Ten.Five Hundred & Four

1. Alarm. 

2. Washer and Dryer will be here around 7:30. You know you’re an adult when appliance delivery is the highlight of your week. 

3. I should check to see if they got the fax. I’ll call Monday.

4. The two of us on the sofa by the window trying to squeeze out a bar of service. I just need to order this bunk bed.  

5. I don’t see any more lemons on the ground.

6. So tired. I confirm that there’s nothing else on the agenda today. Back to bed. 

7. He wakes me up for lunch. I go back to bed.  

8. He wakes me up for dinner. I walk into the kitchen and am hit with a wave of nausea. On the couch I go with eyes closed.  

9. This worries me a bit.  

10. They all crawl into the bed to watch Star Wars. I turn on my side and fall fast asleep. 

Ten.Five Hundred & Three

1. Getting closer. 

2. The patting down of coffee into the cylinder in a quiet kitchen. Another very needed grounding.  

3. Maybe it’s chilly because of the window. I grab Emergent Strategy and crawl into the corner of the couch. Think blue blanket over my feet. Hot coffee and pencil in one hand.  

4. Meal plan. Oh yeah, next week is Thanksgiving. I need a turkey. And cranberry sauce. The oldest wants extra cans just for himself. 

5. The kids ask us why other people aren’t wearing masks but we are. I tell them that not everyone understands how bad the air is. That they think walking to and from the car won’t matter.  

6. I want to be like Oprah, “You get a mask! And you get a mask!” It’s the populations already at risk who suffer the most.  

7. Chili.  

8. All the boxes in the laundry room. No reception and no WiFi so I can only listen to Amy Winehouse and Beyoncé.  

9. I tell him that by Sunday I’ll have more time to snuggle.

10. Hands so rough from all of the cardboard and paper and tape. Rough from the work of change. 

Ten.Five Hundred & Two

1. The tiniest bit of morning light coming through the slats in the blinds.  

2. The kids are already awake, bowls filled with dry cereal, watching Hocu Pocus on the computer.  

3. Coffee in the corner of the couch. Now it feels like home. 

4. No reception.  

5. I try to send her a picture and then a comment but all she gets is the comment. Context is everything.

6. All the boxes and frames are gone from the living room. Chairs arranged. The space still feels too large and a little empty but it’s good enough for now.  

7. The Christmas tree will go in that corner.  

8. I could use this corner or that corner. Or even that corner.  

9. The In-n-Out is too far away for lunch so I stop on the Safeway. The lettuce is so green and the bell peppers are glowing red and orange. I touch the persimmons and then stop myself. I’ll wait for the farmer’s market on Saturday.  

10. “How far are you from Antioch?” 

10.1 What will the sky look like once the smoke has cleared?  

10.2 When was the last time I did my morning pages?

10.3 Finallt a dinner at home. Skirt steak and chimichurri with roasted potatoes and roasted broccoli. Cloth napkins. Leftover Côte-du-Rhône. Music from the speaker.  

Ten.Five Hundred

1. Sore back.  

2. Three small hot chocolates and a tea while we wait. The lobby is full of business travelers, not families like us.  

3. The first morning I haven’t really seen the sun.  

4. 816. Oh, that’s Joe. He is done with his job in Davis and can deliver in 1.5 hours.  

5. The smoke here is much thicker than where we were up north.  

6. Why are they using flares? 

7. The boxes are coming in, I’m trying to hear for the numbers, and the kids are screaming, and I still don’t know where I want anything to go.  

8. There’s no cell reception. 

9. Pizza again. I can’t find the box with the forks so that I can eat my salad.  

10. Popcorn and wine for dinner. Finally home.  

Ten.Five Hundred & One

1. Wow. 500 already? Approximately? I may be off a day or two on either end. No matter. 

2. Must get the kitchen done today.  

3. “Hey, Love.” Bingo. That’s how you get your 4.8 on Google reviews. What woman doesn’t want a handsome man calling her “Love” first thing in the morning when she orders her bagel?  

4. Also the coffee is really good. Also, the bagel.

5. I said that the temps are low. She tells me she woke up to 16 degrees.  

6. No one has ever really cleaned the surface of these cabinets. I want to not see the dirt. Because if I didn’t see it, then I wouldn’t feel so compelled to clean it. I wish I wasn’t like this sometimes.

7. We go to the dollar store for contact paper but end up with boxes of goldfish and a coloring book too.  

8. Still not even close to being done.  

9. Chianti’s. The best food we’ve had in a week as we’ve maneuvered through suburbs. Barolo and Gorgonzola Chicken. Osso bucco for him. 

