Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ten

1. Game day.

2. Stiff neck. Thank goodness she’s coming today.

3. Migraine.

4. I let myself take it easy.

5. The sound of the tree chippers in the distance.

6. I never ate.

7. My shoulders are overloaded and I am trying to calm my nerves and I wonder if I will ever get to a point where I am not nervous.

8. These wind turbines make me miss the hills of the east bay.

9. 29-38.

10. We stand in front of the school under a streetlight while we wait for their parents to arrive. A hawk lands on the telephone lines across the street.

Ten.One Thousand, Four Hundred & Nineteen

1. Can’t sleep in too much or we will be late.

2. Sweater over the dress. Bags of bagels and some decaf for breakfast.

3. Windy down here.

4. I haven’t been here in years. I walk around the corner to see if the fountain is still there. It is.

5. Fresh sheets. Nap time.

6. “I believe in ghosts but I think this show is fake. Because why don’t the cameramen get scared?”

7. “But we’re assuming that coach knows where he is going.”

8. This is living in wine country.

9. There are no accidents.

10. So much beauty everywhere.

Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Sixty-Two

1. Waiting for the light.

2. Soup for breakfast. A little slice of Italian batard with salted butter. I’m goin to learn how to make baguettes this break. I think.

3. We need a plan.

4. Curled up in the chair watching the fog and the light, finishing the last few pages of “The Awakening.”

5. We work together to rearrange his room so that his monitor doesn’t get glare when he’s gaming. I am jealous of all the light.

6. We lost the Pokemon cards.

7. I feel my anxiety shoot up. I am hot with anxiety and anger. Which is always what happens when I go against my nature.

8. I come to the Zoom for the laughs and because I enjoy getting to know my aunts and uncles as an adult. Next week I’ll start adding to the conversation.

9. Dog, Prairie Dog, Whale, Jaguar, Snake, Lynx, Otter, Beaver, Dragonfly.

10. “Your success going forward rests on you changing the way that you think about and speak to yourself. You’ve come too far to lose your place in your future because of a crippling refusal to change your mind, words. Daughter, be free of fear…”

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 & 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-Four

1. Still a headache. I need to work on hydration today. Need to wash her hair today.

2. I get the idea in my head to get a headstart on the work for the week but then I remember I need to guard my time. Don’t slip into the boundarylessness again. Keep pockets of time for self.

3. But what can I do?

4. Wash day for her. I decide we should do it right after breakfast. Way fewer tears than last time.

5. We transplant what needs new containers and plant the starters in proper pots of their own. Well. Now it’s 9:15 am. What else is there to do?

6. The beetle is indeed very large and I can understand why she would sleep so uncomfortably on the sofa instead of in her own room.

7. Margarita and chips and guacamole for lunch. The last class makes us both tear up. Yes, this is what we moved here for.

8. I try to block out the conversation.

9. I crush the garlic in the mortar and pestle and then understand why she prefers the suribachi. I whisk the egg yolk while slowly drizzling in the olive oil. We will dip the potatoes and chicken in it.

10. “The human species is a kind of animal, of course. But we can do something no other animal species has ever had the option to do. We can choose: We can go on building and destroying until we either destroy ourselves or destroy the ability fo our world to sustain us. Or we can make something more of ourselves. We can grow up. We can leave the nest. We can…make homes for ourselves among the stars, and become some combination of what we want to become and whatever our new environments challenge us to become. Our new worlds will remake us as we remake them. And some of the new people who emerge from all this will develop new ways to cope. They’ll have to. That will break the old cycle, even if it’s only to begins a new one, a different one.” - Parable of the Talents, pg 321

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty-Three

1. It’s early, I think. What is today? Today is Saturday.

2. The last thing I remember in the dream is a baby Dash asking for more rice while sitting in a high chair. The cheeks!

3. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.

4. Leftover broth and noodles for breakfast. I think I could eat dinner for breakfast on most days. Unless it’s a Belgian waffle with fresh strawberries and big clouds of whipped cream.

5. It’s still cool but I face the sun and drape a blanket across my legs. Just need the fog to lift a little more and then I should be okay.

6. A different map of the tongue.

7. It takes too long.

8. Garbling meditation. The scent of lavender is soothing.

9. I am bothered even though I shouldn’t let it bother me. There are more important things to be bothered by. I try to refocus on Alice.

10. The water is hot, too hot. Extremely hot. I tell him it makes for a good bath, though. Water that is too hot means that the bath lasts a lot longer and I do have a book I want to finish.

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty-One

1. Thursday? Thursday. Last day of the month. How is it already the end of April?

2. The list for today is short but sweet.

3. He said it was a sad sight.

4. There were still too many people in there even though they were wearing masks. Still too close. Still walking right by you, sometimes brushing against you to squeeze down an aisle. This will not work.

