Ten.One Thousand & Fifty-Four

1. The sprinklers. I think they go off right before the alarm.

2. The sound of the palm trees in the wind. One of the most soothing sounds. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.

3. Just trust your vision.

4. I write “vision” and then wonder if it’s ableist language. What’s another way to say this? Trust in the power of your dreams? Your intuition? Your imagination? Just: Trust yourself.

5. We sit down at the table and start to work on the puzzle. She yawns and yawns and yawns. I tell her to just go back to bed.

6. It’s all coming together.

7. Saturday and already have the Sunday blues? He reminds me that Monday is a holiday. Oh, good. One more day.

8. Also: how to not have that feeling.

9. I’m ready to go.

10. Miracles are scattered beyond.

11. 2019 Massican Sauvignon Blanc. I want to remember that it is possible to make a Sauvignon Blanc in Napa Valley that has this much acidity and zip. Sometimes a wine can make you want to go back to rediscover the possibilities of a region.

Ten.One Thousand & Fifty-Three

1. I linger in the bed and watch for the light. The crows are very loud.

2. Today is my favorite day because of the magic of our little writing circle.

3. Side project on top of side project. I’m glad she wants to do this. It’s good to have something that excites you.

4. The sun reflecting off the neighbor’s house and into the room making a small corner of light.

5. She says she still has more work to do for her project. I sigh. But she’s doing it. In her own time, working at her own pace.

6. The magic of a collective. I have to think of a way to thank her for making this space. And to thank the rest of them for showing up.

7. I can tell by his body language.

8. I get excited about the email but then we decide that the last thing a kid who doesn’t like school wants to hear is that he was chosen to do an accelerated program. We laugh.

9. Perfect spring day.

10. To lemon bar, or not to lemon bar.

Ten.One Thousand & Fifty-Two

1. Friday?

2. I lay in bed a little longer and watch the light creep in.

3. Water, water, water.

4. A baby snail on the back of a grown-up snail, and my goodness, I think my day is made.

5. Wet slate.

6. I know that if I make them come outside for recess, they will just complain.

7. Another round of lemon bars. This time she recruits her little brother for help. He tells her that we already have too many desserts: ice cream, 4 slices of chocolate cake, and 5 chocolate chip cookies. He’s not wrong.

8. I drop a hint; maybe I shouldn’t have.

9. The thing about frying fish is that everything ends up smelling like fried fish.

10. I compose the whole thing in my head and then decide I probably won’t write it anyway. The point is: don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something.

11. Miracles are scattered beyond.

Ten.One Thousand & Fifty-One

1. What is today?

2. Bird song. Not as loud as yesterday but I still hear their chattering so clearly.

3. I don’t eat the biscuit that I warmed. Somehow managed to overcook the bacon. Ho-hum.

4. Oh, these snails.

5. He looks much better today.

6. We spot two baby tomatoes on one of the plants. I hope the new pots come soon. The basil seems to be surviving the experimental transplanting. The leaves of the watermelon plant are getting bigger and fuzzier and I think they’ll be just fine.

7. “Can we go house hunting? We need a pool.”

8. It’s a small world afterall.

9. I remind him to not let himself get distracted by the opportunities but to get clear on what it is he really wants and which opportunity is the best choice for putting and keeping him/us on that path.

10. Right. Don’t take advice from people with goals that are so different from your own.

11. I hope there are mulberries in this week’s box. Mulberries and more apricots and more cherries. Just more of everything.

Ten.One Thousand & Fifty

1. So cool. Bird song. Time to get up.

2. I spy three snails on the wet slate tiles.

3. Unmotivated. I sip my coffee while stretched out on the chaise. Not unmotivated. Maybe slightly overwhelmed.

4. Moving boxes and adjusting sizes and making thing fit. Deciding that this is a limitation I am unwilling to fight through. Let it be easy.

5. She seems sad that I’m relocating myself back to the office. In time, I will most likely be here with them at the table.

6. The sound of the wind blowing through the palm trees.

7. We go to the park. There are very few people: a mother and son beside their bikes; a mother who is staring into her phone while her older daughter and son play with a ball and bat; the landscapers breaking for lunch; a food truck. The three of us have mitts, the fourth a basketball.

8. I find my rhythm.

9. Passed. On to the next.

10. Raft Jonquille. Sticking my upper-body in the sun to stay warm. Good things come in threes.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Nine

1. Chilly. More than chilly. Cold.

2. Those itty-bitty snails. The garden hose in the way. There’s no way they make it over. Then again, who am I to underestimate them?

3. Don’t drink all the coffee.

4. The sound of rain beating against the leaves.

5. “What’s an elective?” “I just want to continue to do online learning.” “We’ll talk about it. For now, let’s just do the work.”

