9/21/19 9/21/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Ten

One big deep breath
Sore throat. I ask him to get some emergen-c in addition to the bacon and hash browns. I will not get sick. I will not get sick.
The little bit of comfort in knowing that I cleaned the bathrooms yesterday which means I don’t have to clean them again today before our guests arrive.
But the basket are just filled with trash. Literal trash. I don’t know how to help her.
She asks for a trash can in her room. That’s a start.
There are about 8 different types of tomatoes to choose from. I have her get the corn while I selected some heirlooms. We see a box of prickly pear fruit and pick one, just one, to give it a try. Oh, and more asian pears. “It feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere but we’re so close to home.”
I couldn’t resist the pumpkins. Even though it’s going to be 92 today, I just needed some mums.
I take the broom and brush away the cobwebs and dried leaves and dirt. I stack the pumpkins and flowers by the front door. That’s better.
The chicken is a little salty but I”m okay with that.
There. That was good. Our first time hosting a family of one of the kid’s friends. And everything seemed to go okay.
Making friends as an adult is so much harder. We all come new relationships with old wounds. Sometimes we do a better job at not letting those old wounds get in the way of establishing connection. Sometimes it just takes a big effort on your part to be vulnerable and open. Sometimes it will work out and sometimes it won’t. Remembering that part of the process is just trying and releasing judgement of the end result. I will always keep trying.

9/20/19 9/20/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Nine

In need of celery juice.
He’s standing in the garage waiting for everyone else, I’m backing out slowly. He waves to me and I slip down the drive and then he waves to me again as I lurch forward. And suddenly he’s not "almost 12,” he’s just my little boy.
I thought I was clever but as soon as I get to work I realize just how impractical my outfit is. Bad enough I decided to wear a jumpsuit but I added a sweater over it which means every single time I have to go to the bathroom I have to take my arms out of my sweater and out of the jumpsuit. Never again.
I walk over to the cottage to retrieve the cake and deliver it to the lounge. Then I walk to the event center to scope out the new sofas. They will do just fine.
I can’t believe I get to come and work in such a beautiful place. I think of how he says that had we never moved here, there’s no chance I would have had this opportunity. This is one of the reasons we came here: so that we could see what might be possible.
“I am a dreamer but I don’t do fantasy.” There’s so much wisdom in knowing the difference.
He’s literally growing right in front of our eyes. He will be as tall as my by his birthday, no doubt. What will I do then?
I always get so many emails after I get home. Funny how that works.
Range LIfe in Livermore. Under the peppercorn tree. I realize that I’ve never seen a peppercorn tree. Did I even know that peppercorns grew on trees?
Warm olives. He eats the two oysters. We start with a glass of 2015 Avinyo Cava Reserva Brut Nature and then settle on a bottle of 2017 Domaine du Petit Bondieu Cabernet Franc from Bourguiel as we split the ribeye with olive mashed potatoes and sierra porcini jus. We move on to blistered shishito peppers with goat cheese, cured sumac, and cilantro then the Cowgirl Creamery Mount Tam with griddled bread and purple and white figs and olive oil before moving on to malted milk ice cream drizzled with olive oil and topped with a baked honeycomb. I accidentally blew out his birthday candle.

9/19/19 9/19/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Eight

I cover myself with a thin robe thinking that might capture the smell of the breakfast sausage. It does not.
Seedy raspberry jam. Entirely too sweet but so good on a biscuit with melted butter.
Sometimes I wonder if she just pretends to not know the answers. Because, I mean…we do the same thing every day.
A little whisper of fog resting on top of the hill. Traffic is lighter than usual this morning and I’m grateful for it.
I feel like some people think I’m weak. I want to tell him that it’s okay. That I can carry a case or two of wine. Maybe it’s the wedge booties that make me seem incapable.
The cake is petit and looks fancy. Perfect for what we need.
Where is the water? We track down the sparkling but can’t find the still. I tell him I will email Abe in the morning. He tells me that he is Abe and so I shake his hand and tell him my name and ask him to let us know if it turns up.
I slip off my shoes t the door and then take my time, going through each room, opening the blinds, looking at walls and light fixtures and artwork. Thinking of ways in which it needs care and how we can transform it. So much potential.
Reworking ideas at the last minute which is what I always do. I will probably even change it the day of. I know this about myself.
I think about how her bike is gone. Stolen off the front porch. Why would anyone steal a little girl’s bike? The range of feelings one has about the loss of materials.

