more hearty, something that feels more nourishing. Breadcrumbs? Check. Pasta? Check. Can of tomato sauce? Check. I take the basket back to the garden and fill it with heirloom and chocolate sprinkles, sage, rosemary, and thyme. I spot another baby watermelon on the vine. The other one is a deep, dark green. I can't wait to see its red flesh. How will I know it's time to harvest?
8. I walk back across the browning grass and think of that home he showed me on the southeastern edge of Livermore. It's a smaller, older, ranch that sits on 5 acres with views of rolling hills and mountains. I think, maybe I could do that.
9. Chicken Parmesan was a way better choice.
10. Tomorrow.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Four
1. 1:18 am. I still do not feel better.
2. I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep. I can't shut off my mind. I try to stick songs into my head and nothing stays very long. 1:47 am. 2:16 am. I debate just getting up and starting my day. 3:06 am. The alarm goes off at 4:30. I hit snooze and close my eyes. 5: 15.
3. The smell of skunk and the mist hanging close to the ground.
4. The way the fog has risen and is hanging over everything.
5. Extra pages. More prayers. Still angry. Understanding that the anger doesn’t nothing for me.
6. Meditation for stress.
7. But there’s a resolution and that feels good.
8. I begin Children of Blood and Bone and what excites me are characters that look like me and words that I don’t know but that somehow still feel familiar.
9. Leftovers.
10. Night comes fast.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Three
1. The smell of something burning. One piece of deep dish sausage at 450 degrees.
2. 4:30 alarm.
3. 5:30 alarm. I listen for birds. The windows are open and the air is cool. I close my eyes again.
4. We talk price and market and strategy before we’ve even had coffee.
5. I sweat in the corner but I refuse to move. Something about the heat and the light feels cleansing on a day like today. I set the sprinkler out and the drops that land on my forehead feel good.
6. We watch them leave and wonder if they were the ones that canceled.
7. It's just that there isn't enough energy for words. I feel tired but too restless to sleep.
8. One large monarch butterfly floating from to flower to flower. So much grace.
9. Then we realize what has happened and it's hard to turn off the emotion. Anger plus frustration added to the anxiety.
10. I will feel better in the morning.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Two
1. 4:30, full moon, quiet house.
2. I shouldn't check my phone first thing in the morning but I do and today, specifically I am bothered. But this is not about me. I mean, it is, in a way. And it's hard not to take it personally. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't see it coming.
3. Make a list.
4. I keep my head wrap on even after they get here because, whatever, I am cleaning and sweating and I don’t want to waste a good Afro puff.
5. One of the women used to live in Danville which is right near the other places we are looking to settle to. Synchronicity. I needed to be reminded, at this very moment, that not matter what we’re moving to California.
6. Burger and fries and a ginger ale out on the patio. Hunger.
7. They finally get us in the pool. She and I wade in the water and chat and they splash us in the face. It’s almost too chilly but the water feels good.
8. I need the fresh air.
9. And then I finally feel some peace.
10. Pizza and Collusion and chats with neighbors in the driveway. Being okay with what is. Realizing that I need to do things like buy school clothes and order school supplies. Realizing that we have to keep on living.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-One
1. He's up before me for an early flight. I can tell that autumn is coming. There is not as much light at this time as there used to be just last month. Summer is almost over.
2. I remind myself that there will be no perfection. I can only do the best I can with the resources I have at the moment.
3. The sun is hitting me on the legs in the just right way that warms me. Prayers and gratitude in the pages today.
4. The remodeled store is beautiful but in some ways, I am frustrated by how much has changed. Nothing is where it used to be.
5. I will just finish these pages before I eat lunch. But I know that I'm just putting off the real work that needs to be done.
6. I can start with laundry. I can start with the easy things. I know that my inability to move from the floor is a symptom of Overwhelm. She reminds me that the floor is there to support me and to hold and I then I take a few more breaths before rising to an upright position.
7. Change clothes. Put on loud music. Start by making the beds. It's 4:00pm but who cares?
8. Steak with chimichurri and roasted potatoes and green beans. I realize that I never ate lunch. I keep missing meals and instead, using a book a very small snack as nourishment but that's not ever really enough.
9. We laugh at the robin that keeps bouncing from the driveway to the tree to the lawn in search of the elusive rain coming down from the sprinkler. He can't seem to figure out where to go in order to stay consistently wet.
10. I give myself one more pep talk before I go to sleep.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety
1. Thursday. It's Thursday?
2. Water, water, water. Both myself and the lawn. And the birds. I love to watch them dance in the drips that fall from the sprinkler. Afterwards they come through and eat bugs and other things. They are so close to me that I can often see that their beaks are full.