10. I decide to power through because I want to make my own coffee in my own kitchen and I just need to be done.  

10.1 I can barely keep my eyes open but there are just three more boxes.  

10.2 The sound of glass shattering against the tile. Need a new coffee maker.  

10.3 Midnight. The pale yellow glow from the light over the stove. Mission completed.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Nine

1. Finally slept in.

2. Crispy potatoes, broccolini, pesto, parmesan, scrambled eggs in a bowl. Large coffee.

3. Where to next? Fairfield for two nights. Maybe we can squeeze in a trip to Boxcar? Bodega Bay?

4. 816. Oh, that’s Joe. “I’m in Nevada now. I’ll be there Wednesday morning.” Relief. Only two more nights in the hotel. What else do I need before we move in? Contact paper, cleaning supplies, order the washer and dryer, register the kids on Thursday.

5. Sand everywhere in the trunk.

6. They take off their socks and play tag in the empty rooms. I consolidate and repack one back for the next two nights of hotel stay. Now on to Fairfield.

7. The drive feels shorter than the 50 minutes it says it will take.

8. I forgot the bag.

9. Quick pizza and a Target run: underwear and a night shirt for me, wine for him.

10. Two more days. I can make it two more days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Eight

1. 4:30 am.

2. They are still sleeping. There might be something to these blackout shades.

3. He tells me I’m going to run out of water before I even order. I say something about it being so dry. That we’ve moved here from Chicago. “Welcome!” he says, then adds that he moved to Oregon because it’s gotten so crowded here. “I went to a three-room school in San Ramon. Now….” I understand what he means.

4. Donut Wheel for simple glazed donuts before we decide to head down to Monterey. Today is a good day for a drive and a visit the aquarium.

5. Membership because holy cow the prices. Plus it gives us an excuse to come back at least one more time within the next 365 days.

6. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the ocean.

7. I think they take all this beauty for granted.

8. 1985 Antinori Tignanello. A celebratory bottle in La Bicyclette. Fig, gorgonzola, walnut pizza. So cute, but so crowded. If there’s an off-season, I’ll come back then

9. Hot pink sunset. An awesome sight but I know the spectacular color is because of the smoke and the fires.

10. I think about what it means to be a better steward of the land I am coming to inhabit. How do I wish to be in relationship with this space?

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Seven

1. 4:30.

2. Stomach growling. Where for breakfast? 

3. How much longer until our hunger and sleep cycles adjust? I don’t remember having this problem during my other visits.  

4. The haze is making me think we ought to stay home today.  

5. Tacos and Meadowlark Dairy.

6. The five of us in one room. How many more days to go? At least 4 more. 

7. Hotel laundry room.  

8. First dinner with the new boss. He reminds me so much of my father that it both warms and saddens me.  

9. When will I feel ready? 

10. I need a week’s worth of sleep.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Six

1. 4 am. Getting better.

2. He’s hungry. I don’t blame him. Our days have been so odd. Rhythms are non-existent. 

3. Hotel breakfast. The three of them in a both while he and I shop for washers and dryers and try to plan the day. 

4. The kids want to play in an empty house. I want to be out of doors.  

5. The morning light looks like afternoon light because of the smoke from the fires.  

6. Can’t wait for the next open spot. I suggest we head to Muir Beach instead. They don’t want to go but we insist that they’ll love it.  

7. Should have had them take off their socks and shoes. They are caked in wet sand. I actually don’t care.

8. “I’ve never felt so free.” - Dean

9. We haven’t yet pulled away and they already want to know when we can come back.  

10. I have a lot to learn. But that’s why we’re here.  

10.1 “You’re right. In-n-Out is  better than Portillo’s.” - Dash

10.2 The sky is more hazy than when we left this morning. I sign up for text alerts.  

10.3 I keep looking at the listing showing “sold.” It still doesn’t feel real. Maybe once the stuff is here and we’re back in our own car it will set in that this is not just a visit. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Five

1. I don’t know what time it is but I know it’s early. Too early to be awake. 

2. Tossing and turning while trying to practice some breathing to help me fall asleep.  

3. The sound of splashing water on the concrete. The feeling of the coldness setting into my hands. 

4. TSA pre-check.  

5. She’s from Rockford but California has been home for 40 years.  

6. No wi-fi. 

7. I’m just so tired.  

8. In the back is an orange or grapefruit tree, a bird of paradise plant, something else I can’t yet name. They love the house. I am relieved. The patio table was left. There will dinners outside soon.  

9. We eat a big lunch/dinner. Artichoke dip ad Gorgonzola and pesto ravioli and a glass of Pinot Noir from Santa Lucia Highlands. I remember how much it’s going to be to have access to so many other Californian wines. 

10. Costco. 

10.1 CBD gel on the temples and the neck and my arm.  

10.2 5:30 and it’s bed time for me. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Four

1. 2:37 am.

