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 & Thirty-Three

1. The dream. I want to experience just the last few minutes of it over and over again. I replay it in my mind before getting out of bed. There are just certain things you need to hold on to.

2. Make coffee. Clean the kitchen counters. The granite in this kitchen was never sealed or never re-sealed and so it’s pitted in random places. Which means that every time I run my fingers across the countertops I think there is food stuck to it. This drives me bananas. I can never tell if they’re clean.

3. The sound of the coffee percolating. I think back to our conversation when I said something about how it’s not even just the drinking of coffee that’s become a ritual, but the sound of the coffeemaker that brings about some peace, offers some grounding.

4. Game day.

5. I thought it was Wednesday?

6. If nothing else, it’s just good to have an ally, no matter the result.

7. I keep myself from reaching out to grab one of the calamari. I assume that if I could have eaten some he would have told me to dig it. PIctures first.

8. Truffled popcorn.

9. The baby cows are no longer babies anymore.

10. The boys are travelling all over the place. But we finally win a game. Maybe his method is slow and steady.

11. The story is right here. The story is right here.

Ten.Eight Hundred & Thirty-Eight

1. Oh, good morning, rooster.

2. Fog hanging low. The cafe is fuller this morning than the last few times I’d been. Black coffee and a bacon and goat cheese empanada. The flurry of Spanish circling my ears. I’m reminded that we have a lot of learning to do upon my return,

3. Return. Not thinking about leaving just yet.

4. She pulls out a bowl of pomegranate seeds and adds it to the bar that is already stuffed full of scones and hard-boiled eggs and flaky sea salt, granola and yogurt, and local unfiltered apple juice.

5. A deer darts across 128. He turns back to look at us as we move along.

6. Two more deer. These, I didn’t see. They stop and stare at us again. Remember to look up Deer medicine later.

7. It’s just the two of us, and a young man with the chef, and this is actually the most perfect thing, A private pasta-making class during which we drink Scharfenberger and sparkling water. We make farfalle and pappardelle and the one that looks like a chicken gullet. He brings us oysters—my first time eating them raw—and then a salad with more pomegranate seeds and pickled butternut squash and roasted delicata with a ginger dressing, and then our pasta to which he’s added shrimp seasoned with a piment d’ville. And then a plate of figs drizzled with honeycomb.

8. Delight while under the blanket on the sleeping porch. Her in her bath with her glass of Syrah and her book. The sounds of the cats chasing one another through the leaves.

9. Notebooks full of stars.

10. A whole sky full of stars. Billions of them. I feel even smaller at this moment that when we overlooking the gray waves of the sea. Why does this have to be the last night?

Ten.Seven Hundred & Seventeen

1. Soft morning light coming through the slats.

2. Not a sound. I hear only my own footsteps and the chatter of birds.

3. Bacon and biscuits. I scramble an egg for myself. Drink orange juice while I stir with the rubber spatula. It’s still just the two of us awake.

4. The best thing about summer is when they figure out how to sleep in.

5. We make the tart crust. I haven’t made crust by hand in so many years. I hope it turns out okay.

6. She talks me down off the ledge. I avoid the shame spiral. I draw up solutions, invision best-case scenarios, land on the language of what I want to feel instead. Generative. Yes.

7. It’s coming back.

8. The more I do, the more I feel my way into the calling. This is a dream that’s never left.

9. They call me on speakerphone to ask if she can come over for dinner. Of course. I decide we’ll eat at the big table. I gather the dried baby’s breath and the wilting crown of vines and set the table.

10. Semantics. This is the power of words. As important as the words: context—the context of the work, the context of the life of the person who is engaging the work. Does a person have the ability to see where their personal context lays a filter over the work? Furthermore, what is “bad” and what is “good”? Depends on context. Maybe too many years of study has me living in only gray. Nothing is black and white. There are no clear-cut answers.

Ten.Seven Hundred

1. Slow.

2. No one wants to eat the leftover bagels. I don’t blame them. I blame the teenagers who made these bagels.

3. Redesign. The thing is that I know I’m going to drop in numbers again but I still need to do it.

4. Sweat.

5. He asks me why we have to have people over again. “Because this is what we do! We like to host people! So you have to clean your room!” I tickle him until he gives in.