9/18/19 9/18/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Seven

Not enough sugar for muffins.
Wash and wash and wash.
Still not used to this new routine which really feels like no routine at all and so what am I going to do about it?
The whirring sound it makes as it tries to climb the hills. Poor thing is working so hard. The sound of static through the words: “Courage and Confidence, Humility and Curiosity.”
Rain. Rain?
I forget the attachment. Of course. I remind myself that it happens to everyone. I won’t do it again. Something he says: “I will make mistakes but I won’t make the same one twice.” I mean, I might do it again but I will try not to.
Leftovers are always so good.
“You can have anything you want, but you can’t have it all at the same time.”
I try to remind myself that I just need to do what I can with the time I have. And only one thing at a time. But I still text her and vent.
I feel like I’ll never be able to catch up.

9/17/19 9/17/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Six

What will I do for breakfast?
Do they even have anything for lunch? I did not return with a plan in mind.
The break of dawn.
I didn’t think she would recognize me without my braids but she tells me that she had a kidney stone attack and was in the hospital over the weekend. It catches me off guard because I haven’t yet had my coffee and I’m worried no one will eat the turkey I just bought. I’m not present enough to ask more questions.
We decide he should stay home. It really only works when you do it every 4 hours.
The act of unfollowing has become addicting.
I make the call as I head south on Vasco and hope that the call doesn’t drop. But I know it will.
Ah. I know who this is supposed to be but it still catches me off guard.
Reddish-brown cow with a white face and I feel like he’s just staring at me. How can I eat that?
I believe in our magic.

9/16/19 9/16/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Five

So dark. Darker than usual. Must be clouds.
I put some bacon in the oven, brew the coffee, and wash dishes. Almost two weeks without a dishwasher which is too long when there are 5 people in a home and you make every meal from scratch. But we are remembering the therapeutic benefits of hand-washing. It’s become a meditation.
I try my best to make the braid. I am sure it will be undone by the time she comes home from school.
Rain. A real rain. I thought they meant just a drizzle, but this is coming down hard.
Next time I know not to take Greenville Road. Never take Greenville Road.
He opens the door for me and drives us out of the gate and to the cottage. He tells me that he was in the hospital with his son over the weekend. I look at him in the eyes and say, “But how are you doing?” He starts to cry and tells me that he has to be strong for his son. I place my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t have the words. Or maybe there are too many words. So we just look at each other and maybe that’s enough for this morning.
How do we make room for grief when life must go on? What happens to us on the inside when we exhaust ourselves trying to “put on a brave face”? Where can we go and feel as though we can safely express our true feelings in the midst of it all? How do we make sure that even complete strangers know that someone cares?
I offer to take him to the library before we pick up his older brother. We put the windows down. I’m so ready for this weather.
I text to make sure she’s okay. She says she is. I might be oversensitive to hurt feelings among friends. I might be projecting. Everything is fine. I love that they found a way to play softball in the park, just the four of them.
I just want everyone to go to bed now.

9/15/19 9/15/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Four

I wish there was more time for laughs over coffee and scrambled eggs.
I think of the interesting ways in which relationships shift as we age. It seems so strange to be talking with my uncle, adult to adult. I like how it feels more like being friends.
I miss the ramp. Google didn’t say to head right. Now I will be late. Okay. Only a few minutes.
She lets me go through the pre-check line because the plane is actually already boarding. I am grateful for that. Not as grateful about the bag check. Also not grateful for the gate change, nor the incorrect directions to the new gate, nor that I now have to check my bag because I’m so late.
He asks me how I’m doing once I sit down. It softens me. I thank him for asking.
So sleepy.
So grateful for the Lyft ride. She is so quiet and she’s playing all the John Mayer. I sing along softly from the back seat.
The heat is a shock after four days of 60-something degrees.
I feel like I fail every birthday but she does say she’s happy. I believe her. I can see the twinkle in her eye. Maybe one day I’ll get the hang of it.
Just needed one more day.