2. Drink water. It is the new moon. An auspicious choice to move on this day.

   3. I wake the children and make them finish yesterday’s bagels. The oldest isn’t hungry. I don’t blame him.  

   4. It’s really cold.  

   5. I order 4 large coffees.  “Four large coffees? What happened?”

   6. I turn back to wave one more time. He tells me to stop looking back.   

   7. So cold. 

   8. My leggings are gray from dust and dirt. I wipe down all the baseboards and cobwebs that hid behind the larger pieces of furniture. I see new scuff marks and worry the new owners will notice them. There is no way to fully erase the evidence of living. 

   9. I feel something warm running down my cheek. I look in the mirror to see a weeping gash on the side of my eye. I walk out of the bathroom and tell him that I think I need to get stitches.  

   10. The two of them are crying and that makes me cry.  

   10.1 75 Wine Sauvignon Blanc under the covers. My head and eye still hurt. I need more sleep. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Three

1. 3 am.

2. Bagel run. Don’t forget the plastic knives for butter.

3. Still sick to the stomach. I think to myself, “This is a thing for you now, isn’t it? This is the new way your body manifests stress.”

4. Weak coffee.

5. And like that, the weight is lifted and we’re leaning back into relief. No more stomach pains.

6. This is the part that I’m actually dreading the most.

7. I take a bit of cake and grab his hand. We did it.

8. There is always more than you think there is.

9. Arepas dropped off at the front door.

10. Midnight folding. Frasier. To-do list for tomorrow. Weak eyes. I can sleep on the plane.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Three

1. 3 am.

2. Bagel run. Don’t forget the plastic knives for butter.

3. Still sick to the stomach. I think to myself, “This is a thing for you now, isn’t it? This is the new way your body manifests stress.”

4. Weak coffee.

5. And like that, the weight is lifted and we’re leaning back into relief. No more stomach pains.

6. This is the part that I’m actually dreading the most.

7. I take a bit of cake and grab his hand. We did it.

8. There is always more than you think there is.

9. Arepas dropped off at the front door.

10. Midnight folding. Frasier. To-do list for tomorrow. Weak eyes. I can sleep on the plane.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Two

1. 3 am.

2. Maybe I would have fallen back asleep if I had turned out his night light.

3. Fireplace. Coffee. Water. Mind racing. So many boxes, too many of them empty.

4. I can’t quite read their mood. “It’s your last Monday!” I say.

5. I watch the leaves blow across the front yard. The rain and the winds have stripped the trees. The streets are littered with wet yellow piles.

6. Lunch break.

7. That was not what we were expecting.

8. That feeling of being nauseated. Like you want to throw up but you can’t. I do breathing exercises in the pick-up line. If I feel this way, I can only imagine that he also feels this way which makes me feel even worse.

9. But it can be figured out.

10. Nothing about this has been easy. I’m choosing to believe it will be worth it in the end.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Two

1. 3 am.

2. Maybe I would have fallen back asleep if I had turned out his night light.

3. Fireplace. Coffee. Water. Mind racing. So many boxes, too many of them empty.

4. I can’t quite read their mood. “It’s your last Monday!” I say.

5. I watch the leaves blow across the front yard. The rain and the winds have stripped the trees. The streets are littered with wet yellow piles.

6. Lunch break.

7. That was not what we were expecting.

8. That feeling of being nauseated. Like you want to throw up but you can’t. I do breathing exercises in the pick-up line. If I feel this way, I can only imagine that he also feels this way which makes me feel even worse.

9. But it can be figured out.

10. Nothing about this has been easy. I’m choosing to believe it will be worth it in the end.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-One

1. I can still hear the rain slapping the siding.

2. The kind of morning you just want to sleep through. I just want to bring my coffee back to bed. But instead I walk around in circles in the kitchen, convinced that if I stop to sit I won’t ever get back up.

3. The basement is almost done. How does one pack a bean bag chair? I don’t think I have a box big enough for this.

4. I make a bouquet of parsley, thyme, bay leaf, leek, and peppercorn for the soup. It looks like a little bundle of magic.

5. She comes to the door with her mother and a big bag. Gifts for children. Her mother says she came home and cried because we are moving. I try not to cry in front of my babysitter. I tell her mother she’s done a fantastic job raising her daughter.

6. Inside the tissue paper is the apron that belonged to her great-grandmother. Before she leaves, I tell her that she’s my favorite Auntie. I will miss her the most.

7. I get so much more done when I’m alone.

8. It’s still dark and cold and rainy. This is the weather I won’t miss.

9. Dinner for them is a bag of frozen little pizza rolls that I grabbed from Target this morning, pretzels, no veggies. I’ll make it up to them later.

