Ten.Four Hundred & Seventy-Two

1. What’s the point of an alarm if you’re always waking up before it goes off?

2. I open up the door to feel the cool air and stare at the sky. Oh yes, it’s forecasting season. It’s going to be a very clear day today. I wonder if I’ll be able to read the skies in California like I do here.

3. The sound of owls.

4. Granola. Smoothies. Coffee. Lots of water.

5. The way the stalks of corn shimmy in the wind and the sun. That color. What is the name of that color? And how is it that dead things can also be so alive?

6. Turkey club and butternut squash soup. Chocolate chip cookie in a skillet. There is time for this.

7. I can indeed change insurance. You know you’re an adult when low deductibles excite you.

8. I don’t like that this decision is up to me. I’m afraid of making the wrong choice. Why does the easy choice make me so nervous?

9. A basket full of sweets.

10. 24 days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Seventy-One

1. I can’t fall back asleep. “Death of a Bachelor” on repeat in my head. It’s almost time for him to get up anyway.

2. He leaves in an Uber, a red Chrysler 300. I think that man is the same one who took me to the airport for Fever Dreams. I’m glad that this will be the last time the five of us will have to spend so much time apart. They won’t see him for 7 days. I’m grateful that this is not us every week like it is some other families.

3. I pick up the bedrooms and give the bathrooms a good cleaning. Down in the basement, I light the sage and grab the feather. Corner to corner. When I get upstairs, the kids ask to help. The littlest one takes the bundle and then the feather. He looks so proud of himself. I direct him to the corners of the rooms. Then she asks for a turn. “So this makes everyone feel better?” Yeah, yeah, it kinda does.

4. “It tastes like Jesus on the first day of His resurrection.”

5. The leaves are changing and some are falling from the limbs as the wind gusts. We make our way on the wooded paths. I take her to Big Rock. “Gina took me here once. It’s beautiful back there,” I tell her. We are lost. It will take us another 40 minutes to get back to the visitor center. But its time well spent. 6.5 miles.

6. I’m glad I’m making time for this.

7. I can’t help but mourn the loss of this particular friendship. But I also understand that there is a season for everything. And if, right now, the steps are just not lining up, then maybe it’s best to journey separately.

8. Wasting time during the inspection. Snack buying. Long pant buying (because I honestly thought we were going to be gone before the cold came. Costume browsing. Dinner buying.

9. I eat the rest of his cheeseburger with a knife and fork—and a glass of Malbec.

10. 6:25 and I think I’m ready to call it a night. Shower and then all the laundry while The House on Haunted Hill plays in the background. 25 days to go.

Ten.Four Hundred & Seventy

1. Frost on the grass.

2. This morning: coffee in Naperville; meet stager to drop off left-behind artwork; see if the eye doctor can fix her glasses; mentally prepare for a week of solo parenting and travel.

3. Amber light filling the foyer.

4. I make the waffle mix, macerate some strawberries, and melt butter. Coffee and a big glass of water.

5. The drive into Naperville is easy and quick. I find a parking spot right in fight of the hotel.

6. Chemex for me. She brings the baby and its so good to her and him in the flesh. We catch up on life and the challenges of motherhood. I’ve had this conversation a lot this year: how do we navigate these shifts in identity? In life? Where is there room to grieve lost ideals and dreams? No one tells you that motherhood is lonely, too.

7. They’re diverting traffic through the neighborhood. Must be an accident.

8. I go out to clip some rosemary. I probably ought to pull out the rest of these plants.

9. The sizzle of the pot roast in dutch oven.

10. Tomorrow from 3:30-5:30.

Ten.Four Hundred & Seventy

1. Frost on the grass.

2. This morning: coffee in Naperville; meet stager to drop off left-behind artwork; see if the eye doctor can fix her glasses; mentally prepare for a week of solo parenting and travel.

3. Amber light filling the foyer.

4. I make the waffle mix, macerate some strawberries, and melt butter. Coffee and a big glass of water.

5. The drive into Naperville is easy and quick. I find a parking spot right in fight of the hotel.

6. Chemex for me. She brings the baby and its so good to her and him in the flesh. We catch up on life and the challenges of motherhood. I’ve had this conversation a lot this year: how do we navigate these shifts in identity? In life? Where is there room to grieve lost ideals and dreams? No one tells you that motherhood is lonely, too.

7. They’re diverting traffic through the neighborhood. Must be an accident.

8. I go out to clip some rosemary. I probably ought to pull out the rest of these plants.

9. The sizzle of the pot roast in dutch oven.

10. Tomorrow from 3:30-5:30.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Nine

1. I’m stirring. It must be almost time to get up. Yes. It’s 5:16.

2. Fill the water bottle. They will have cereal this morning so that I can make a new menu plan for the week. What will be the easiest to do?

