Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Four
The color of the sky.
Bits of ash fall onto the windshield. He asks if it’s pollen. No. It’s from the fires.
I can see for myself how much greater the range of motion is in his hip. It wasn’t all for nothing. He calls someone as soon as we walk out of the hospital.
That feeling when you take the time to learn a new tool and then implement that tool successfully, only to know that you are the only person in the company who will probably ever use it because user adoption in traditional business settings is always so slow.
“An invitation.”
Maybe the time is right right now. What does my gut say?
An order of n95s.
As long as there’s enough food to go around.
He’s talking about dunking in tomorrow’s scrimmage. Oh, boy.
I watch Drag Race All-Stars and make twists while he watches clips of 2012 NBA finals games on his phone. “Who was better? Tony Parker or Manu?” he asks. “They’re different. They complemented one another. I don’t know if it’s fair to say one was better.”
“Sometimes you forget how many good players there were back then.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Three
Monday, Monday, Monday.
I don’t think there will be a problem.
Not enough time to make him bacon, so we settle for smoothies with a little bit of protein powder.
It’s the little things.
Progress.
I can’t get over the bridge. I can, I can.
We all have hard things going on. We can feel like the only ones in the world.
Second at bat. Thwack. All the way to the top of the fence. Inches away from a home run. He’s not gonna believe it’s because I made him hit off the tee.
It’s official.
Wild-fire-sunsets.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Two
Wanna stay here a little longer. I don’t think I really need to get out of this bed.
“Weekly meal plan without nuts for a football player that needs to gain two pounds per week.”
Grocery lists.
Buster’s BBQ. Charles is sitting outside like always. Three-rib plate with a double side of baked beans. Shaded picnic table.
A little bit of wine with an ice cube. I lean against the railing and look through the trees
She seems to be really stuck on the fact that she called her “elitist.” “It’s not like I ordered a steak dinner.”
This summer is going to be different.
The sound of the wind through the trees.
It will be okay.
This persisting feeling that something else needs to change.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & One
Four missed calls at 5:30 a.m.
I cancel our practice—again. I could have really used it.
It could have been worse.
I will get those webs down somehow, at some point.
It only took me until the last two weeks of the session to be ahead on my reading.
If he were home, I would have called him for coffee and a chat.
A block of maple walnut fudge. Slice by slice. That kind of day.
Is this the bottom?
The gladiolas are starting to wither, but they are still beautiful.
Thank goodness it’s only Saturday.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred
Not enough sleep.
Another cool, gray morning. A sweater over the tank top.
Some of these plants are, dare I say, thriving.
85%. But what about the other 15%?
I gotta stop watching this.
Forks up.
Life’s problems don’t change, but sometimes they are easier to deal with in 80 degrees, sunshine, and an hour’s drive from the beach.
She asks us if we work together. We say we used to. We’re not far, but no longer as close. Picpoul, tartare, salmon, grilled bundt cake.
The back deck is shaded. I am tired. I try to read but I can’t keep my eyes open. I close them. The birds are chatty this afternoon. There is a gentle breeze. I had forgotten how much I love these kind of summer afternoons.
She comes back tonight.