5. I ask myself if my actions are actually laying the foundation for what I really want to see in the future. Have I been fooling myself into thinking that I’m doing it differently?

6. The sentiments in his essay echo thoughts I had just written in my journal. This is good. This means that there are some of us are operating on the same wavelength within the collective consciousness.

7. Stay off the screen.

8. But this sun.

9. I realize that I have to de-condition myself from expecting even my books within 48 hours. Still learning how to wait.

10. I watch the Gangsta Gardener while sitting in the garden. I hear the thud of lemons. They are big and round, the size of softballs.

11. 80s hits for dinner-time music.

Ten.One Thousand & Thirty

1. It’s only 3:18. There’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep.

2. Remember to take a Zyrtec today.

3. This. Behold the beauty of multi-use clothing. I iron out the wrinkles and slip it over my head.

4. It’s good to see her face. Really see her and talk to her. I think of her forsythia and the big maple in front of her house. I think of her last October under the umbrella at Scribe.

5. I tell him that all of my friend-chats this week start with J: Jennette, Julie, and JJ! He is not as amused as I am.

6. They’ve outfitted them with black masks, everyone.

7. I tell him that I actually can’t listen to his albums anymore. That I literally wake up every day with one of his songs stuck in my head. We laugh. But seriously, no more.

8. She asks if she can make lemon bars. I point to the small pile of lemons on the chair that I collected this morning.

9. I miss their delivery, but I know I needed a time out.

10. The thought: They didn’t like it; they hated it. In fact, she hasn’t emailed me back because they need to edit too much of it. Feeling behind the thought: Fear coupled with Imposter Syndrome. They will never ask me to write anything again; I am a hack after all. Reality: She told me they had meetings this week and that she wouldn’t even really get to it until maybe today. They may have other, more important things to address besides my tense shift. Or, the original thought could be accurate, but it doesn’t mean that I’m a hack. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.

11. Gratitude for tools that allow me to analyze my own thought process to keep me from spiraling.

12. Just point it to where you want it to go.

Ten.One Thousand & Twenty-Nine

1. It feels warmer in here than I want it to.

2. The birds are the loudest before the first light of day. Their loud songs remind me of mornings on the ranch.

3. Celery juice. Fresh apple and carrot and ginger. That feeling you get when you feel like you just need to start everything over. Erase everything. Begin again.

4. Coffe on the chaise, no children.

5. Will they touch?

6. Her in her hat. Her voice. Her laugh. I thought this was going to be the year I got to sit with her in her garden.

7. Bike ride for recess. They’re mowing down the grass at the park. Thank goodness. Maybe next week we can have a baseball unit for recess.

8. I just can’t imagine how anyone will be able to go to school by late July. I wonder about his reasons for saying that. But I assume it must come back to money. And, if people have to go back to work, school is, in a way, a form of childcare.

9. What would it look like for us to maintain the aspects of quarantine life that nourish us?

10. The light is just too good.

Ten.One Thousand & Twenty-Nine

1. It feels warmer in here than I want it to.

2. The birds are the loudest before the first light of day. Their loud songs remind me of mornings on the ranch.

3. Celery juice. Fresh apple and carrot and ginger. That feeling you get when you feel like you just need to start everything over. Erase everything. Begin again.

4. Coffe on the chaise, no children.

5. Will they touch?

6. Her in her hat. Her voice. Her laugh. I thought this was going to be the year I got to sit with her in her garden.

7. Bike ride for recess. They’re mowing down the grass at the park. Thank goodness. Maybe next week we can have a baseball unit for recess.

8. I just can’t imagine how anyone will be able to go to school by late July. I wonder about his reasons for saying that. But I assume it must come back to money. And, if people have to go back to work, school is, in a way, a form of childcare.

9. What would it look like for us to maintain the aspects of quarantine life that nourish us?

10. The light is just too good.

Ten.One Thousand & Eighteen

1. Go and watch the snail friends and remember to take it slow.

2. I drink my coffee slowly, quietly. I start to get up and then remember there is no where to go.

3. Why is it that they always need me right when this gets started? One ear on the group and one ear on the child trying to help them.

4. The exercise is simple but profound. I will use this again. I need to get this book, I think.

5. I tell them that my word for this time is Pandemic Pace. I also see the privilege in being able to be grateful for this slowing down.

6. It wouldn’t be so bad.

7. Is it retrograde? Why is it that communication seems to be failing this week? Check the charts. Or maybe it’s just me.

8. I could get used to sitting here.

9. We move his room around in order to accomodate the old love seat. I don’t like the way the furniture is arranged. Visually, it upsets me. But he says the 12-year old doesn’t care. All the boy cares about is having a sofa in his room.

