7/5/19 7/5/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Thirty-Three

Oh wait, that’s right. Frozen waffles. I can relax.
Just make sure everything is scheduled and ready to go. Because top priority is hammock time.
Day one.
140 days.
I look at my hand and see it’s gone. I pace the ground in front of me hoping to see something gleaming. Nothing. He helps me look for 10 minutes before he goes inside to do his own errands.
Nothing. It’s gone.
The woman is so sweet. She tells me to beg God to return it to me. That I might be surprised. That it’s what she does whenever she needs something.
He tells me it’s okay but it doesn’t feel ok.
We had to come down at some point.
It feels like there’s a hole in my heart.

7/4/19 7/4/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Thirty-Two

I can feel it.
The way the light comes through the slats making stripes of shadow and light across my body. Mornings always feel so holy.
Granola. Blueberries. A splash of milk. Coffee.
I run to the store and get the things for the salad. And frozen waffles for the morning. I’ll make it easier on myself. I can do that.
I take the journal and the books and one more cup of coffee to the hammock. Half in the shade and half in the sun. The sounds from the movie floating from the open window. The neighbor is cutting his lawn. More thuds from falling fruit.
I sprinkle the feta cheese across the tops of the salad. If no one eats it, I won’t complain. I’l gladly eat it all myself.
It’s hard to be the new people in a group of people that really know each other. I think of the book I’m currently reading and how I’m living it right now in this moment. Without intention and real purpose you risk creating the exact opposite of the desired effect.
The next house will need a pool. A real one.
I make my way back to the hammock.
She thinks the munchkins of Munchkinland are a little creepy. She’s not wrong.

7/3/19 7/3/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Thirty-One

Almost too cool to be in this short dress. What are we even doing today?
I watch the shadows dance. Black and gold. He’ll laugh at me if I tell him I want to move the sofa so that my view is directly toward the window instead of the wall. I want to make it more conducive to daydreaming.
I tell him my plan. He doesn’t seem amused.
“I am the source of time.” - The Big Leap. I think I’m ready for a re-read of that.
The email surprises me but in a good way. This is more of what I’m looking for.
I make a mental note of the dates. It’s going to happen this year.
I didn’t make it to the hammock. Two days in a row I’ve missed my hammock time. There is time tomorrow.
The ground is littered with plums that are not beginning to rot and so the smell is sweet but also not-so-sweet. I need to shovel as much as I can up and get it out of the yard. Or at least raked off to the side.
I dream of new spaces in a new place. Where will that place be? How long will we be here? Where else is there to go?
Growth.

7/2/19 7/2/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Thirty

The birds are awfully chatty this morning.
The way the morning light splits the trees and falls onto the patio making it look soft and golden. Where are the snails.
I make the bacon even though no one else is awake yet. It’s just me and the birds and the sound of the coffee maker sputtering.
Drink more water.
The words flow more quickly today—in every sense.
“You know what we haven’t done in a long time Mommy?” “Hmmmm. Snuggle?” He looks at me and taps his index fingers together. “Yes. I’ll go get a blanket.” “No! It’s like, 80 degrees in here. Just sit close to me.”
I remember why we stopped snuggling: our tastes in movies has diverged.
There’s nothing as tasty as a dinner you don’t have to make.
The facts are the facts. I tell him that what he would tell me to do is be solution-based in my thinking. There is no wisdom in spending more energy plotting subtle revenge. You just make a new plan and then act on it. That it what will bring true satisfaction.
Who takes care of the caretakers?

7/1/19 7/1/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Nine

Monday. Monday.
The to-do list looks long but it’s actually very doable and that feels good.
I promised myself only one cup but now here I am on cup two.
I’ve got to just learn how to let it go. Trust yourself, trust yourself.
I think in terms of what I can double so that there’s lunch for the following day.
School starts in 4 weeks. 4 weeks!
How different things can be from week to week. Two weeks ago I thought I was going to be living a completely different life. Now, here we are, without the thing, without the need to shift anything at all but our expectations and plan of action.
I knew he would be like this today because he is always like this when he has days like today.
We decide that it’s not so much anger as much as disappointment. And what do you do with that disappointment? (And the anger?) I tell him that if one is to stay, then one can—must—fight for the changes that they wish to see.
What kind of job can you get where you read things and then tell people about all the things you read? But like, how to apply it within their organization or life?