6. He comes up to my eyebrows now. He will be as tall as me by the end of summer. I have no doubt.

7. It’s a bad sign when all of the carts are gone.

8. I’m worried that there are not enough peaches. No cast iron this time.

9. “Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It’s okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.” - "The Shared Patio,” Miranda July

10. I tell them how fortunate they are to have had dinner with two winemakers in two weeks. Last week, Mr. Sean and this week Mr. Santiago. I kind of can’t believe it myself.

Ten.Six Hundred & Twenty-Three

1. Just a little bit longer.

2. Of course everyone is very hungry on the morning I chose to sleep in. No, breakfast is not yet ready.

3. Coffee plus a slice of tart berry galette plus trying to decide whether or not securing a sofa should be on the day’s agenda.

4. “One day at a time,” I say. He’s okay with that.

5. Towels and bath rugs. Dinner for tonight. I let her add a wedge of blue cheese to the cart because who am I to discourage a budding gourmand? Plus I have pears and walnuts at home and oh, what a combination that could be.

6. Cleaning can wait.

7. Blanchot, Bougros, Grenouiles, Les Clos, Les Preuses, Valmur, Vaudesir. How is the rhyme still in my head?

8. Almost like the absence of sound.

9. A little too dry.

10. He knows the phases of the moon better than I do.

Ten.Five Hundred & Thirty

1. What time is it? 

2. Move the elf.  

3. Gratitude for extra muffins that can be reheated for today’s breakfast.  

4. We take a quick walk. We find the river which is not a river but a creek—and a very dry one at that.  

5. He says that he’s not doing too bad considering he’s a grandpa with two grandsons in the backseat of his Prius. I wish him good luck. He says, “Thank you! I need it.” People here are so damn nice.  

6. I don’t mind having a “job” if it means getting to make a beautiful drive like this every day. 

7. What a beautiful place to work.  

8. Jack in the box. Never again. Now I remember why I never ate here in high school.

9. He didn’t have that great of a time on his field trip. But he’s excited to show me the pictures that he took of the Golden Gate Bridge and Berkeley. I think of the text message he wrote to me thanking me for moving him to California. I think he really does like it here even if the field trip was a bust. 

10. More Pinot Noir from Alsace. They all talk with their hands. Where do they get that from?

10.1 Fireplace. Christmas music. Stockings. Just the two of us.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Seven

1. 4:30.

2. Stomach growling. Where for breakfast? 

3. How much longer until our hunger and sleep cycles adjust? I don’t remember having this problem during my other visits.  

4. The haze is making me think we ought to stay home today.  

5. Tacos and Meadowlark Dairy.

6. The five of us in one room. How many more days to go? At least 4 more. 

7. Hotel laundry room.  

8. First dinner with the new boss. He reminds me so much of my father that it both warms and saddens me.  

9. When will I feel ready? 

10. I need a week’s worth of sleep.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Six

1. 4 am. Getting better.

2. He’s hungry. I don’t blame him. Our days have been so odd. Rhythms are non-existent. 

3. Hotel breakfast. The three of them in a both while he and I shop for washers and dryers and try to plan the day. 

4. The kids want to play in an empty house. I want to be out of doors.  

5. The morning light looks like afternoon light because of the smoke from the fires.  

6. Can’t wait for the next open spot. I suggest we head to Muir Beach instead. They don’t want to go but we insist that they’ll love it.  

7. Should have had them take off their socks and shoes. They are caked in wet sand. I actually don’t care.

8. “I’ve never felt so free.” - Dean

9. We haven’t yet pulled away and they already want to know when we can come back.  

10. I have a lot to learn. But that’s why we’re here.  

10.1 “You’re right. In-n-Out is  better than Portillo’s.” - Dash

10.2 The sky is more hazy than when we left this morning. I sign up for text alerts.  

10.3 I keep looking at the listing showing “sold.” It still doesn’t feel real. Maybe once the stuff is here and we’re back in our own car it will set in that this is not just a visit. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Seventy-Eight

1. The quiet is always so good.

2. Must make a list. The list is long. I will shorten it to what’s really doable today. I have a countdown and am working backwards. What actions today will have me more prepared for tomorrow?