10. I need to cool down from my bath. I step outside onto the patio and feel the cool night air. The only sound is that of the palm trees rustling in the wind.

Ten.One Thousand & Ten

1. It seems a little dark.

2. I make the bed while he grinds the coffee beans. Speaking of beans, where is that order? I’m sure it will be here sometime this week. Won’t it? Who knows. Who knows anything any more.

3. Double-check the campaigns and scheduled posts, yesterday’s sales. Write a list of questions that are really just for yourself.

4. I try to make a list of things that will be easy to get for Easter. There isn’t very much. Or there isn’t enough of the right things. Talking about getting groceries makes me anxious. Neither of us wants to go.

5. That cough.

6. I feel the anxiety in my throat again, and I don’t know what it is precisely, it’s just there. Again.

7. I read the email, and my eyes start to tear up, and then I run into the kitchen to tell him. It’s a big deal—a big deal for me.

8. I will not let this scare me.

9. I stir the onions and the celery and the garlic. Stir, stir, stir. Think of all that I still need to do.

10. I bring a tiny bowl of chicken noodle soup and the last glass of Chateau St. Michelle Dry Riesling. We laugh. We talk about the pandemic. We talk about how ourselves or people we know have been sick and whether or not it was the virus. We talk about food and books and airlines.

11. I wonder how long this will be how we talk. I agree with her; I am already beginning to get tired of being on the computer and doing this. And yet, it’s better than nothing. But I also wonder if we just need to learn how to be alone.

12. I’ve got work to do.

Ten.One Thousand & Four

1. Friday. Friday? Friday.

2. Pre-dawn quiet. The candle hisses after I light it. I watch the flame for a moment.

3. I had told myself that this was the week we would get back into a routine but I’ve been too distracted. We can do it though. On Monday. We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

4. There are only 6 of us. I see her name and her face and I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. This feels like a good group. I am still intimidated.

5. I am transfixed by this image. Good art does this-transfixes.

6. The letter says they don’t anticipate us returning for the school year, that this is not meant to be stressful and to communicate with them if it feels that way. Sad that the only way institutions are willing to be (act) compassionate is when faced with a crisis.

7. What am I even going to read?

8. I lay in the hammock, coffee table jazz station in one ear and a book in my lap. The sky is blue and clear. The scent of orange blooms rides the breeze and fills my lungs. At least there is this.

9. I somehow managed to make the kale too salty. I’ll put it in a frittata.

10. Too much.

Ten.One Thousand & Two

1. I hear him saying something quietly, and then I hear the coughing. 3:44am.

2. 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.

3. I close my eyes but don’t really go back to sleep.

4. So much coughing.

5. This morning, a whole family of snails. I watch the smallest one climb the stacked landscape pavers. How slowly they move.

6. It must be how I chugged that beet juice. I hope it’s just that.

7. I forgot how time-consuming this particular kind of work is.

8. 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.

9. He asks me if I want the rest of the Syrah. Of course, I want the rest of it.

10. 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.

Ten.Nine Hundred & Ninety-Nine

1. The first thing I do is check his temperature. Normal.

2. Must drink more water. I can feel a little soreness in my sides from last night’s quick yoga flow. I welcome it.

3. He brings me my coffee. I want to start drinking right away but know I must have some food in my stomach. I find a bosc pear, sweet but still crisp. I think I like these pears because of the color of their skin; it reminds me of an old oil painting. This sounds weird, but eating art is a thing.

4. I log in to listen to their coffee chat, not to lurk, but to be present. I tell them that I just want to listen. It’s just good to see and hear people in real-time.

5. I need to write.

6. I didn’t think of the alarm I would raise.

7. I stop her message so that I can journal. What she’s saying is making 10 light bulbs go off in my head. I need to stop and do it now.

8. We meander along the roads. It’s nice that the traffic is so light. You can ride in the middle of the road most of the time. Freedom.

9. I choose to sit in one of the chairs on the tiny concrete pad at the rear of the yard. This is where the sun is. The chorus bees. The thrum of the hummingbirds’ wings. These are the only sounds.

10. I tell him about her message and what I end up realizing in my journaling process and that really what I need to exercise in these moments is compassion.

Ten.Nine Hundred & Ninety-Three

1. Back to the alarm; I need the routine. And my goal is to get the work done during my most productive hours and that’s all the hours between 7am and 12pm.

2. I pour in the water, fill it with the grounds, and press the button. Nothing happens. No sputter and cough, no steam. It’s finally dead. Too bad we didn’t go ahead and order one yesterday. Not that we would have gotten it any time soon anyway.

3. French press?

4. I take my coffee back to the office, search for images, type, jot down ideas for this week and next week’s content.

5. I don’t alway sask why. Especially when I can sense the tone in the voice. Sometimes, you can feel the why and that is enough.