3. I fill the week with chicken dishes, a pot roast, one soup. This should get us through the week with relative ease. Nothing fancy or interesting, just food I know all of us will eat and get full on.

4. Sixteen 6-foot tall trees in front of the neighbor’s driveway. I tell them that this is what we what have done too if we had stayed. Just build a fence with trees. A beautiful, natural border. She asks me how the showings are going. I tell her that we sold it this week. There are smiles and congratulations and good lucks.

5. Holding pattern.

6. We sit down and scroll through to find houses to look at for next weekend. I just hope that we like this particular area in person as much as we do online. I do a little googling. It’s just your standard suburb, safe and with good schools. This is just phase one. Let’s just get ourselves there.

7. The littlest one and I settle in to watch Twilight Zone aka take a nap.

8. I wake up to the sound of the smoke detector going off. Chicken fajitas.

9. We finish the night with “Sing” and bowls of buttered popcorn. Nutritional yeast for me. They don’t know what they’re missing out on. Sleepy-time tea with echinacea and Vitamin C because I can feel an itch at the back of the throat.

10. Crack the window. I love the bite of fall air.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Eight

1. Frost on the rooftops. This means it’s almost time for morning coffee by the fire.

2. She’s been asking for scones. I set out the ingredients and get to work. Once again reminded that having my hands in dough grounds me.

3. I am washing my hands at the sink and look up to see not one, not two, but five deer. Five of them. The littlest said he saw five deer last week. And now I’ve seen them too. I watch as they disappear into the thicket.

4. The foyer fills with light and I bask in it for just a moment.

5. Straighten the rooms and begin to collect the stager’s accessories.

6. I stop in the Target to see if I can find a sparkling water to replace on a potential buyer took. I walk the aisles and see the Thanksgiving decorations and my eyes begin to tear up. I’ll be gone before Thanksgiving.

7. I go from room to room and collect the rest of the the stager’s accessories and start collecting them on the kitchen island. My eyes begin to water again. It’s just a release of this stress.

8. I walk around the house with Steve from the moving company, telling him what will be going, and what will not, so he can give me an updated quotes. My eyes water again.

9. We finally get to celebrate together.

10. I tell him that I’m not that excited because I’m just tired from all of the anxiety. But I am grateful to be done with this part. Well, almost. We’re not done. We’re in the process of clearing this step.

10.1 I hate to call for favors. I hate to ask for help. I had to ask for so much help during the last move. And the move before that. He reminds me that people want to help. I feel like I don’t do enough to earn the help. What am giving back in return for all of these favors I am requesting? Or maybe this is just the nature of friendship. Maybe in a good and true friendship, there is no keeping score; you give what you have and you lean on one another in different ways.

10.2 I buy a plane ticket for next weekend. It’s time to pick a new home.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Seven

1. Only a solid 3 hours of sleep. But he has soccer this morning which means we’re both up and at ‘em.

2. Cereal and milk is about all I can handle. I toss a few grapes in my mouth. Still dazed.

3. The kitchen is filled with the smell of dried thyme. I pick the thin branches and thumb off the leaves into the wooden bowl.

4. One day I’ll get over the fear of sharing good news. What is that about? Being scared to share something you’re excited about?

5. The wind is whipping and the sun is so bright. Leaves blowing off the trees. Emerald green grass.

6. Sausage, potatoes, kale, cream, chicken stock.

7. “Clarity about what matters provides clarity about what does not.” - Deep Work

8. I had forgotten about the crack of this crust, the airy crumb, the chewiness.

9. I ask him to make brownies with me while the big kids are at intramurals. He is happy to oblige per usual. I crack the shell for him and squeezes just a little too hard and gets white all over his fingers.

10. Feathers in the window. Light reflecting off the bells. I look for the deer. I love the light in this home. But I’m ready to go.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Six

1. 4:46 am. There’s no sense in me going back to sleep now. Plus it gives me a few more minutes to get the last bit of recycling out and the potatoes started.

2. I walk her back to bed and tell her to get some more rest. Maybe I can get another hour alone before she’s up for good.

3. I gather the tiny peppers from my neighbor and diced them up for the potatoes. Home grown things just smell so different than their store-bought version. They just smell and taste more like themselves.

4. Twisted stomach. I go through the bookcase and dig out the books that I no longer want. There are only a handful. My eyes scan the shelves…Shakespeare, Munro, Carver, McCarthy, Williams, Austen, Dickens. One day I’ll have a room just for books.