6/30/19 6/30/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Eight

There is still time.
Water, coffee. I decide to skip the newsletter for the week. Not because there isn’t time, but because I’m not sure why I’m doing it.
One more bagel.
The cows are back and as shiny and sweet as ever. I have to rethink a few things.
This is the one who’s daughter died.
Why can’t I see? The bumps under the eyelid pulling the contact away from the eye. I can’t go on like this. These eye allergies. Is this just aging? A new environment? It gets worse every year.
Slow.
I just want to be outside.
Wrecked plans.
15 more days until Booneville. 29 more days until the 1st day of school. Summer is going by too fast.

6/29/19 6/29/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Seven

I’ve slept in.
Sore. Arms, legs, a little bit of the back. Must be from the jumping and trying to dunk on that basketball hoop.
She’s rubbing her neck through her robe, saying she’s sore. We’re all sore, dear.
At least it won’t be too hot today. I’ll be able to manage in this weather. Now if I can only keep my eyes from itching.
How big they get. I haven’t seen any cows this close to the fence in so long. I wish I could stop an take a picture of them. Their coats look so shiny in the morning sun.
This is rollerskating music.
I tell her that the best part about working the lounge is that I have to practice saying “no.” That I’m able to do it with my kids but not with strangers but I’m getting better at being comfortable saying it. I like rules. Rules create order. And I need order.
He asks me how people have been treating me today. I tell him, so far, so good. “It’s just that I used to work retail and I remember how mean people can be.” “You’re right. Last Saturday was that way. Thankfully, I’m getting through today unscathed.”
I think of where he was when he was my age and then where he is now. There is still time.
Ok. But what is it exactly that needs changing?

6/28/19 6/28/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Six

Can’t sleep.
It’s so cloudy. It will be cloudy all day. Maybe the lake is not a good idea after all. What am I going to do with the beach tent? What am I going to do with all of them today? First, no ocean, now no lake? Where is the sun?
34.
Disappointment. But it’s not about today, really. It’s the culmination of a lot of things and then the clouds on top of it. I realize that the disappointments are due to mismanaged expectations. Best to rethink and adjust to avoid these feelings in the future.
I settle on the trampoline place. A little bit of exercise is always good for the soul.
Caspian.
She asks me if I’m working tomorrow. I am. Saturday and Sunday. But I took off work today because it’s my birthday and I needed at least one day off. “You work like 4 different jobs.” I do. I have such poor boundaries around work. This is why I’m tired all of the time.
I tell her that I can have the 50 cent charge for rainbow sprinkles because it’s my birthday and I’m the one paying. She can have caramel another time. We walk with our gelato to the park in front of city hall and relax in the shade.
Strawberry shortcakes.
Too tired to open the champagne.

6/27/19 6/27/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Five

So brisk. I love it. I love long-sleeved mornings, drinking coffee without sweating.
Cinnamon bread toasted, with butter. A handful of cherries.
All of this laundry. It will get done. It will get done. Everything that needs to get done will get done.
What has shifted today? The feelings are different.
At least now we know which means we can move on. And is it awful to say that in some way I’m relieved? I remind him that in the dream, he wasn’t excited about the news.
But here’s the thing I know: We do things and we get things done. And everything happens for a reason. And sometimes the things you think you really want don’t come to you because they aren’t as right for you as you thought they were.
Beach tent.
I’m not really sure how people drink more than one cocktail at a time.
He refuses dinner. They all think he’s crazy. How can you not like risotto? How can you not like beurre rouge? Or salmon? What happened to your palate? At least he eats Caesar Salad.
The end of 33.

