4/13/22 4/13/22

Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Three

But don’t really want to get up.
Cold toes.
I should probably not be cleaning but I can’t help it.
Early release day, but maybe they shouldn't be home early.
Should I be eating right now?
This is what happens when you move too quickly. Slow it down.
I place my hand on my heart and say “thank you” so many times. She has no idea how much this has made my week.
He says it’s cheaper than therapy, so why not?
But I just settled into the idea of this being it, the only place, that we were not going anywhere. And so it’s hard for me to shift gears so quickly. I try to imagine it. I can’t.
I wonder if it’s somehow my own fault.

4/4/22 4/4/22

Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Four

Forgot to lay out my clothes.
Morning birdsong.
Out of coffee beans. I don’t want to go to the grocery store. I remember that we have the Nespresso.
I realize that it probably looks like I’m not paying attention but there is work for me to do.
No room.
Three kids’ PB & J, one pastrami, one salami, one turkey.
I still have my pants on.
It is only Monday, but I am already proud of what I’ve accomplished this week.
Impromptu dinners and impromptu sleepovers.
Gratitude.

6/18/20 6/18/20

Today. But tomorrow.
Illy in the french press. Two extra scoops just in case.
Count down the hours.
But this is what we need: community, someone who understands our perspective, someone who is willing to listen.
I don’t think I’m the best interviewer, but I do enjoy these conversations. I look forward to writing this. Also, I think she and I could be friends in real life.
Funny.
I look for more baby watermelons. Half-hearted hand pollination means there are two so far. I should probably give more of an effort.
She is the first person I’ve seen that’s not directly related to me. We stand on the sidewalk under the shade of a tree, catching up, trying to understand what’s going on. I tell her that the only place I’ve ever worn my mask is to pick up my CSA. I feel like I need to yell. All of this is so strange.
I listen to the song over and over again.
Just look at how far we’ve come.

4/1/20 4/1/20

I hear him saying something quietly, and then I hear the coughing. 3:44am.
I close my eyes and hear the cough again and get up to get him cough medicine. I try to go back to sleep but google cough remedies and double-check COVID-19 symptoms because that is what a worrier does.
I close my eyes but don’t really go back to sleep.
So much coughing.
This morning, a whole family of snails. I watch the smallest one climb the stacked landscape pavers. How slowly they move.
It must be how I chugged that beet juice. I hope it’s just that.
I forgot how time-consuming this particular kind of work is.
I love the parts of our ride where Mt. Diablo is in view. No clouds. Not as quiet. More people out post-lunch? There are new blossoms on some of the trees. A lonely lemon in the gutter.
He asks me if I want the rest of the Syrah. Of course, I want the rest of it.
When the message gets repeated to you over and over and over again, and you realize you just gotta do it. However you can, in whatever small way you can, just do one simple thing to stay connected to it. One simple thing to move it forward.

7/16/19 7/16/19

Wow. The roosters are really loud today.
I try my best to tip-toe through the room for clothes, find what I need to wash my face and put in contacts and get ready for the day.
I look at my watch. Oh good, Moosewood is just opening. I have her come with me to get coffee and some pastries for the others.
Cinnamony.
Baby persimmons.
Had I understood what everyone meant by going to the river, I would have packed appropriately. We find the rockier parts of the beach and they try to skip rocks while I watch the water run. Yes, I need to be closer to water.
I try to fight away the pang of pre-departure sadness.
Filtered or unfiltered 2015 PInot Noir? We’ll take both.
Suitcase rosé of Syrah while we sit in these chairs for the last pre-dinner drink. I say something about wondering if I’m naive in thinking that I really can have a life that I don’t need to vacate. That I want travelling to be about experience and exploration, not escape.
I could eat this plum tart for the rest of my life.
I sit at her table and we talk about the ills of digital connectivity, privacy in the digital age, life-altering experiences, the definition of sanity. She starts every other story by telling me that’s she’s a private person, but “I’ll tell you this.” Her eyes sparkle in the candlelight. He asks me how old I think she is, I say she’s at least 80 but maybe older.
Another pang of pre-departure sadness.