   3. Cereal or granola or oatmeal. He stomps back up the stairs.  

   4. A canopy of trees, clear sunlight, squirrels at the feet. 

   5. Spiced bar nuts and a tiny glass of Vouvray because this might be the last time we get to do this. 

   6. Leftover chicken noodle soup and paper work for lunch.

   7. I should really start packing.  

   8. We got it. And so now there’s a place to shift into. It felt more right than the other one, even though I wanted the view of the rolling hills. But a cul-de-sac and a park and a little bit more grass tipped me over. Plus the house just had good vibes. I felt them when I walked in.  

   9. Relief.  

   10. 16 days.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-Four

1. I will remember that he has soccer this morning.

2. I have no desire to make a meal plan for the upcoming week but every desire to eat at some point. So I guess I will make a list. Or at least a rough outline.

3. I have no words. I mean, I have no time to work out what wants to be said in a way that makes sense right now and so I type a single sentence. How does one begin?

4. It’s dark and cool and the kind of weather that makes you want to sleep all day. Soup again for dinner. And a sandwich. Maybe a salad too. Or chips. That sounds like a good dinner for a Friday.

5. I am silent. I am thinking all the things but not wanting to speak out loud. I tell him that I’m going to get rid of Facebook. It doesn’t serve me. I don’t know if it really serves any one. I’ve tried multiple ways of trying to make in work so that I’m in alignment with my own values and goals but I find myself continuing to resist it. I don’t want to be consumed.

6. Petit Chablis and Pinot Nero. Prawns, sausage flatbread, cheese plate, charcuterie board.

7. Not cool, but cold.

8. If I start the soup now then I can lay around and drink tea with the kids after school without feeling rushed to get dinner done. Strip corn from the cobs; chop the onions and the bell pepper, the celery and the carrots.

   9. The rain is falling and it’s exactly the kind of weather you want for soup and a slow evening.  

   10. Yeah, I think I’m done.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Twenty-Two

1. I just need to get them to school. 

2. Of course this is the morning they want pasta and grilled cheese to pack for lunch. And someone else wants a shirt ironed. I just need them to get to school. 

3. Wet tissue on the console and a mug of hot ginger and lemon tea.  

4. I bring the laptop to bed and run through emails while I drink another glass of water and another mug of tea. 

5. I can hear the wind whipping outside. Everything is dry though. There is no rain. I’d really like to breathe.  

6. I close my eyes.  

7. Twilight Zone in the background while I try to sleep away this cold.  

8. Tomorrow at 10:45 am.  

9. I sit out on the back stoop in the sun to warm up. I watch the trees and the tall grass wave back and forth. I can only hear the rustling of the leaves. I think of how I will miss this space.

10. He always sees more in me than I can see within myself.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Twenty-One

1. I'm washing my face and she wants to know if she can make scones.

2. This feels less like allergies and more like a cold. I know what to do; today means no caffeine, no dairy, a long nap, lots of ginger tea. 

3. Heat. 

4. We cut down the sunflower. It’s nkt as heavy as I thought it would be. Im sad to see it go but we will try again next year. 

5. I write out my ideal outcomes: someone who will love this house as much as I do and has sufficient funds to purchase it so that we can be on our way. Or help from the company to accelerate the sale. And then the most right fit in California. A job for me at a winery where I get to stretch myself into a different kind of work but that still lets me play up my strengths. A vibrant west coast network.  

6. 6-6:15. 

7. I can’t stop sneezing.  

8. I’d rather be at home.  

9. There’s grass just inside the door so at least they went outside. But they didn’t take a flier. 

10. Night time medicine, more tea, more water.  

Ten.Three Hundred & Eighty-Three

1. Press snooze. 

2. Look up and find Mars. The birds are already loud; pre-dawn song. I think back to the way the ranch came alive each morning. Birds and toads and insects all welcoming the day in unison.