6/26/19 6/26/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Four

Oh, that cool air.
I smooth the grapeseed oil into my skin in slow circles. Oh, look. A spare set of contacts from god knows when but something is better than nothing. Remember to place that order today.
That feeling of everything being too much. How come I don’t know how to just be easy on myself? He’s right: I’m always trying to do too much. But sometimes I like it that way.
I sit in the sun and write. I write my way through to remembering, to seeing everything from a bird’s eye view. These are the things I’ve asked for.
But maybe I’ve also been greedy in my abundance.
I hand him back the glass. He nods. What did I change? Garnish of freshly grated cinnamon. I finish the one with the sweet vermouth and orange peel.
Nothing.
Now I’m afraid they aren’t fancy enough. But then I remember that I need to stay true to my own aesthetic in everything I do.
Earbuds in. Commence cleaning.
They better not eat all of the manchego.

6/25/19 6/25/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Three

Why does it feel so early? Oh, yes. It’s 4:30 am.
I open up the windows to let the cool air in before gathering a notebook and pen. He’s away and his light is on. I turn everything off and tell him to go back to sleep.
I turn on the garage lights and hop into the car before calling her.
This is the kind of work I feel I might be made to do.
I smile to myself. The hummingbirds must like the front porch better. There are more flowers here. I don’t know what they are but they remind me of hibiscus. The hummingbird just floats there, in front of me. It’s as if he wants to tell me something.
I still have no idea what I’m doing but I’m excited about what I might be able to learn. This will be good for me.
He’s right. I don’t have enough time.
I watch the shadows play. “Lamplight makes the shadows play/and posters take the walls away/the t.v. is your window pane/the view won’t let you down.” My eyes swell with tears. That song. Always this song. They’re just stress tears.
Cinnamon simple syrup.
Even cooler tomorrow.

6/24/19 6/24/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Two

So many strange dreams.
I divy up the leftover donuts and insist upon fruit for breakfast. He thinks 10 cherries is enough. I laugh. I take the last leftover blueberry muffin, warm it in the oven. These really are the most perfect muffins.
This week is not starting off like I thought I would. I’m letting that be okay.
All of these graham crackers are stale.
I grab something from the Haut-Medoc and something from Chile. I’m looking forward to today’s tasting group.
You know you’re a poet when you spend 5 minutes considering the importance of choosing between “on” and “at.”
I write the script.
I turn on Twilight Zone and listen to it with my eyes closed. Out of contacts plus an eyeglass prescription that’s too old equals tired eyes, hurting eyes. Sometimes it’s hard to parent yourself. Why did I wait so long before ordering contacts?
Leaking dishwasher. Water. Every rental, always water. It feels like some kind of sign.
Hawk. Right out the window. Vision. Focus. Lead. Energy.

6/23/19 6/23/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-One

I don’t want to dream that dream anymore. So strange.
I walk around the kitchen in circles trying to remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Oh. Right. Make breakfast. Make coffee. Write Newsletter.
Wrinkle release.
Less traffic today. 82 degrees. 82 degrees? It’s not even 9 am yet. Oh, it’s going to be hot. Very hot.
Refresh. Recharge. Recommit. - Myleik
Everytime I walk to this gate I see the dried up palm leaf. Today, against the cracked earth it looks like art. I walk back and take a picture of it. But I’m sure it will be here next week.
I shadow him to get an idea of how I could be better. It should be slow enough. The trolley driver and I chat. I said something about girlfriend and wife and we laugh. “I better not bring my girlfriend and wife on the same day.”
We’re all confused.
And then I end with Mr. W. We talk real estate. He recommends locations to me. “You think they made a FastTrak lane all the way out there for no reason?” “It’s in the design phase.” “Get all of your resources together to get whatever you can.” “I will email you the link to the house in Calistoga.”
He goes to the bedroom to watch baseball and I take myself and a glass of Sonoma Coast Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc to the patio. I pull up a chair on which to rest my feet and email Mr. W, check the weather for tomorrow. Today was a much better day. A good conversation can turn it all around.