3. Three red tomatoes in the windowsill.
4. The lilies are dying and that's okay. I'll buy fresh flowers on Saturday.
5. Very little feels like it's under my control and that feels uncomfortable. But today is better than yesterday.
6. I had forgotten how pretty this place is. And it's the perfect day to rest in the shade at the park while the kids play. We catch up on life. The oldest baby puts red dirt and rock into my hand. We both think it's interesting that the character, a young child, refuses to reveal a gender identity and how curious the theme is in a book so old. We talk about neither of us have looked up jacqueranda or sand verbena.
7. I have only a few more hours before I need to start dinner. I grab Braiding Sweetgrass so that I can finish up the last few chapters. I settle into my chair in the alcove with a large mason full of water at my feet. I will miss this space, this tiny corner of refuge.
8. "Language is our gift and our responsibility." - Braiding Sweetgrass
9. It's a tiny two-person booth and it's not too crowded. We split prawns, falafel, bacon jam crostini, some cheeses with an apricot chutney. We split our lives. It's hard to leave.
10. The moon is almost full and so bright that you almost don't need any other light. It's hard to watch both it and the road.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Nine
1. I wake up from the dream. We had an open house and I was walking with the realtor asking him for feedback. He asks me, "Do you want to sell the house, or do you want to move to California?" I feel like it's a trick question, but maybe it's not. Also, why does a dream about an open house feel more like a nightmare?
2. The tick of the sprinkler down the street. I can't see it but I know which house it is coming from.
3. December 12. Campbell, CA. That's the one.
4. I let him play while I do laundry. This morning, laundry feels like the only thing I am capable of doing. Head ache. Can't think. Read and wash and dry and fold.
5. I squeal at her news. Because it's a blessing to be able to share in the success of others. Because I'm always rooting for her and always wanting to see her win. And because it's amazing to watch someone grow into themselves and watch things they proclaimed for themselves years ago begin to come true.
6. I try to nap and reset myself but it doesn't work. I am mostly walking around with my hands in my pockets. This is anxiety at its finest. Also, I'm waiting on emails and not much else can happen until other people do the things on their ends.
7. Before I meet her to pick up the kids, I decide to do two things: something that feels like self-care and something that is productive and necessary for my move. I choose a book, Children of Blood & Bone, and labels for the moving boxes.
8. I think of Nia as I go and cut thyme and rosemary and sage and oregano. I think of how I can decide to feel safe right now in my home, with these plants and with my books and with my people.
9. I don't think he realized what he said.
10. I decide on a bowl of ice cream before I fall asleep. I decide that tomorrow will be different and maybe better. I decide that tomorrow I can try again. I decide that today's win was recognizing that my thoughts were not truth, and that everything is going to still be amazing, because this is still a dream coming true. This is the just the bitter part before the sweet.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Eight
1. After months of waking up at 4:30, 5:30 is beginning to feel too late. Too rushed. I like to have my coffee by 6:30 and this is really pushing it.
2. I get wet from the sprinkler. This tiny triangular piece of the yard is hard to water. Hopefully my neighbor doesn't mind me getting her driveway wet.
3. I am still sad about the lost watermelon.
4. I look for the deer and her baby. I always look in the morning. Last summer we'd meet pre-dawn. Lately she likes to come out in the middle of the afternoon. I think the height of the grasses this year makes her feel more safe.
5. Prayers.
6. She reminds me that specificity matters. I had just written it in my journal. I remember so many of my conversations with my Wolf Mom and all of the times she told me to be more specific in my ask. Specificity matters. And there is always refinement.
7. We take the kid out to lunch because it's just him and it's a good break for the two of us from our work for the day. He's a pleasant guest anyway.
8. I think of how lucky my husband is. How he probably doesn't have to worry about random violent attacks because of his gender or race.
9. As we walk through a sea of bodies that do not look like my own, in a town that I am not too familiar with, I think of Nia Wilson and I scan t-shirts and faces for possible signs of threat. This is what we mean by micro-aggressions. This is what they mean when they talk about the gap in lifespan. Worrying about whether or not you'll live through walking down the street to dinner is a shitty feeling. I am never not aware of my gender or my race and how I am never under the illusion of safety.
10. I fall asleep to them watching Avitar. I think of how I've never seen it and how I don't want to see it. I don't have time for any more of these kinds of stories.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Seven
1. A wall of clouds. But I think I need to water this morning.
2. Dentist. I'll be fine. I should probably meditate or something.
3. Some of the heirlooms are beginning to ripen. There is watermelon vine growing up the side of the house and across another bed. I need to cut it back but I also spot three new baby melons and the thought of accidentally killing them saddens me. But the growth is overwhelming.
4. The dentist is not as bad as I think it will be. We decide that for the time being, I should buy generic mouth guard to help with the night-time clenching.
