Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Ninety-Six
Five days in a row.
Gold, gold morning light. That’s how you know it’s going to be hot.
One coffee and five bags of sour gummy bears to take back to the middle school.
Simple but tedious.
“It’s hard being Black and smart and a woman.”
“It’s good, but it’s not champagne.”
Daydreams of running away. “I need a break from home,” I say, Just a tiny one. Even just a day.
This is having teenagers: no one is ever home.
The thing is that we are not the type not to say anything. And maybe that’s how the rest of them get through it: smile and nod and hold back. Not being afraid of power puts you in hard situations, even when you know you’re right.
Tomorrow: solo walk on the trails, hot tea on the sofa, writing, flag football, groceries, hammock.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Ninety-Five
Consistency.
I declare today a good day because it’s Thursday and that means tomorrow is Friday.
Those are stress responses.
They’ve harvested the grapes from these vines. For some reason, I thought these were just vanity rows, decoration. I spot a small cluster tucked behind a leaf.
It is funny how that happens. Why do they think I’m the one with the answers? It happens everywhere I go.
I see him at every game, but I have no idea who he is. He leans over and opens a newspaper to show me something. He points at my son’s name. “Isn’t this your son?” “It is.” He asks me if I want the newspaper. I do.
They say they would read an article about me and my relationship with coffee.
Focus on what is.
Nervous? Yes. But afraid? No.
“I am a woman of violent contradiction.” - The Albanian Virgin by Alice Munro
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Ninety-Four
The perfect fall morning. A little foggy, a little breezy. I need a sweater.
“I know. A large coffee.” “You got it.” I tell her that I should buy some beans for home, but I haven’t. And the Naysayer decaf is good; it almost tastes like real coffee. She says another employee says it’s the best decaf he’s ever had, too. Worth the $4.60.
A cup of coffee in a place that is not home is also about being present where you are. I think about how this used to be a place we visited—a dream supported by a plan, but a dream nonetheless. Now it’s home.
They say it again—another comment about me asking questions. I could be projecting, but it smells familiar. Maybe my kind of curiosity is not the same as theirs.
I tell them I am choosing to trust my gut on this one.
It's German day at the food truck, which means I’m definitely getting a pretzel.
I almost forgot I had done all of this work already.
Focus on what is, not what is not.
Grilled salmon, couscous, the last of her tomatoes and corn and shallots cooked with a little bit of butter.
One quiz down, one more to go.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Ninety-Four
I could go back to sleep right now lying here in Savasana.
Second guesses.
Shoulders back and down.
I see a flash of something and then feel a twinge of nostalgia for a more familiar self. So much of me changed when I got here, and sometimes, I want the old me back.
I can’t really say “no” to this, but could I? Should I?
Pretty sure someone in the parking lot sees me stooping over on the sidewalk trying to take pictures of grapes while my bags fall onto the ground.
Patterns.
Trying to erase the words of doubt that creep in. What would I rather see instead? There are other versions of this story.
Need to fix my face.
Oblivious.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Ninety-Three
Back at it.
Morning meditation. Peace.
The sun is breaking through so brightly, so clearly. The heat is coming.
When your 15-year-old compliments you, then you know it’s legit.
Making the drop-off loop and forgetting to circle back into town for that cup of decaf.
You could just tell the truth.
The thing is that there is a plan.
The questions that I ask myself.
Hanger steak and creamed spinach always go over well.
So much laughter at the dinner table. Sometimes, a table full of teenagers is the best—only two more years of this.