Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy
Keeping with the tan and black and white theme.
Avocado, olive oil, Maldon salt, and flakes of seaweed.
Only music this time.
I let the beauty of it all envelope me. I think I could be happy here.
I ask for the name of the ceramicist. “TBD,” she says. “Are you a potter?” “In my dreams,” I say. “I will be old and gray and in a cabin by the ocean.” “Manifest that.” “I will.”
All this and a Bic pen.
I could eat chips and salsa all day.
I watch the temperature climb as I head north. 70 degrees in the parking garage. 75. Then 78. 81. 85.
Of course, I am doing walk-up music.
All I can think about is how much fun it could be if this was happening for basketball too.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Nine
Just a little bit colder.
No appetite.
Too many bags.
I realize that the end of the invasion says, “Vineyard tours.” Oh, I did not wear the right shoes for this.
Crows and a hawk. Soil talk. Vistas blanked out by the morning’s fog.
No baseball caps; cowboy hats are acceptable.
Everyone wants a plan.
A perfect pink peony.
Numinosity.
“To be an adult is not just to have a big body; it’s to know that I’m accountable for what’s spilling into the world through me.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Eight
Monday.
No tire pressure.
When I get into her car, I hear the voice of Ashley Flowers.
Dirty boots.
It is still foggy in the Russian River Valley. We talk about how sad it is that they removed the Syrah, coastal influence, slow ripening, and the way the vineyard cradles the cold air and fog. There are worse ways to spend a Monday morning.
Everyone wants a plan.
1967-ish Turquoise blue Mustang convertible with a cream top and cream leather interior.
Pit in stomach, which means several days of eating something the body no longer can handle.
What is and is not a reflection of oneself? There is no such thing as control.
Habits.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Seven
I needed the extra time and space.
Stack logs. Search for lighter. Start a fire.
How, after a rain, everything glimmers. Everything is sharper, clearer, more defined.
Almost there.
I start to think about worst-case scenario and then walk myself back to reality.
Two weeks down. 4 more to go.
More tri-tip. No one is complaining.
Do you root for the local team or for the upset?
They are asking questions that surprise me and delight me. I try to hide my excitement.
Decisions to be made.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Six
Rain and more rain.
I beat the crowd. A box of assorted pastries. A few English muffins for good measure.
Coffee on the sofa thinking about all of the reading I need to get done. Thank goodness I finished my paper.
Why?
Rain and sun and rain and sun. People who don’t know where they’re going.
Not at all what I was expecting.
Firewood fairy.
The quiet in the center of the storm.
Races in the rain.
I won the raffle!
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Five
This morning is better than yesterday.
I have to take a break helping him to make sure everyone else is awake.
Preparation.
New plans need to be made.
Here comes the rain again.
Candles lit. Clouds gray. House quiet.
This weekend: switch their rooms so that he is on the main level and won’t be tempted to use the stairs on his own.
More water.
Off-menu-local-type things.
“But I feel primed for success.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Four
Is it the coffee? I already know the answer.
I rub my eyes and say that it’s just early. I am being patient.
They point to two trees that will need to come down. They are tall, maybe 30 or 40 feet and so big there is no way I can wrap my arms around them.
I wonder what got that bird. I follow the trail of feathers.
A butterfly. And another. Three butterflies. One butterfly smushed against the asphalt.
I sit in the car and watch a handful of them throwing a ball around in the field. I’d rather he be here than at home sitting. The fresh air does everybody some good.
A good day to take a walk.
I’m a fast writer, but I need to be faster today.
I want a good meal, so I decide we’ll have risotto with salmon. More creamed spinach since it’s the only way to get them to eat it. It is worth the 30 minutes of stirring. And I timed it perfectly so that everything on the plate is still warm. It’s the little things on days like these.
Just a little more time. Please.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Three
Forgot to meditate.
Thick fog. Thicker than yesterday. Loud birds. Louder than yesterday.
Finally got the oat milk to foam.
She’s wearing my jeans again.