5. I understand my mother’s point of view. I understand why she wants to just stay out of it for now.

6. The line at the DMV is pleasantly short.

7. Fighting fatigue. I dump the laundry on the bed and get to work.

8. Here comes the rain. The sound of it. The way it beats its way through the screens and streaks the glass.

9. But now I don’t know how to feel. I just know that there’s more to do.

10. Time to start the next volume.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Five

1. Up before the alarm. It’s so dark but I know it’s almost time. 

2. Can’t stop thinking.  

3. The kitchen is dark and quiet and so clean. This is the best part of the showings.  

4. Sun, glorious sun. Rectangles of it landing on the chalkboard wall and on the floor. It’s the really golden kind of light that emanates on a warm day. This is probably the last of the warm days. 

5. When I return I will need to harvest almost everything.  

6. You can’t not be happy around a happy baby.

7. Sitting on the couch talking life. Watching the light change through the windows. Shadows on the rocking chairs.  

8. Nerves. 

9.  Basin full of water to rinse all the herbs. I managed to grab all of the thyme, a good amount of sage, and all of the oregano. I’ll harvest the rosemary tomorrow. What will I do with this handful of okra? More peppers. Roast them and pack them in oil? Who knows. Just gratitude for the abundance. 

10. Waiting.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Four

1. A Monday that feels like a Sunday. Grateful for another day without the crush of places to be.

2. I just need to finish this proposal. I look up words to make sure that they are what I want them to be.

3. 6:30-7:30pm. Great. Looks like we’re going to Longhorn tonight.

4. Now to hold myself together. To keep faith but to not get too excited. But this feels a little different. A lot different. Just need to finish this proposal so that I can start cleaning.

5. Blast the Panic At The Disco.

6. But all the women in me are tired. And that’s because our culture has not set us up to thrive or to honor our humanity. How does one be against the game and yet play enough of it to find the resources to subvert it?

7. Action breeds clarity.

8. I should have known it was going to be a mediocre meal when we stepped in front of the hostess stand and it was sticky.

9. Mediocre Malbec.

10. They’re still there.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Three

1. I can’t sleep any longer so I might as well get up.

2. I hear the XBOX turn on and know it’s one of the boys. This time the oldest. I have to tell him no more Fort Nite videos on YouTube. I really hate this contraption.

3. Dark, dark, dark. I’ll make the waffle batter and the bacon and then, maybe it would be a good morning for a long walk with a thermos of tea.

4. It’s still drizzling but the coolness of the air feels good. I wear the obnoxiously yellow rain coat and converse. I should probably upgrade myself to a proper walk/run shoe.

5. 7 white cranes. The flapping of the ducks’ wings against the water sending ripples everywhere. Goldenrod bent over from the weight of the rain. It’s so quiet.

6. “Water is not a resource, it is the source of life.”

7. 6,500 steps in the prevailing weight of gray.

8. Salted Caramel Pavlova.

9. Eat the damn fruit. Sunni reminds me to honor my desires, to seek out the pleasures, to stop ignoring what’s gnawing at my heart.

10. Lists up on lists upon lists.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-Two

1. I sleep in just long enough to feel rested but not like I lost the morning.

2. Shower. Linen pants. Thin tee. I’ll clean first and get the laundry started. Ginger tea on the stove.

3. I find a lighter and set the sage, the hawk feather, malas, and the bowl from Jennette on the desk and then sit to meditate.

4. The smoke is thick. I start in the basement. I waft the smoke into the corners of every room and pray for peace, patience, and the return of good energies.

5. Another headache pressing against the back of the skull. I try to finish reading the cookbook anyway to distract myself. No, I should just close my eyes.

6. My miso is still simmering on the stove. I eat a bowl of chili. He’s right: the cinnamon. It's a surprisingly tasty addition. This might be the new chili standard in our home.

7. Bed and reading. Ginger and lemon tea. So many thoughts.

8. He’s worried about me.

9. Chicken Marsala. Pinot Noir for me and Rose for him. Brownies from a box. I promised her that tomorrow we’ll make the salted caramel pavlovas. I’m looking forward to that.

10. I write up the newsletter and schedule it for the morning. I haven’t written one in so long. I remember I got sick and then I got side-tracked by life. But, as I was telling her on the phone the other day, I feel like what will be best for my sanity is to get back to work. Just work like everything is normal, even though it’s not. To continue to fill my days with new projects and with a focus on the things I love doing instead of fretting everything that isn’t happening. And like he said, if the thing we’re most stressed out about is this house and this move, then we really are doing quite well considering.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty-One

1. Dream: I’m in the back room and the manager is there with me. She’s upset because I was late for my shift but then starts talking about a medical problem her niece has. I explain to her what the medical condition is. She asks me if I like what I’m doing here—folding clothes and opening fitting rooms—and I say, “no.” “Then why are you here? Get the fuck out of here.” I wake up.