9/14/19 9/14/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Three

The last day. No sun. So cold.
The saturation of color. Red mushrooms, brown mushrooms, gray mushrooms; thin, soft bright green needles on the conifers.
He just looks so sure of himself. The top of his head barely reaches my waist. He’s in his onesie pajamas and yellow rain boots with fluffy blonde bed head and black-rimmed glasses. We greet him. He hesitates and then says hello.
The swell of emotion.
I grab a chair and sit on the tiny dock, the one that can’t really fit more than one person, and call him.
Wetsuit swimming. I imagine the water still seems so cold.
We linger in the dining room talking about the challenges of being a community leader. We think about the place we are in and where one could go and wonder how do we train ourselves and one another when so much change is emerging all at once. There is no easy answer. Are there ever easy answers.
I realize that my own answer feels as wrought as hers.
I just needed one more day. Or maybe three more days. I begin to plot how I might procure the cabin named Sommers.
The way the fog is weaving itself in and out of the trees and rock formations. The moodiness of it all.
Laughter, insight, a big plate of ziti and Caesar salad. I’m glad I made time for this.
Don’t think about the to-do list.

9/13/19 9/13/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & Two

The color of the light as it illuminates the corner by the window.
So cold I don’t want to get out of the bed but I know it’s time to get up. I also don’t hate it.
I put on the turtleneck and then take it off. I put on the thermal and then put the turtleneck back on. That should be enough.
I decide to crash Ann Wood’s class because she’s Ann Wood and there are very few people I fangirl over but she’s one of them.
Twigs, evergreen leaves, dead oak leaves, a strip of bark covered in moss.
I tell her that I try to ask more questions. There is a feeling of spaciousness that occurs when I shift from “I think…” to “I’m curious about…”
I think this going to be good. It will be good. I like that I can be here and serve in this way.
She shares a can of local IPA with me and we chat about all the things. I watch everyone’s hands deep in their work.
I wrap my scarf around me and walk out to the dark to listen to the water. The lake looks dark and deep. The mountain (hill) to my left seems larger today than it did yesterday. I realize just how small I am.
Who knew one could feel so competitive when playing a friendly game of BINGO?
I will miss our long talks. But I’ll see her again in just a few more weeks.

9/12/19 9/12/19

Ten.Eight Hundred & One

The coolness of the air.
The creak of my feet against the cabin the floors. Something soothing about the sound of it.
Instant coffee and water and journal on the dock. The pale yellow light of the sun obscured by the cloud cover.
The way the body feels when rains are coming.
I remember that it’s about the process. But it only takes a one simple phrase to open me up: “You will make mistakes today.” - Teri Dautcher
The magic of the physical act of making. Fatigue, but the kind of fatigue that one experiences from being so involved in your work and the mind stretching.
To come more than 2,000 miles to eat a meal with someone who lives only 70 miles away from you is a little funny and yet seems perfectly normal and ordinary and right in this case.
Soup weather.
The sound of feet shuffling along the path. The click of walking sticks against the rock. Muffled voices.
Wine in solo cups, sitting beside the fire, in conversation but also noticing uses of language, privileges. Trying to unsee pictures of Howard Hugh’s nails.

9/11/19 9/11/19

Ten.Eight Hundred

So much light. I think I’ve slept longer than I intended to.
I go over to the window and see a sliver of the water, it’s surface rippling from ducks? wind? Who knows. I wonder if she stands here and stares at it like I am doing now. I can imagine one would spend an inordinate amount of time fixated on this view.
French press coffee and grapes and toast and scrambled eggs. We talk about everything and I love it and it makes me wish we weren’t 2,000 miles apart from one another.
Also, it’s possible to have real relationships that being in a virtual space and transcend into something real and safe and life-giving. I’m grateful for that.
I stop at the grocery store and find what I need. I grab a bottle of Louis Jadot Beaujolais-Villages and a bottle of Wente Morning Fog. Who would have thought I’d find either in the middle of New Hampshire?
The landscape isn’t as striking as I remember and that just might be because now I live in a place where I am constantly moved by the natural beauty. This beauty is different.
Familiar faces. Still a little nervous.
Waffle cone with vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles.
Thrumming with possibility.
Absurdly excited for instant coffee on the dock.

