In the dream, I wake him up and find that his whole body is covered in big while lumps, and there is some kind of fluid that has pasted his arm to his body. He is in pain. I feel his pain.

Day 8 or Day 9? Does it even matter anymore?

Why does the pavement look gray? I look for the outdoor temperature reading on the dash. It is 33 degrees on the valley floor. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen that number.

I end up sitting in her office and talking about wine and kids and swimming and Star Wars and hiking. She helps me carry the wine out to my car. We talk some more. I really like her.

He is in a pretty great mood. Really good.

He’s bored and asks if he can help me make dinner. I show him a faster way to peel the garlic and how to scoop out the flour without bending the handle.

I tell him that he doesn’t have to ask permission to call his grandma. “They’ll be more than happy to take your call at any time.”

“If you do get vanilla, will you please get caramel sauce?!”

“Authority is knowing you have the right to speak, and what you have to say contributes.” - Elaine Chukan Brown

A screen full of color reminding me to find what brings me joy in this space.