6. We find a quick bike route to the grocery store. He emerges with eggs and butter, two things I could not find last week. Also wine.

7. I clean and trim the beets, chew on a stem, realize how sweet it tastes. I listen to the whistle of the steam escaping through the lid.

8. Flour and butter on my hands. There is time for this. I wanted the time for this.

9. I take a sip. “Sauvignon Blanc?” “From where?” “Loire.” “Yep. Sancerre.” I give him a thumbs up. I should have passed that test.

10. Tender beet greens and roasted potatoes and cod, breaded and served with a beurre blanc.

11. An email with promise.

12. So much uncertainty and yet now there is space for clarity to emerge.

Ten.Nine Hundred & Ninety-One

1. So much light. Why am I oversleeping now? No alarm? Nervous system overload?

2. I lay still a little longer and stare at the light peeking through the blinds.

3. Coffee. Morning pages. I missed two days. What happened? Oh yeah, trying to get to the grocery store.

4. Chance the Rapper while I clean the office. Eventually two of us may be working in here on a more consistent basis. Also, it just feels good to clean.

5. Cleaning as a coping mechanism for when you feel as if you have no control.

6. We go for a walk It’s quiet on our street but then we get closer to the park and see more and more people. I jump onto the grassy areas because, I think, people don’t know what 6 feet actually looks like in practice. We decide to go back home.

7. I’m not ready to be inside yet. I take the broom from the garage and sweep the front porch.

8. Hammock . Garden & Gun.

9. “Why does the language of a tribe, or any community, need to be purified? I will answer for myself that the prescribed duty is to keep the language capable of telling the truth…. To stand by one’s word is everybody’s duty. To make words precise enough and clear enough to be stood by also is everybody’s duty, but I think that that has got to be the paramount duty of every writer, not just of every poet.” - Wendell Berry

10. Pax Petit Manseng and a backyard fire after an early dinner. The gray-white ash of the embers. Gratitudes for this blue sky.

Ten.Nine Hundred & Eighty-Nine

1. As I write the title for today’s page I realize that I will reach 1,000 ten-ish things posts while under the shelter-in-place order and that seem significant.

2. Today feels different.

3. I decide that I need to get to the store for toilet paper. I can’t risk it. Not enough if the Amazon delivery is pushed back again.

4. The parking lot here is full but the store is so big surely they have some left. So many people inside. Long lines already. It’s just barely after 7. The man stocking the shelves says everyone just took everything out of the boxes. People keep coming too close to me. I leave.

5. I drive to the Safeway. I can see that the line wraps all the way back to the produce section. I go to the main entrance. So many people. I try to walk back to where the toilet paper would be but then two bodies sidle up beside me. Too many people. I run back out to my car.

6. Target doesn’t open for another 15 minutes. I am number fifty-something in line. There’s no point in going anywhere else. People do not understand what 6 feet is. Space please. I think about today’s alternatives if I can’t get the toilet paper. I can figure it out. I leave with toilet paper and bleach.

7. I tell my husband that it wasn’t the anxiety about not getting toilet paper. What made me anxious was the amount of people. All I could think, every place I went, was “We are all going to be sick.”

8. I schedule the day’s posts for the winery and then decide to clean. I clean the bathrooms, wipe down all the doors. I vacuum. I light the sage and walk to every corner of the home. Usually I have a short prayer I say, but today all that’s in my mind is the chorus of this song. So I sing that instead.

9. "Please just go easy on me baby, go easy on me baby…” - Matt Meason, “Go Easy”

10. If it all ended tomorrow, would I be happy with how I showed up in the world today?

11. I read him some lines from the book. They send a chill down my bone. He says it’s just coincidence, a common phrase. I think of it as prophecy.

12. What really matters?

Ten.Nine Hundred & Eighty-Eight

1. Normal time.

2. Still groggy. May need to make some adjustments.

3. Grateful for the time to gather. I’ve missed every call so to be able to sit there and just listen, be present, breathe, meditate. I needed it more than I realized.

4. Messages asking if we are okay, if I am okay. I am fine. Fine is a default response that ignores the particularities of an experience.

5. I really should just rest.

6. We drive to the farmer’s market pop-up to support the local small farms. The lines are around the corner and kind of doubled-up and everyone looks like they are still standing to close to one another. I tell him that it’s too many people and that we’ll just go to Urban Edge.

7. Beets, gold potatoes, sweet potatoes, kale, local honey, cara cara and blood oranges, the calendar I wanted last summer but didn’t get.

8. Taxes. Now, there’s really no excuse of not having enough time.

9. I don’t think it’s me. Maybe it is me. Maybe it’s all of us. Maybe we should drive to the beach and go stare at the ocean.

10. We could be doing things differently.