6. But really, what’s he’s asking for is what I’ve been wanting to offer to him, specifically, for so long. And though I finally have the stamina, now I have traditional work. Can I do my traditional work in non-traditional ways? What could it look like? Have I just not tried hard enough?

7. I go over the list. Cross out the items. Review the list again.

8. Back to beer.

9. The just-right amount of sunshine and breeze and quiet.

10. They say that they’d like to try homeschooling for real. I tell them that it will look more intense than what they’re doing now because of COVID. They say they still want to do it. They like being able to work at their own pace, in their own time. They like the freedom.

11. Maybe this is the next edge.

12. There is time.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Eight

1. The cooing of pigeons. They are so loud in their nests tucked between solar panels.

2. Gray skies. Rain and wind in today’s forecast. A cleansing is coming.

3. So many little ones in the grass today, I dare not step into the lawn to visit the plants out of fear that I may crush one.

4. Two biscuits. I gotta stop making these if I’m the only one eating them.

5. Location, Flavor, Aroma, Balance, ABV, SRM, IBU.

6. The streets are quieter than I expected after what seemed like a rather boisterous Saturday in the neighborhood. I make notes to self: plant jasmine in the next house—maybe add an arbor of bougainvillea too; get yourself somewhere with a better view; but maybe I just need to belong to myself first.

7. What am I thinking?

8. It looks like rain. I feel a drop of water on my cheek. The clouds are now a milky gray, obscuring the sun. I head back inside. The sun returns. Of course.

9. “And what’s new for me, or at least what I’m seeing differently as a mom is that even living in a place long viewed as a progressive enclave won’t save your family.” - Dani McClain, We Live for the We: The Political Power of Black Motherhood

10. I remember the day I came to that realization. When the real fear of parenting was no longer about whether or not I would pick the right preschool or school district for my child, but whether or not I could truly keep them safe.

11. Coffee table jazz station on Spotify. Red wine in a stemless glass. “Die Wise,” “We Live for the We,” “California Calling.” The sounds of the television creeping in. The night breeze caressing my bare ankles. Too many open tabs.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Seven

1. I will just doa walk and check on things. 4:36 says his clock. I should go back to bed.

2. Oh yes, the biscuits.

3. Tiny snails trying to make it over thick blades of grass. They do not quit. They do not quit.

4. Always so good to see and hear her. I realize that I won’t get to sit with her in her home this year, maybe not even next year. Wow.

5. I see life. I hover over each one and thank them for perking up, apologize to the ones with yellowing leaves, and promise them that I’m trying to do my best, beseeching them to help me out and tell me what they need.

6. I finish the last few episodes and feel renewed.

7. They ask me if I’ve had hammock time. I haven’t. But I am outside, as much as possible.

8. Miracles are scattered beyond.

9. “A story is yours alone until it is spoken. When words are secret, it is you who decides if they exist.” — Natalie Singer, California Calling

10. Dessert is a handful of fruit and words.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Six

1. This is not the kind of text you want to wake up to.

2. I slip into his shoes, almost too easy.

3. I pour the hot water onto the grounds and watch it bloom. I’m glad this is a new part of the morning.

4. She can’t sit in the lobby, so she’s on her way home.

5. I wonder if I will be able to focus and be present during our writing circle. I contemplate skipping it. But no, I need it.

6. More wisdom cards. Quiet dust. When the wind works against us. Take root. What’s your wingspan? Reach beyond the vulture. Fish in the sky. Rebirth as contentment. Edge walker. Edge worker. Just have to keep swimming. Use the bridge. Comfortable everywhere. Mask.

7. I take the leftover smoked chicken breast and grab the wilting salad greens. Champagne vinegar and olive oil and a sprinkle of salt. It needs something else. Pennyroyal Lychee cheese.

8. I show him the proper way to do a left-handed layup. Then he makes ten in a row.

9. Affirmation.

10. This conversation between Julia and Andre. A screen full of mostly black and brown bodies drinking wine and sharing stories. One of the silver linings.

11. 2019 Lumen Escence Pinot Gris.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Five

1. I bet it’s almost 5.

2. I keep the pajamas on because it’s cleaning day. He’s still sleeping; I think about cleaning the kitchen before everyone wakes but why do all that work just to have them all mess it up right away?

3. The one snail stuck to the window. Is it dead or alive? Should I pluck it off the glass and set it on the ground to see what will happen? They seem so delicate.

4. They better get that box today.

5. That box.

6. I add manchego to the list because she saw the recipe for fried manchego in the tapas cookbook and, I mean, friend cheese.