3. It's hard to not think about hinging everything on this one potentiality. 

4. I ask for tips on how to maintain some sense of sanity for a move like this. I'm talking myself away from the ledge on the regular. The amazing thing is seeing how far I've come in rewriting self-talk. I'm much wiser than I was 10 years ago. 

5. Always laundry. 

6. I have a 1.5-hour drive ahead of me. I keep the windows down until I get to the highway and then keep the music up really loud. I might be basic—drinking Tangerine La Croix and listening to Paramore. I roll my eyes at myself. 

7. The bakery is still shiny and new and French. The cases are filled with delicate and sticky things. I see something with gold leaf. He brings out a blueberry tart that is dotted with chamomile flowers. I see trays lined with proofing linen. I hope they make it. 

8. Three old ladies come over the table in the window where I'm standing on chairs and moving plates. "Are you here taking pictures for a magazine?" "Yes, Chicago Reader, a local paper." "They deserve to be in a magazine. Even the water is beautiful!" They're amusing. I buy two baguettes before I leave.

9. I love leaving a job and feeling inspired. I have a large list for tomorrow. Projects that I'm ready to wrap up in order to make space for what is to come. 

10. Cool breeze. The sound of the neighbor's sprinklers. We linger until it's almost too dark to read the face of my watch. 

Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Nine

1. The way the windows are wet with humidity. How tiny beads of water trickle down the glass so slowly. It looks like it will be a hot day. 

2. I take the bread out to let it come to room temperature before baking. I think of the way the dough felt in my hands yesterday evening before I rolled it flat. So light and elastic.

3. Today's practice feels hard. I let myself let it be hard and remember that it's just hard today. 

4. Today I actually sit down and draw out the maps. I tell him it's hippie moon-centered goal-setting. 

5. We snuggle up to watch more Twilight Zone. This is the only way I can take a nap these days. 

6. It's a perfect kind of day for the pool: just hot enough in the sun to feel the burn but to not sweat; just enough people to make it feel lively but not overwhelming. The middle one is closer to being able to swim. At least the little one is letting go of the ledge today. 

7. The smell of tea tree oil. 

8. The tomatoes are overtaking everything. I push away limbs to uncover the rosemary and the thyme. I am a little overwhelmed by the abundance. But I am receiving it. 

9. Chianti Classico with Chicken Parmesan. 

10. The only thing about a pool day is that it wipes you out.

Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Two

1. I skipped yesterday but drag myself down today. I can feel the tightness in my shoulders and in my left quad.

2. How long before they all wake? I want just 30 more minutes to myself before the day begins. 

3. Still quiet. The smell of bacon. The whir of the dishwasher. Coffee grinder. Robin chatter.

4. Cleaning Day is really like therapy. It might be one of the few times a week where I am alone and no one wants to bother me which means that I can think all of the thoughts and scrub my way to an answer that feels right.  

5. All of a sudden I am yelling.  

6. This game of Eye Spy in the car is getting out of hand.  

7. There’s time for this. There is always time for this.  

8. I forget about the promised treat so we stop at the Mariano’s—gelato for them and a bottle of Barbera d’Asti for me. 

9. MYOP Night: Make Your Own Pizza Night.  Always a hit but always so much work. Salad with garden spinach. I candy the walnuts and them plus some dried cranberries to the greens. I think about how far I’ve come as a mother and a wife and a cook as a result. I remember that the things that are now the most ordinary and natural are that way because consistent practice.

10. So many robins. 

Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Nine

1. Just a little bit of mist rising up above the water in the wetlands. 

2. This high lunge makes me want to quit but I keep stretching anyway. I really gotta find that yoga mat.

3. Coffee. Banana. More water. Bagels and fruit for them.  

4. I play him one-on-one in soccer. We are almost the same height and wear almost the same size shoes. There aren’t many of these kinds of days left. 

5. I sit and watch the empty blue sky while they climb. 

6. I am startled by a loud fluttering and look up to see the sweetest little hummingbird in front of my face. Good medicine indeed. 

