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!