7. She gets awfully close to me to hand me a pen and I try to keep myself from running away from her lest they think I’m one of those “over-reactors”…though I am one of those. I just want to sign for my CSA.

8. Mulberries. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a mulberry. I had a little bit o everything: mulberries and cherries and apricots and tangerines.

9. Hot soup on a day like today.

10. Why the scaly skin?

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Four

1. There are the sprinklers again.

2. Humid morning. But cool. Sweater and jeans kind of cool. I make my way across the patio and find a snail with a bluish hue.

3. I slice the leeks and at them to the red onions, caramelize them for the baked potatoes. I think about how this is indeed Pandemic food. But it’s not pandemic food; it’s resourceful food. It’s using what you have kind of food which is what most folks do every day. It’s what we’ve always done.

4. I text her to confirm the time of surgery. She says the hospital will send her text updates.

5. “The future is in your mouth.” Ocean Vuong

6. “…reclaiming the practices that sustained our ancestors.” - Bryant Terry

7. I feel like I need a nap. I slide beneath the covers and open “California Calling: A Self-Interrogation. I am relieved to see a structure that is nonconventional. Or is it more conventional now? Either way, it’s encouraging to see published work that looks more like how I write.

8. I don’t even wear the kinds of things she makes but when she describes them it makes me excited and I can tell she’s excited too and so this is what I tell her she should focus on.

9. I tug at the hose, frustrated. Why is everything so limp and turning yellow? They look like they are simultaneously over-watered and under-watered. Nothing is germinating in the seed tray. This is a learning year, maybe. But still. I want to eat the peas. I want to eat the lettuce. I want a harvest.

10. How much longer will I avoid it?

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Three

1. It’s time.

2. Dark skies and bird song.

3. I take one of the loaves out of the refrigerator and then slice up some strawberries. Honey-cinnamon butter. I remember the days when this used to be all that I needed to do. When my mornings could be slow and simple.

4. He rarely calls me this early in the morning. He’s checking to make sure I’m okay. He’s noticed that I haven’t posted anything in my Instagram stories in a few days. I chuckle. “Sometimes I just need a break,” I say. Then I ask him about his COVID test; it’s negative which is reassuring. It means the surgery will happen tomorrow as planned.

5. Still no sun.

6. Her interview with Melissa Alexander makes me teary-eyed. I want to be mad at the questions she asked but I can’t be. Because that’s what makes the conversation so tender.

7. I read the email. I did request feedback. I can’t be scared of it. And, it turns out, there was nothing to be scared of.

8. I speak low and slow. Like honey. They are hanging on to every word and I am not saying anything they actually want to hear. But they are listening.

9. Just a little bit of sun makes a difference.

10. I really, really need to meditate more.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Two

1. Another school week. Three more of these left. The baseball unit officially starts today.

2. It sounds like a helicopter going round in circles. It seems awfully early for anyone to be out. Crop plane?

3. The roaring of the electric kettle. The clicking of the oven.

4. I get to work right away and it’s not even 6:30 yet but that is all there is to do. But am I setting myself up for a bad habit? I can’t imagine going back to the way it was.

5. Eye roll.

6. No clouds in the sky. I remember that this week will be cooler than last week and I’m grateful for that.

7. So much pouting. He could have been done by now. I should just throw that box away and then, there would be nothing for him to be so upset about.

8. Pedaling into the wind. I love riding by this house and its jasmine. I smile every time.

9. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” we say. Then comes the water. A surprise.

10. That was not the response we were looking for and yet, it is what it is.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-Two

1. Another school week. Three more of these left. The baseball unit officially starts today.

2. It sounds like a helicopter going round in circles. It seems awfully early for anyone to be out. Crop plane?

3. The roaring of the electric kettle. The clicking of the oven.

4. I get to work right away and it’s not even 6:30 yet but that is all there is to do. But am I setting myself up for a bad habit? I can’t imagine going back to the way it was.

5. Eye roll.

6. No clouds in the sky. I remember that this week will be cooler than last week and I’m grateful for that.

7. So much pouting. He could have been done by now. I should just throw that box away and then, there would be nothing for him to be so upset about.

8. Pedaling into the wind. I love riding by this house and its jasmine. I smile every time.

9. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” we say. Then comes the water. A surprise.

10. That was not the response we were looking for and yet, it is what it is.

Ten.One Thousand & Forty-One

1. There’s the first one.

2. I am no longer tired anyway.

3. My eyes keep landing on the words: “miracles are scattered beyond.” The more I read it, the more it feels like an affirmation.

4. Waffles with melted butter, strawberries, and whipped cream. Orange juice and coffee. Yes, please.

5. I lift the towel and listen to it sing, watch it dance. “It’s so alive!” Maybe too alive.

6. I take my book out to the yard. The hammock is too wet. I sit on the patio instead.

7. No one is bothering me and I guess that’s what I really want on Mother’s Day - to be left alone to my own devices. To not have to labor over anything. But there is always more laundry.