9/9/19 9/9/19

Ten.Seven Hundred and Ninety-Nine

Just a little longer.
Grateful for a non red-eye flight which means I can take my time getting ready. I wash and dry the dishes and brew the coffee without rushing. I stick a load of clothes in the laundry. I have time to make everyone do everything they need to do for themselves.
I am missing them and I have t even left yet.
I take a few deep breaths. He thinks it odd that I still feel this way each time I travel even though I’ve flown so many times.
I can feel tears welling up in my eyes; involuntary reaction due to anxiety.
I kill time by downloading movies, writing emails, and drinking a milkshake.
No one in the middle.
No. I definitely have never seen all of this movie.
I had forgotten just how dark the highways are here. I can’t tell if I have my high beams on or if the Jeep’s lights are just so bright because the air around us is so overwhelmingly black.
So good to be here.

9/9/19 9/9/19

Ten.Seven Hundred and Ninety-Nine

Just a little longer.
Grateful for a non red-eye flight which means I can take my time getting ready. I wash and dry the dishes and brew the coffee without rushing. I stick a load of clothes in the laundry. I have time to make everyone do everything they need to do for themselves.
I am missing them and I have t even left yet.
I take a few deep breaths. He thinks it odd that I still feel this way each time I travel even though I’ve flown so many times.
I can feel tears welling up in my eyes; involuntary reaction due to anxiety.
I kill time by downloading movies, writing emails, and drinking a milkshake.
No one in the middle.
No. I definitely have never seen all of this movie.
I had forgotten just how dark the highways are here. I can’t tell if I have my high beams on or if the Jeep’s lights are just so bright because the air around us is so overwhelmingly black.
So good to be here.

9/8/19 9/8/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Eight

In the dream I was walking on a path and a crane died in front of me. I cried and picked it up.
I decide to move slowly because. The freedom to decide.
All of the dishes all over the counter. Still there. So many of them.
I can feel my anxiety about all of the travel coming up and then I make a note to acknowledge that I am not the only one unnerved by such things.
The color of light on the hills and the vines. The blue sky. The turbines spinning, spinning, spinning.
Worth it.
I grab four miniature packs of skittles on my way out. For the kids of course. I open one before I make it to the first stoplight.
Let it wash over.
So glad to have reconnected to their words, their work. That feeling of fire in the center of the womb. Like fire.
“What Does it Mean if a Crane Crosses Your Path? A crane crossing your path is a reminder to remain patient till all problems subside to move ahead with knowledge and clarity.”

9/8/19 9/8/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Seven

What time is it? He’s complaining about his stomach hurting. It must be pretty bad because he does’t usually squirm this much. I follow him back to his room. 2:12 am.
He’s back. I scoop him into the bed. Then there is this sound and I know what it is. My arm is wet and so it the bed and so is the floor. We clean everything up, put fresh sheets on the bed, get him some water to sip on. 5:12 am.
I don’t want to get up.
I open the sliding glass door. The breeze is barely there. I still haven’t eaten or had water or coffee. I just clean a little bit here and a little bit there before we have to pack up and leave for the games.
Lukewarm coffee in the mug. It feels good to have the day off, to be able to be present. Who would have thought that sitting in bleachers all day could feel like a luxury.
So many characters.
I tell him that I still love him even though he threw up on me. We laugh. Maybe I didn’t mind so much because it reminded me of when he was a baby, when they all were babies. The things you get used to when you become a parent: lack of privacy, lack of personal space, lack of time, lack of memory, lack of sleep, unconditional love, deep love, irrational love, heartache, all-consuming awe, irrational pride.
The smell of manure carried with the breeze. You get used to it. Or maybe you don’t.
Just enough time for some reading in the hammock. Just enough time to get relaxed enough that I close my eyes.
Palm tree leaves aglow from the setting sun. The sound of children’s voices in the distance, the new neighbors I think.

9/7/19 9/7/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Six

It feels like a waste to be up here and to only eat breakfast. But I didn’t plan this very well.
Morning fog. I can the little droplets of mist in the air. It looks like fall.
Sometimes it’s just too hard to capture.
“This is a cute place,” she says. And I have to agree. But I sense a lack of diversity and that makes me sad. But it is a place I could see myself living. I could see myself walking these streets.
I unload my bag onto the bed and start to lay down but think of all that’s left to do. Instead of bemoaning the list I ask myself, “what can I do today to make sure that I have a week that is full of ease?” And so I get up and grab the cookbooks, print out a grocery list and a meal plan and get to work.
Two squirrels darting in and out of the trees and under the cars. Must be looking for food.
But I really do hate shopping.
A broken dishwasher and a clogged sink. The piles of dishes stacked on the counter make me feel anxious. I do what I can and clean the bathroom instead.
This will have to do.
He still lets me hug him,. I think of the mom I saw with hangers in her hands, her son in front of her, a tower. I am not mourning the loss of his youth as much as I am in awe of the passage of time, the transformation.