2. But she didn’t say it to be mean. She said it because I clearly was meant to do other things. And if I didn’t want to be there, then I needed to go and do something else.

3. The Napa cabbage is too wilted for me to work with now. It’s limp and has lost its color. I set it aside.

4. It’s just the two of us at the table eating baked potatoes for lunch. He’s brushing his hair. I think of him on the day we brought him home, swaddled up in a blanket. My baby. The first one. Not a baby any more.

5. I am wearing heels and I feel like I should feel taller than him.

6. Okay. I’m ready for the grayness to go away now. It was cute the first couple of days.

7. Queer Eye bonus episode of Nailed It.

8. Just the two of us in the car. I can hear her turning pages. “It’s much smoother in the middle.” This makes me laugh.

9. Pork tacos, a margarita, conversation, and laughter. Silly daughters. This is good medicine.

10. One more stop for a glass of wine and a few laughs. More good medicine. Tomorrow I’ll make a dashi and smudge the house.

Ten.Four Hundred & Sixty

1. His door is opening. It’s way too early for him to be away.

2. Whispy clouds layered into a sky the color of pink lemonade.

3. I take my shawl and a cup of tea to the alcove. The sun is in my face. I close my eyes and lower my head and feel the heat. It’s the most perfect kind of fall morning.

4. I buy the magic stamps. These will be perfect for the little gifts we’re mailing to the Fever Dreamers.

5. I keep checking Instagram. This is not what I wanted to do.

6. Laundry and spooky stories. Hot tea and rest. Headache pulsing behind the left eye.

7. So much sun.

8. No news is sometimes good news.

9. Silhouettes of trees against pale blue and green skies.

10. I just can’t think anymore.

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Nine

1. But I didn’t want to wake up from that dream. 

2. I can hear the gusts but it’s too dark for me to see anything.  

3. Sub blueberries with strawberries. Sprinkle the tops with sugar.  

4. Come to life.  

5. Doctor. There is a wheeze. I’ll keep him home for the rest of the week. Email teacher. Call school. Scratch plans for the rest of the week. 

6. Hawks gliding in the wind. When I come back I want to come back as a bird.  

7. This is not the kind of news we wanted to hear. Nevertheless it’s exactly what we expected.  

8. Chicken noodle soup and focaccia. Pinot Nero for me and Rosé for him. Loud slurps.  

9. I should probably be more concerned. I tell him that the thing is we had a vision of what the rest of the year was going to look like and we’re watching it crumble away bit by bit.  

10. How do I get access to Moira’s wardrobe?

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Eight

1. So very dark. Evidence of rain against the window screens.

2. In my dream, the agent left awful feedback about the house. I realize it’s a nightmare and wake up way before the alarm.

3. Smoothie bowl. Hemp hearts. Granola. Walnuts.

4. I’m spoiled by this personal taxi service. He drives me to the arboretum to meet her. I read while he drives. I look up now and again to see bits of yellow on the trees. This is my favorite time of the year.

5. We make our way to the troll that overlooks the highway. The angles of his face and the nails on his toes and fingers. Even the circles of his eyes. Art can take so many forms and art is very present in these seemingly crude structures.

6. I text her our totals for the day: 4.2 miles and 10,000 steps. A reminder that exercise can feel good. That sometimes it’s not just cardio that’s good for the heart, but fellowship and a warm cup in your hands. Being heard and seen. That’s the kind of exercise we all need.

7. Vietnamese.

8. The light in the corner of the windowsill. Buying that eucalyptus was a good idea.

9. It takes me a full 90 minutes to blow dry her hair and twist it up for the night. I envy the length and silkiness of her strands.

10. One year. One year. Only one year to go.

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Seven

1. Nag champa. I remember when this was a part of every morning. I should bring this ritual back.

2. It makes me think of the green house and its white window sills and how the smoke would curl through the kitchen in the pre-dawn light.

3. Soccer this morning. Must not forget.

4. I never do these photo-a-day challenges but this might be good for me. Just to get me back to having my camera in my hands every day and for a little bit of inspiration to see things differently.

5. Solo bike ride on the trail and an episode of “hey, girl,” podcast; the episode with Jerelle from Chocolate for Basil.

6. All the goldenrod. And the purple flowers. And the white flowers with yellow centers that look like chamomile. I wish I had gardening shears and a basket so I could take cutting back home and fill the windows with them. Next time. Next time I’ll be more prepared.