8. There’s that sneeze.

9. I catch myself. There is no reason to do that. Doing that would keep me on the path and I think I’m ready to take a different route.

10. How does one just disappear?

Ten.One Thousand & Forty

1. The glaring golden light hits my eyes.

2. I will wash my hair. I will wash my hair. I will wash my hair.

3. Done.

4. I grab the seed tray and the plastic tarp and the lettuce seeds. I start to pour them out into my hand and then wish for a seed spreader. I think of the seed spreader and Carlos and that brief but therapeutic time working in the greenhouse of the restaurant. I wish I could have stayed longer. I think of how, shortly thereafter, the #metoo stories from the hospitality industry began to appear. I remember how, back then, I hoped they appreciated my honesty and candor and that it implemented changes within. I doubt it.

5. The heat of the sun on my back.

6. More laundry.

7. My request for a simple dessert of strawberries and whipped cream is offensive to her; she wants to make me something more elaborate.

8. To stay or to go?

9. I make a slaw from the kohlrabi. He will not eat salmon but he will eat kohlrabi. This kid.

10. This layer of quiet over everything when the sun disappears behind the palm trees.

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty-Nine

1. No sleep. Don’t know why I couldn’t sleep. I’ll just blame it on the full moon.

2. I move the post-it notes around and read my notes: Lean in to what surpasses your understanding; Defiant magic - own it; It’s time for us to create what they will not do for us; The doors will open when you rest into that knowing.

3. I need a bagel if I’m going to have a second cup.

4. I am shocked by how energized the exercise makes me feel. I had forgotten how different you can feel when you are making with your hands. Cactus energy.

5. I can barely keep my eyes open.

6. It’s just good to see and hear her.

7. Sometimes freedom is scary.

8. “Miracles are scattered beyond.”

9. Well, now I feel like I need to grow some corn.

10. So much laundry.

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty-Eight

1. The sound of the sprinklers. I remember this from last year: waking up to that sfpppeee of water shooting out of the hole from the drip irrigation.

2. He’s up which means I can get up without feeling guilty about disturbing him.

3. I should probably stop sending emails at 6:30 in the morning.

4. Maybe we can do it.

5. They look like they’re racing. One, a very tiny one, creeping slowly over the hose.

6. In every conversation, so many synchronicities. Which means maybe it’s not just me. And that feels good.

7. We talk for 3.5 hours. We just have a hard time keeping it short and sweet. But we are not shallow women.

8. I need a break.

9. “Rest in your knowing.”

10. It’s hot. Very hot. I can feel it radiating through the umbrella.

11. I miss them. I remind myself to just keep holding the vision. It’s all possible.

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty-Seven

1. I stare up at the ceiling.

2. Will their antennae touch? Will one shrink back? Which one will continue on its path?

3. He walks in to let me know that today, I forgot to wake him up at 6am. I tell him that I’m sorry; I got carried away.

4. I add more books to the cart. I just can’t help myself. Also, she is a voracious reader, just like her mother, and without a library, I can’t keep up.

5. I haven’t heard any of his sneezes today.

6. How much of this is true? How much of this is my imagination? How much of this is just the phase of the moon?

7. I pull the rose off the tree with just my hand. A fistful of purple petals. I scatter them on the ground. I am not sure what I planned to do with them. I just felt the need to hold the flower in my hand.

8. The two of us swinging in the hammock. The other two chatting beside us. Sun and shadow.

9. Meeting strangers on the internet.

10. I realize that maybe it’s just birthday anxiety. Perhaps I am more afraid of aging than I thought.

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty-Six

1. Tuesday. Tuesday? Yes.

2. Bird song sneaking in through the open windows. Sky changing from indigo to worn denim.

3. Sweater over shorts. I try to wake him up at 6, like he asked. I rub his soft cheek. He still has a little bit of baby fat. He asks for five more minutes.

4. One, two, three, four, five. A small cluster on the bricks that surround the empty pond. No more lemons on the ground.

5. Grocery delivery. Should I even still be doing this? But the last time at the hardware store…I just couldn’t.

6. Zoom calls across time zones. I miss them.

7. She tells me she can talk on Thursday, that she’s sensing that I have some things I need to talk about. She’s not wrong. There is a lot. There is so much.

8. I blame the margarita for the loose fingers. He chuckles to himself, says something about famous writers being drinkers.

9. I really these tacos had shrimp in them.

10. Almost every ear is dog-eared. How could this be the first time I’m reading this? I will pass then down on to her.