6/22/19 6/22/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty

Well that was a surprise. She showed up in the dream. We made pies. We had pleasant conversation. I miss her. I am sad.
Was the shorts.
Jordan Marsh’s Blueberry Muffins warmed with a big smear of Sonoma Clover butter. Coffee.
I don’t want to go.
But I have to go.
I just want to make home, have a beautifully curated home, eat good cheese, eat ice cream with the kids.
How will I make art today? How will I bring my version of art to work today?
I’d rather it stay slow in this kind of heat.
When people act this way I wonder: “Who hurt you?” “Who was your mother?” “How do you even have friends?” “How does it feel okay to talk to another person like this?” “Did no one ever tell you that golden rule to treat others the way you want to be treated?” “This is what’s wrong with our society: not enough empathy, not enough sympathy, not enough compassion.”
I think, maybe, sometimes, people just don’t want a little black girl to tell them “no.” No one likes to be told “no.”
I have to find a way of letting it go, of remember that it was only 3 of the 40 people I dealt with today who had a problem with me. So focus on the 37 who said “thank you” and gave you a smile.

6/21/19 6/21/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Nineteen

Loud birds.
I make the coffee, drink water while it percolates. I check the clock again. How much longer will I be alone.
I hear him open the blinds. He’s waking earlier and earlier. Too much on the mind.
I still can’t figure out exactly why they needed to make repairs to the road. I’m sure someone on Nextdoor is complaining about wasted tax dollars.
Work tomorrow and Sunday. I should make this an easy day.
We go over the goals. I forget how much can be accomplished in such short time. We make new goals, wonder about empathy, whether we should care about aging and whether it matters if we do.
I slink back into the hammock. Most of me is in the shade but I stick my legs out into the sun to feel the burn.
It’s so silly that he won’t eat the pasta because it has fresh tomatoes.
Still nothing. Still waiting. Still thinking that even if it doesn’t happen it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Because there’s still all of this.
Just remember the intention.

6/20/19 6/20/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Eighteen

Where is that white tank top?
I walk to each bedroom and close the doors in hopes of not waking anyone too early. I like it when I get to make the coffee in all this silence.
We’re running late. But looks like everyone else is too.
Writing done. Now I can read. I send off a couple of emails first. Waiting.
Leftover salad and water in the hammock while watching retouch videos. In the shade it’s just perfect. But the birds are so loud. I’m not complaining.
I look at the baseboards. They are dusty. I won’t clean them until we have an answer.
It wasn’t the worst.
I am hungry. More hungry than I realized.
So in my humanness today.
Isn’t it bedtime yet?

6/20/19 6/20/19

Crust + Too Many Sorry's

I jumped into memories, trying to see if I could hear myself uttering unnecessary apologies. How much of this is nature? Did she learn this from me? Absorb my perfectionism and people-pleasing through osmosis while in the womb? Because once she was born I set myself on a mission to unlearn this behavior knowing that I didn’t want to raise her to be a passive woman. I wanted her to be able to stand in her truth and in her voice, advocate for her own needs and desires with confidence and without fear.

The boy’s are in baseball camp this week and I’ve been preoccupied with other life things and so the poor middle child, my daughter, has been bored. Not really bored so much as left alone. So this morning, after smelling the bowl of plums, I decided we ought to bake something. Why, when the forecast projected a high of 94 degrees I’d think that turning on the ovens would be a good idea is besides me. I just knew that I needed to bake and she needed to bake because we both needed whatever kind of preoccupied calmness (medidtation?) it would offer.

I had her prepare all of the ingredients and set them out on the counter before we dove into making the crust for the galette. It’s a pretty simple recipe—flour, cold water, cold butter—mixed together by hand in a bowl. So we put in the flour. A little spilled onto the counter. “I’m sorry,” she said. Not a problem. “There’s no need to apologize.”

I asked her to retrieve the measuring cup she used for the water. “I’m sorry,” she said as she walked back to the kitchen sink. I say nothing in response.

I show her how to cut the cold butter into tiny squares and then hand her the second stick to do on her own. The knife slides through but at an angle, creating a sliver instead of a straight cut through. “I’m sorry.”