5. That feeling of crossing items off the to-do list. That feeling of submitting an invoice. That feeling of still doing it on your own terms. That feeling of remembering that you get to choose when and how those terms change.
6. Red-winged blackbird chases away monarch butterfly. I should probably go ahead and pick those ripe tomatoes before I forget again.
7. Laptop on the back stoop because I can't make my way through the watermelon vines to the bench in the garden. I'll need to cut those back before the open house on Saturday.
8. We harvest almost two pounds of cherry tomatoes. I put them all in the little one's shirt. We lost one large watermelon and all the baby watermelons to pruning. It needed to be done but it still felt like Loss. Like hard work and patience left unrewarded.
9. He laughs at my statue but I tell him, "you have your ways, and I have mine." I don't think extra prayer can hurt anything.
10. You know your husband loves you when he makes a Target run for ice cream because the kids ate the rest of it and now you have nothing to put atop the peach cobbler you've been waiting all day to eat. Yes, I am loved. No, I take none of it for granted.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Six
1. Something fell. But it wasn't so loud that anyone else got up. So maybe it's my imagination.
2. Dreams of sunshine and large elk in the backyard.
3. Stamina, strength, patience, community.
4. I just don't want to get out of bed. Maybe, at the end of a week of 4:30 am wake-ups, my body is trying to make up for all the sleep it's missed. I've felt on the verge of a cold for the last several days. I'm taking this as a sign to just stay put and rest.
5. I just want Tiger to win again.
6. He tells me that I look good, the food smells great, the house is clean, but that I look annoyed. It's not that we're having a guests. I'm thinking of the things that need to be done the next week. I'm not annoyed, I'm just, maybe overwhelmed.
7. Also, there is the dentist tomorrow and I really dislike going to the dentist, even for routine things like a cleaning. I'd just rather not go.
8. I am too busy with making dinner and thinking about dinner to pay attention to what we're drinking. But I think I liked the reds the best, a Valpolicella and a Chianti, though the whites were not that bad either, a Saove and a Pinot Bianco, I think. I really ought to pay more attention. I need to get back to tasting more regularly.
9. There is much to do.
10. But this peach crisp might be one of the best desserts I've ever made. It's the crust. Chewy, and crispy, and yet also soft. Just sweet enough. Next time I'll add just a little acid to the peaches.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Five
1. Each day I type the number out and I can't believe it.
2. I dig out the linen pants. It feels like a day for linen pants. The trees are bending and the skies are still low, clouds moving south and west. There will probably be more rain.
3. 11 years. For some reason, 11 years feels more important than 10. Maybe it's the double digits. I also like odd numbers.
4. This time I remember everything on the list but add avocados.
5. Water and reading in the alcove. It’s overcast and breezy and quiet.
6. Everyone wants to know.
7. Why do her compliments make me uncomfortable?
8. Tattinger, Scribe Riesling Pétillant Naturel, Sake flight, Wind Gap Syrah.
9. A big plate of dessert. I should have asked for coffee.
10. Full in more ways than one.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Four
1. Mars. Blue=gray skies. Storms? I haven't checked the weather yet for today.
2. Scones. I stuck a stick of butter in the freezer last night. I think there's just enough flour. And I have enough blueberries too. I need to do something with those peaches though. Maybe this weekend calls for a cobbler.
3. My face is puffy from too much salt and other things. I can see it in my skin. I don't know that this is the time to make any more extreme changes, but my body is telling me otherwise. I've gone back and forth enough now to notice the difference, to have gathered enough evidence to see the cause and effect.
4. I walk out to the garden because now I can't tell if it really will rain or not. I spot another small watermelon, look up at the sky and decide to risk it.
5. Crossing things off feels good.
6. Rain. So much rain. The sound it makes when it hits the windows. The gentle rattle of the screens when a gust of wind comes. Little black birds with their beaks in the ground plucking up whatever has come up to the surface.
7. I still haven't gone to the grocery store today.
8. That distance between what you see and what you're making and the difficulty in closing the gap.
9. We order pizza.
10. We sit in the alcove and watch the clouds move. It rains a little more and it makes me think of the Green House with its sloping porch and peeling paint. I still miss that house.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Three
1. Press snooze.
2. Look up and find Mars. The birds are already loud; pre-dawn song. I think back to the way the ranch came alive each morning. Birds and toads and insects all welcoming the day in unison.
3. It's hard to not think about hinging everything on this one potentiality.
4. I ask for tips on how to maintain some sense of sanity for a move like this. I'm talking myself away from the ledge on the regular. The amazing thing is seeing how far I've come in rewriting self-talk. I'm much wiser than I was 10 years ago.
