Monday.

I can’t find the jeans I want. Maybe I didn’t put them in the dryer yesterday. These are too stiff and too low. I’ve come to love the support of a high-waist jean.

It’s just flexing the muscle.

I fill up my mug one more time before I get in the car. My hands are too full. He has to hold things for me so that I can get into the car without dropping it all. They were all waiting for me.

“Hey, baby. I mean, Hi ma’am, how are you?” I smile while I wait for my receipt and then laugh as I make my way over the bridge.

My first time driving myself up to wine country on my own since we’ve lived here. To settle my nerves I look for poppies and mustard. I find turkey vultures atop fence posts.

He grew up in Brentwood. What a small world. I get a cup of coffee and walk around the grounds. I sit in front of a fountain, touch the petals of the succulents, look at the people sitting on porch swings. This place is really like stepping into another dimension. It’s only good vibes.

The drive back takes me on a road that sits next to marshes. The horizon is one long string of hills and mountains blanketed in fog and haze. I live here among the hills now.

Maybe the drive was today’s meditation.

You gotta bottle those feelings.