7. Tea time. I’ve developed a steady craving for the Yogi detox tea, not because it’s detoxifying, but because the smell and the taste of the blend is so perfect for fall.

8. I forget that the downside of sharing parts of yourself publicly is that people feel compelled to comment. I know it comes from a place of support. But really, I don’t need another person to tell me to “be patient.” This has been a trying season. It’s not just these past 90 days that I’ve been waiting. We’ve been sitting on a hook since last December. I really have been patient.

9. Lights on, fireplace on, classical music on. Time to go.

10. I take the root beer cookies to go. I’ll eat them in bed while watching Schitt’s Creek. I’ll giggle before falling asleep.

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Six

1. But it would be nice if I didn’t have make breakfast every once in a while.

2. He doesn’t understand it but this is another reason I’m not so excited about traditional work. I know that all it means is that I will add even more and more responsibilities to my plate with no other kind of assistance. This is what it means for every woman. I’m tired of asking for help. Why do women always have to ask for help?

3. Sun. Hot tea. Clear light of autumn.

4. I finish clearing off the vases and the mini Bialetti and the teapot from my desk. When I move the curtains I see a gigantic spider and manage to keep my composure long enough to squish it in the fabric.

5. I want someone to send me a survey about this experience.

6. Tomorrow from 6:15-7:15 pm.

7. She’s trying to make cookies. I’m trying to let her do it on her own but I can’t help but interject.

8. I am angry.

9. It’s just that it’s been 90 days now and there is no plan. No one has told us what the plan is. I don’t like not having a plan.

10. Just ready.

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Five

1. I’m not so sure I’ve enjoyed this week without an alarm. I miss the quiet darkness.

2. She begs for donuts. I don’t want to cook. Sounds like a win for both of us.

3. Cough medicine and leggings. I’m in this store way too much.

4. Two texts about why I’m not on Facebook anymore. I giggle. It’s interesting the kinds of feelings this stirs up.

5. I take a tea and my journal out to the front porch and sit in the sun. The air is so cool and the amount of sun is just enough to keep me warm. I love these days. I am missing the big porch on the green house.

6. 81 days. I feel like I’ve lost a little bit of hope. But then, maybe this is the just right amount of time. Maybe this is giving me time to lay a better foundation for the kind of work I want to do once I’m there. Maybe this is giving me more time to learn how to trust in the divine timing of things…to trust in my own life’s path. Maybe this is giving me the time I need to learn how to be at rest. Maybe I need this time to conserve my energies before we’re swept away by the move.

7. I head down to the basement with a cup of tea, tape, and markers. Fever Dream playlist on. I repack the Christmas china. I make fast work of it and stack the boxed in the corner.

8. Leftover corn chowder and a deep breaths.

9. The deer. Both of them so close. Closer than usual. The littlest one and I stand outside and watch them. They stare us. We stare at them. I go around to the side of the house and clip sage, rosemary, oregano. It’s probably time to pick the watermelons. I’ll wait another week. There’s a temperature spike. Maybe that will bump up the sugars just a little bit more.

10. “A deep life is a good life.” - Deep Work

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Five

1. I’m not so sure I’ve enjoyed this week without an alarm. I miss the quiet darkness.

2. She begs for donuts. I don’t want to cook. Sounds like a win for both of us.

3. Cough medicine and leggings. I’m in this store way too much.

4. Two texts about why I’m not on Facebook anymore. I giggle. It’s interesting the kinds of feelings this stirs up.

5. I take a tea and my journal out to the front porch and sit in the sun. The air is so cool and the amount of sun is just enough to keep me warm. I love these days. I am missing the big porch on the green house.

6. 81 days. I feel like I’ve lost a little bit of hope. But then, maybe this is the just right amount of time. Maybe this is giving me time to lay a better foundation for the kind of work I want to do once I’m there. Maybe this is giving me more time to learn how to trust in the divine timing of things…to trust in my own life’s path. Maybe this is giving me the time I need to learn how to be at rest. Maybe I need this time to conserve my energies before we’re swept away by the move.

7. I head down to the basement with a cup of tea, tape, and markers. Fever Dream playlist on. I repack the Christmas china. I make fast work of it and stack the boxed in the corner.

8. Leftover corn chowder and a deep breaths.

9. The deer. Both of them so close. Closer than usual. The littlest one and I stand outside and watch them. They stare us. We stare at them. I go around to the side of the house and clip sage, rosemary, oregano. It’s probably time to pick the watermelons. I’ll wait another week. There’s a temperature spike. Maybe that will bump up the sugars just a little bit more.

10. “A deep life is a good life.” - Deep Work