5. Always laundry.
6. I have a 1.5-hour drive ahead of me. I keep the windows down until I get to the highway and then keep the music up really loud. I might be basic—drinking Tangerine La Croix and listening to Paramore. I roll my eyes at myself.
7. The bakery is still shiny and new and French. The cases are filled with delicate and sticky things. I see something with gold leaf. He brings out a blueberry tart that is dotted with chamomile flowers. I see trays lined with proofing linen. I hope they make it.
8. Three old ladies come over the table in the window where I'm standing on chairs and moving plates. "Are you here taking pictures for a magazine?" "Yes, Chicago Reader, a local paper." "They deserve to be in a magazine. Even the water is beautiful!" They're amusing. I buy two baguettes before I leave.
9. I love leaving a job and feeling inspired. I have a large list for tomorrow. Projects that I'm ready to wrap up in order to make space for what is to come.
10. Cool breeze. The sound of the neighbor's sprinklers. We linger until it's almost too dark to read the face of my watch.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Two
1. Maybe today is a dress day.
2. Cravings: Bacon and eggs and toast and coffee. What is today? Wednesday? Yes, this is a good midweek breakfast.
3. Jeff always waters the plants in his pajamas: a dark blue cotton shirt, silky-looking navy pajama pants that stop just above the ankles, and black athletic slides.
4. I had asked the sky to see them again and here they are. I look up just in time to catch a glimpse of her from the window over the kitchen sink. I walk over to the sliding glass door and open it to feel the cool air and to watch her eat. Then I see the baby bound up the hill. This one is less cautious than last summer's child. They stand there together for a few more moments before disappearing behind a blanket of trees.
5. Three hours of screen time. I take the kids to the pool and bring a book. It's the just-right temperature. The sun is hot but when it slinks behind the clouds a coolness returns. I have to cover myself with a dry towel to keep the chills away.
6. One dead moth with beautiful markings in orange and yellow and black. I leave it where it is.
7. Not enough time to cook. Mediocre take-out BBQ. Cooking would have been worth the weight.
8. Same argument over and over. None of my answers to the questions make much a difference. I don't know what to do.
9. I drape the shawl over my arms and legs. The breeze is gentle. Lots of people are out this evening on account of the drop in temperature.
10. I try to stay awake but I just can't. Besides, tomorrow is a long day.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-One
1. I don't want to get up.
2. Watering. The melons are getting bigger and bigger and I think I see a new one. I had thought for sure that we were just going to have a big bed of vines so a little over a week ago we cut the plant back so that we'd have room to sit in the garden. Well, of course after that the watermelons appeared. It wasn't that there had been no cross-pollination. The root system couldn't bear the work of supporting all of the vegetation and fruit. By cutting away the excess we freed up energy for the good stuff.
3. I look across the wetlands to try to spot the deer but I see nothing. Just a red-winged blackbird balanced so precariously atop a tall weed/flower. And there's also the smell of skunk.
4. It's cool enough for me to use my shawl. I write words and then try to read a few. The dragonflies and I sit and watch.
5. The thing about interviews like this is that I quite often forget the question once I begin to answer. At the end I always wonder if I actually said anything of substance but ultimately just trust that whatever needed to come out did.
6. The Sacred Rebel.
7. I decide no pool and instead opt for more wine study on the front porch. My eyes are tired from looking at screens. This is another reason I had not wanted to return. The phone is still my most favorite method of numbing away the anxiety I'm carrying about what's happening in the world and in my own life right now.
8. Craving ice cream.
9. I need to figure out how to trim back some of the growth.
10. The fool.
Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty
1. I sleep in just a little bit but long enough that sun beats me.
2. What is today? Monday. There is laundry and a load of client work to attend to. But first coffee and some re-heated steel cut oats with walnuts and blueberries and a drizzle of honey.
3. The pink and yellow petunias and the thin petals of the hydrangea, chocolate colored mulch, green grass, and black asphalt, gray-white concrete, stone and ants and dragonflies.
4. All the emails. Fever Dreams soundtrack to keep me going. 5 spots left. It seems like a dream. A few days ago I told her that we had created something special, really special. Honored by the trust and the desire and the curiosity of these women who are choosing to be with us.
5. I want to sit in the sun but it's too humid for the heat to feel good. I settle back into the basement where it's almost too cold.
6. Dragonfly meeting me again in this space. Prosperity. Good Luck. Strength. Peace. Harmony. Purity.
7. Popcorn with butter.
8. I know that this is just the manifestation of stress. I'm focusing on the wrong things.
9. Crock-pot chicken tacos. I keep skipping lunch. Part nerves, part laziness.
10. The stone feels cools against my feet. The sky does this interesting thing where, just before the sun sets behind the hill, the neighborhood glows a little brighter before night settles in.