I put the knife down and looked at her. Told her that she hadn’t done anything wrong. That she shouldn’t feel the need to apologize for little things like this. This is not a big deal. This does not require an apology.

The ability to recognize mistakes and then account for them through apology and changed behavior is a very real and necessary capability. But how do we learn (or unlearn) what constitutes the need for a genuine apology? How egregious does the error need to be? Are there different levels of apologies? Some sort of internal matrix we learn to use in order to gauge response? If so, how do we learn it? How do I teach her—and my sons—how to use this system for determining when an apology is necessary? Does it just come with age and wisdom?

I have no answers, only more questions. Maybe we’ll figure it out when we make the next crust.

Tart & Pie Dough

Recipe via The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters

Ingredients

1/2 cup ice-cold water
2 cups all-purpose unbleached flour
1/2 tsp salt (omit if using salted butter)
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) cold butter, cut into small (1/4-inch) cube

To Make:

Cut or work the butter into the flour with a pastry blender or your fingertips, leaving some of the butter in fairly large, irregular pieces. This will take 1 or 2 minutes. Pour in three quarters of the water, stirring all the while with a fork until the dough begins to form clumps. Keep adding water if needed. Divide the dough in two, bring each part together into a ball, and wrap each ball in plastic. Compress each ball, and then flatten them into disks. Let rest, refrigerated for 1 hour or longer.

6/19/19 6/19/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Seventeen

Soft morning light coming through the slats.
Not a sound. I hear only my own footsteps and the chatter of birds.
Bacon and biscuits. I scramble an egg for myself. Drink orange juice while I stir with the rubber spatula. It’s still just the two of us awake.
The best thing about summer is when they figure out how to sleep in.
We make the tart crust. I haven’t made crust by hand in so many years. I hope it turns out okay.
She talks me down off the ledge. I avoid the shame spiral. I draw up solutions, invision best-case scenarios, land on the language of what I want to feel instead. Generative. Yes.
It’s coming back.
The more I do, the more I feel my way into the calling. This is a dream that’s never left.
They call me on speakerphone to ask if she can come over for dinner. Of course. I decide we’ll eat at the big table. I gather the dried baby’s breath and the wilting crown of vines and set the table.
Semantics. This is the power of words. As important as the words: context—the context of the work, the context of the life of the person who is engaging the work. Does a person have the ability to see where their personal context lays a filter over the work? Furthermore, what is “bad” and what is “good”? Depends on context. Maybe too many years of study has me living in only gray. Nothing is black and white. There are no clear-cut answers.

6/18/19 6/18/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Sixteen

4 am. And I don’t think it was the sprinkler this time.
I check each child to see how they are sleeping. They sleep wildly. Heads thrown back, backs arched, mouths wide open. Deep sleep.
Coffee. I make a mental list. There isn’t a lot but I still feel weighed down by it all.
Sent. Now wait.
He would tell me I need to be more confident.
“Big Magic” with a glass of kombucha. The hammock is too wet to sit in. Must remember to pull it away from the sprinklers. I choose a chair in the shade.
The thud of ripe nectarines falling from the tree. The robins will be pecking at them soon.
Ok. Let’s try this again.
I was the larger dishes by hand. Slowly. He tells me that I shouldn’t think like that. Whis is the same thing as “grow some confidence.”
Grapeseed and rosemary oils.

6/17/19 6/17/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Fifteen

The clicking of the slats. I get up to close the sliding glass door and then make my way back to bed.
The rose vines.
Baseball camp for 2 of them. It will be like having none of them.
Even all burned up these hills look beautiful. I’d still pick this school just for the scenery.
Morning pages on the patio. Hot coffee. A pen that I found in the yard. The thud of nectarines falling to the ground. I need to harvest this afternoon.
Beauty.
I need to fix their computer. Why is everyone playing Roblox on mine?
“An Amplified Existence”
I grab a wooden bowl and the scissors just in case. I look for the deep red and purple ones, give them a gentle squeeze to see how soft they are. They pull away from the tree with ease. Abundant. Abundant. So much gratitude for abundance.
Everybody has One.