I didn’t even see her, but she apologizes to me. She thought it was her car. She looks confused. I am just listening to everyone else on the call, wishing I had picked a different part of the parking lot to sit in because I am covered in sunlight and starting to sweat.
He shows me a picture of the image, and you can see a chunk of bone that’s separated from the head of the humerus. No driving. No traveling. No using the hand on that arm at all, they say.
I eat my lunch and think that I should be more stressed out about this than I am.
I had forgotten how good some of the lines are in the song: “Cause it's a hindrance to my health / if I'm a stranger to myself.”
I might need that month off after all.
I should have taken my walk today.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Two
Thick fog and bird chirps.
Bacon and potatoes. He makes toast instead.
The Spotify DJ says it’s going to play a mix of what I usually listen to on Tuesdays. He turns down the Britney Spears as we pull into the school parking lot.
I look down at my text messages during the meeting. He says he’s in the ER. Fell at the gas station. I know exactly what happened. I think back to my high school science teacher and her two broken arms.
Today’s lunchtime walk is less bitter than yesterday's.
A cluster of poppies, open and bright and alive.
Not enough time today.
Can I hop the fence? I can’t hop the fence. She laughs at me. I hop the fence.
I’ll figure it out.
“Have an ambition.”
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-One
5:30 he said. He will be up soon, too.
Why is everyone always eating their breakfast in the car?
“I did learn something,” he says. “What’s that?”
Poppies.
I tell her that it’s very bitter today.
Black-eyed Peas. I am transported back to the Express in the Overland Park Mall. The store manager is of below-average height for a man with short blond hair, glasses, and braces. He asks me why I didn’t have any credit card sales that day. I tell him I don’t believe in pushing debt onto people. I laugh. I guess I’ve always been a bit defiant. Random memories.
3:30 p.m. - 6:30 p.m. 3:45 p.m. - 5:15 p.m. 5:15 p.m. - 7:15 p.m. Somewhere in between all of this I will make dinner.
So. many. words.
“Phenomenological.” I count the syllables on my hand.
Just a few bites.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty
Slow beginnings.
Each time I look at the clock, I am surprised by how much time has passed.
It’s going to be one of those games, I see.
I tell him that I like reading, that I find it interesting. He looks at his friend and tells him I’m crazy.
I drag the chair into the sun and settle in, rolling up my pant legs to feel the heat on my skin.
I am going to finish this before the family call. I will. I will.
Headache. Dehydrated? Allergies? Too much reading on the screen? All of the above?
Learn something new every day.
Chicken pot pie.
I did it.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Nine
Is it already time?
Hotel room coffee while waiting for them to finish getting ready.
We drive to the grocery store. The roads have many lanes. In the distance are green rolling hills and a hazy morning sky. It makes me miss East Bay living for just a moment. Quiet, suburban, clean, and almost sterile feel familiar and easy.
Glorious sun.
Keep your expectations low and be open to being surprised.
A bit of a reality check that many of these kids probably needed to hear.
The thing is that we still have time. There is still plenty of time.
I will retreat this meal.
Forgot how much I love “Hopelessly Devoted.”
Two glasses of Massican Annia, fried cauliflower, french fries with black truffle, and thinking about neutrons.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Eight
The wind.
Still not over this little flower arrangement and the way it glows in the morning light.
I make the bacon but forget to make the potatoes. He says something about the texture of the smoothie again. “Raspberry seeds and protein powder, this time,” I say.
There is just a lot that needs to get done today.
Almost laughable.
He says he doesn’t like it, but he’s always smiling as he walks off the field.
Just the four of us and a lot of red meat and a lot of laughter.
Portugal?
I think this is the right thing to do.
I’ll survive.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Seven
The darkness.
Sweaterdress. Spring is almost here.
An avocado before the first sip of coffee.
The way the wind is blowing through the trees makes me think of fire.
I see the feather and think about stopping to collect it, but I change my mind. And then there is another. And another. Am I on the right path?
I ask him about the rattlesnakes. He hesitates.