10. 4 days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-One

1. I can still hear the rain slapping the siding.

2. The kind of morning you just want to sleep through. I just want to bring my coffee back to bed. But instead I walk around in circles in the kitchen, convinced that if I stop to sit I won’t ever get back up.

3. The basement is almost done. How does one pack a bean bag chair? I don’t think I have a box big enough for this.

4. I make a bouquet of parsley, thyme, bay leaf, leek, and peppercorn for the soup. It looks like a little bundle of magic.

5. She comes to the door with her mother and a big bag. Gifts for children. Her mother says she came home and cried because we are moving. I try not to cry in front of my babysitter. I tell her mother she’s done a fantastic job raising her daughter.

6. Inside the tissue paper is the apron that belonged to her great-grandmother. Before she leaves, I tell her that she’s my favorite Auntie. I will miss her the most.

7. I get so much more done when I’m alone.

8. It’s still dark and cold and rainy. This is the weather I won’t miss.

9. Dinner for them is a bag of frozen little pizza rolls that I grabbed from Target this morning, pretzels, no veggies. I’ll make it up to them later.

10. 4 days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety

1. I wanted to sleep in.

2. 6:30 grocery store run for chicken and brussel sprouts. There’s something else I should be getting but I can’t remember what it is.

3. The way the sunlight is turning the glass on the counter into amber.

   4. “You’re giving gifts but you’re the one moving?”  

   5. I realize that most people don’t want to be seen at 9:30 am on a Saturday morning so the rest of my deliveries are quiet porch drop-offs.  

   6. I confess that I didn’t get a chance to sweep before she got there. I try not to think that this is the last time we’ll be on this couch together.  

   7. Layers of gray. 

   8. I haven’t touched a box yet today and this is probably not a good thing.  

   9. But we really do mean it that they are the best neighbors we could have ever had.

   10. Her pumpkin cake tastes like Thanksgiving. Tastes like home. Tastes like being warm in front of the fire. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Nine

1. Ok.

2. Donuts. Most likely the last time I’ll ever grab a dozen from this tiny shop on the corner. I think about making the drive down to Livermore so the kids can have a hot donut from The Donut Wheel.

3. He tells me that he wants to gift my oldest a new mic for the xbox so that they can talk to each other. I almost cry at the sweetness of this 10 year-old. So much gratitude for the parents out there growing compassionate children.

4. Coffee + stereo turned up way too loud. Sun shining. I pull up in front of her house and play in the thick carpet of leaves. I think of how I used to love the walk to school from the green house this time of year. I would kick up the leaves and listen to the rustle and the crunch.

5. Her fiddle leaf has gotten so big.

6. I don’t even make it to Washington Street before the tears start falling. I blame “As” by Stevie Wonder. I have no tissues and my coat is too thick to get to the sleeves of my sweater.

7. I eat a bowl of apple crisp and drink a cup of coffee with her at the table. The hour has passed far too quickly.

8. A bottle of 2001 Grange, some Clos Pegase Chardonnay, and Swanson Cignet Merlot. Even after the crab cakes, the coconut shrimp. the rib-eye cap, and the truffle fries—that Grange was the best thing I put in my mouth.

9. Does crying at the dinner table make people uncomfortable? Who cares. I already told them I’d had an emotional day.

10. I read her letter in bed. Then he reads her letter in bed. We both are tearing up a little as we roll over to go to sleep.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Nine

1. Ok.

2. Donuts. Most likely the last time I’ll ever grab a dozen from this tiny shop on the corner. I think about making the drive down to Livermore so the kids can have a hot donut from The Donut Wheel.

3. He tells me that he wants to gift my oldest a new mic for the xbox so that they can talk to each other. I almost cry at the sweetness of this 10 year-old. So much gratitude for the parents out there growing compassionate children.

4. Coffee + stereo turned up way too loud. Sun shining. I pull up in front of her house and play in the thick carpet of leaves. I think of how I used to love the walk to school from the green house this time of year. I would kick up the leaves and listen to the rustle and the crunch.

5. Her fiddle leaf has gotten so big.

6. I don’t even make it to Washington Street before the tears start falling. I blame “As” by Stevie Wonder. I have no tissues and my coat is too thick to get to the sleeves of my sweater.

7. I eat a bowl of apple crisp and drink a cup of coffee with her at the table. The hour has passed far too quickly.

8. A bottle of 2001 Grange, some Clos Pegase Chardonnay, and Swanson Cignet Merlot. Even after the crab cakes, the coconut shrimp. the rib-eye cap, and the truffle fries—that Grange was the best thing I put in my mouth.

9. Does crying at the dinner table make people uncomfortable? Who cares. I already told them I’d had an emotional day.

10. I read her letter in bed. Then he reads her letter in bed. We both are tearing up a little as we roll over to go to sleep.