7. Chamomile and conversation with her to talk about the things. I have a long list of ideas and confessions I wish to tell her but I’ll save them for later. 

8. I think back to this morning’s realization that this feeling of bigness might just be ovulation. That explains the dreams. 

9. The way the sky is melting into blues and yellows and oranges. 

10. How am I making meaning?  

Ten.Two Hundred & Ninety-Seven

1. The colors of this morning's sky: peach and lavender and lemon and sky blue. I'm reminded of rainbow sherbet.

2. The blooms from yesterday's floral workshop are so fragrant. I think it might just be the eucalyptus.

3. Waffles toasted in the oven and bacon and coffee. I sit next to the big kid at the island. 

4. She’s pouting again because there isn’t any prosciutto.  

5. Meal plan + grocery list + grocery shopping + last minute supplies + sunshine + getting to talk to the woman at Michael’s about the retreat.  

6. That feeling of almost being knocked over from gratitude.  

7. Thought we were out of ink. Turned out we’re out of paper.  

8. But the goal is to be in bed before 11 so that I’m not too tired on the plane.  

9. He tells me that he’s excited for me and that we’re going to have fun and it feels good and affirming to be seen and loved.

10. Travel jitters. 

Ten.Two Hundred & Ninety-Six

1. Slept in just long enough for it to feel good but not like my day has run away from me. 

2. Coffee. Fruit Loops with flax milk. I think I like flax milk. 

3. This corner of the gray linen sofa and the view from the window across from it. I see that the goose is back. He seems to travel alone and has made the wetlands behind the house his home. 

4. On the way in I listen to the On Being episode with angel Kyoto williams and remember that I have half-read her book, Radical Dharma. 

5. The shop is basically me boxed into 4 walls: white, green plants, heavy paper stock, Factured Goods brass spoons, succulents in tiny pots, and all the flowers. 

6. My nerves quickly dissipate. 

7. I layer eucalyptus and roses and some other plants that I can't yet name and wrap them in brown craft paper, tie them with a string. The brightness and slight sweetness of the flowery gin cocktail. 

8. The drive home is not too long, but just long enough to tire me.

9. I leave in only 2 sleeps. 

10. I needed a day like to day with so much alone time, with the sun, with flowers, with women and light chatter, with being present, with so much feeling like myself. 

Ten.Two Hundred & Forty-Four

1. Up before the light, listening to the sound of rain hitting terra cotta tiles on the patio. 

2. I go to eat breakfast by myself. Coffee, orange juice, water, a chickpea, potato and kale scramble. Quiet. I can see the vineyards in the distance, bare, wet and dripping.

3. Downtown Santa Rosa to meet Adam for coffee at Flying Goat. I almost don’t recognize him with all of the hair. We sit and talk life and photography and freelancing.  

4. Back at the ranch. So much time planning and talking and dreaming. I can’t wait to bring everyone here to sit by the pool, to warm by the fire, the drink in the sun, to make space to breathe. 

5. We get tacos with Kevin before he heads back to San Francisco to go home. He tells me to stop underpricing myself. To keep playing with one light and a subject. To live with the confidence I speak to in my writing. Grateful for mentors like this.  

6. We drive through Petaluma as we make our way toward Napa. There’s a little bar, Ernie’s Tin Bar, with cute chalkboard signs and a no cell phone policy.   

7. Green hills as far as the eye can see. Trying to keep my vision pointed on gratitude. 

8. A glass of Fumé Blanc upon arrival. There’s a new blanket at the foot of the bed.  

9. The Charter Oak. Schramsberg and a long chat with the sommelier who also happens to be from Chicago as we wait for our friends. Wood and leather and copper and vintage rugs. Embers from the open flame. A drawer at the table loaded with silverware and a napkin. Sparkling water. Musacdet. Bordeaux blend. Mushrooms and salads and kohlrabi and duck and burgers.   

10. Gratitude for this. For time spent in meaningful conversations. For good coffee and good wine and good food. For the privilege of comfort. For space. For beauty.