“If you don’t believe in yourself, how will somebody else believe in you?”
Week 1 - done.
Sun. More and more questions float in on the winds. Noticing that I am not fully present. Timelines and deadlines are stacked on one another. Something will suffer.
Logistics.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Six
Not a good night of sleep.
I choose a meditation on non-judgement.
These questions are very deep for not having had any coffee yet.
He says that none of the pants fit. I didn’t think they would. Those legs are just too long.
She asks me if she can borrow my flares. I guess it’s good that she asked me instead of just going into my closet and taking them.
I tell her that my goal today is to make it through the meeting without making a face while on camera.
It was the mediation in non-judgement.
So much sun. So much warmth. Coffee on the deck soon. Bugs soon. Rattlesnakes and lizards soon.
“Everyone liked my jeans.” “You mean everyone likes my jeans.”
They get it.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Five
Waking up to the sound of rain.
A meditation. I opt for no words, just the sound of a gong and ocean waves.
I slip protein powder and a liquid immunity booster into the smoothie. “Is this the same fruit you usually use?” “It tastes a little different.” “The texture is not the same.” “I put protein powder in it. And it has kale.”
Jokes.
Ray Ray’s Tacos. Shrimp. Brisket. Queso. I hope she does well.
I tell myself that it could be worse. And then I think of what she would say to me: “Why is it that we should settle for what we don’t want because ‘it could be worse?’”
Call in what you want.
I always laugh when I’m with her.
Okay, okay. Tri-tip tastes good.
This is not going to be easy, but it is necessary.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Four
In this instance, I don’t think the dream is going to come true.
A meditation while lying in bed.
We decide I should make it a priority not to let the chaos get to me.
Sometimes, the best response is no response.
Sunshine.
It’s still not available.
Chocolate cake. I tell her I don’t like chocolate cake. I only like my mom’s German Chocolate Cake. She asks if it’s a family recipe. I tell her it comes from the box of the baker’s chocolate but people do act like it’s some special recipe. It’s just that good.
A lot of sighing while emptying the dishwasher and something about someone not rinsing the avocado off their dish.
Everyone is looking for something sweet but settling for air-popped popcorn.
I need to take notes.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Three
4:08 a.m. Which means it’s really 3:08 a.m. I better try hard to go back to sleep.
Dream two is another version of the first dream, but more complete.
I text her about the dream. I tell her I wonder if it means that what I think is not actually what I want.
Today, I think I look like a mom.
He tells me that I only have nine things for my Ten Things. I briefly consider editing it and adding one more, but then I remember that the whole point of it is an exercise in being human and humans make mistakes.
Dreamspace.
All. of. the. music.
You can see it all over his face.
German Chocolate Cake Tillamook Ice Cream?
Sunday scaries.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Two
She asks me what I’m doing at the grocery store so early. I glance down and see it’s 6 a.m.
An unripened avocado.
“Back in January 2023, she postd these bold black-and-white letters in the corner of her vision board: In the end they’ll judge you anyway, so do what you want.”
AAU Bingo.
Fruit cut and a kale crisp salad. And french fries, because why not?
One more game. I watch the opposing team warming up. I think we can get this one.
A win on a 3-pointer with 1.1 seconds to go.
It’s almost time to begin.
Italian wedding soup.
Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-One
Friiiiday.
The warmth of the morning light.
He starts trying to break eggs, but he has no shirt on and has a pair of socks stuck underneath his armpit. I tell him to put his shirt on first before he starts cooking.
He’s still shoeless, stuffing bits of scrambled egg between slices of bacon.
I yell at everyone to get out of the house and then realize I’m still going to be the last one in the car because I can’t find my keys.
The font.
I ask him if there’s any way I can get around paying for shipping since, technically, the P.O. Box is right here. He charges me the media rate and then walks the package over to the shelf.
Balloons and sparkling wine and DIY flower arrangements. A good way to end a Friday
I tell her that there will be more. That I am trying to find ways to bring some joy back into my life.
It’s almost time.