There aren’t enough eggs to make the blueberry muffins. What to do, what to do.

The two youngest make pizzas from the last two pieces of garlic naan. The oldest makes himself a roast beef sandwich. Cold coffee. I have to repeat myself too much.

Big yellow roses.

I had forgotten that I needed to tell a story. I don’t know if I did it well. She’ll edit out the weird gaps and hesitations, I hope. But I also think about how important this story has been for me. Bluebeard. Bleeding keys. You can’t run away from the truth.

Feeling whole.

They don’t make the plates anymore.

Burger. Moscow Mule. Key Lime pie with fresh whipped cream and toasted coconut. Views of the hills. There’s a space with the hillside is cut out and you can see the layer of the rock. Blue, blue sky. Yes. This doesn’t even seem real sometimes.

Still so much on the to-do list. I don’t care.

Roasted chicken and creames spinach except I realize that I forgot the cream. I make a bechamel instead. How did I get to the point that I know how to make a bechamel without a recipe?

We forget how much we know.