9/6/19 9/6/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Five

Slow it goes.
Non-functioning dishwasher is not how I want to start the weekend.
The third one returns today. I will miss the relative quiet of only 2 children in the home. But I’m ready for him to come home.
Traffic this morning is light. Maybe people work from home on Fridays. Maybe people are going on vacation. Maybe there is no figuring out the traffic pattern.
Oh yes. Josh Groban is here tonight. The flurry of concert preparation. Big black boxes with silver trim, tall black poles, golf carts carting people to and fro.
The work day goes by too fast.
The feeling of not knowing where we will land in another year. The question of whether it matters. And that space of knowing that you can’t have everything you want and so there are choices that need to be made.
Not again.
Risotto with a fried squash blossom and good company. I want to be where these people are.
Tomorrow I will make a list.

9/5/19 9/5/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Four

Comfort in the dark.
Candle light. The sounds of my jeans dragging along the floor.
One jar of celery juice for now. One jar of carrot and apple and ginger for later. One gift from that stint is the renewed interest in juicing.
I fish around for a pen and paper. There’s a vineyard back there, trellised but browned over. No fruit. Clearly not irrigated. I wonder to whom it belongs? What grew here? Who can I ask who might know? Elaine will know.
The fog is hanging around a little longer today. Fall is coming.
Double-stuff Oreos.
Black glass and aroma class. Mind blown.
Remember to order “Pleasure Activism.”
“Well, I never got it sized because I was afraid someone was going to mess it up—no offense.” But I thank him for taking the time make it right again.
She calls to ask for all of the portraits. It’s a project I’ve been putting off. There are over 3,000 images to sort through. “Before Christmas, please.”

9/4/19 9/4/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Three

Might as well get up.
I light a candle and play a little bit of music. It is still too early to wake them. I boil some eggs and put bacon in the oven. 2 is easier than three.
They say that it’s much easier to be on time since they don’t have to wait for their brother. Not entirely wrong.
All of this is new for everyone.
I am the person who dances in the car while driving. Which sounds really unsafe. But I’m going very slowly.
White butterflies.
I refill the water. Need to order more still, probably more sparkling too. Gotta figure out who to order from to get better pricing. One thing at a time.
“I like how you said that. ‘I expect your room to be clean.’”
I really have to commit to meal planning and meal prep. The feeling of being unprepared is not a feeling I like.
Shrimp scampi for the win when the one who’s allergic is gone.
I remember that making for the sake of making is a worthy venture. That experimentation leads to innovation. That the point of this is that it can be done for the sake of personal satisfaction and not external validation. That this is about the infinite game.

9/3/19 9/3/19

Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-Two

He leaves today. I am ready, but not ready.
The light is slow to come. I wait patiently. I want to take a picture today. Not because I really have that much to say, but because I miss the practice of sitting with myself, for myself.
El Camino Diablo again. I prefer the Altamont to Vasco; it’s less hilly and there are fewer curves.
No ID card. Where could it be. I walk all the way around the gate to get to the office. But there are worse things than looking at grapes and vines and flowers on your way into the office.
I stick my mug under the spout of the Keurig and walk back to my desk. No computer. I forgot my computer. “A Tuesday that feels like Monday,” I say. Mommy needs a routine of her own.
We call. Monse isn’t working today but that’s understandable considering she got married this weekend. We try La Costa. I tell the young woman that I want to practice my Spanish. Tres tacos; asada, carnitas, camaron, por favor. Y una agua fresca—jamaica. She’s smiling and its either out of pleasure, because I gave a sincere effort, or because I way off.
Will I ever not be shy about relatives reading my published work?
I understand the transformative power of writing but it’s an odd feeling to read your own words and be moved. To remember who you were and where you were and how you were being during the time it was written. And then to be able to see and feel how much has changed since.
So quiet with only two of them.
28 days.