Ten.Sixty-Four

1. I wake up after 8.  

2. I think they ate the rest of the banana bread for breakfast. I make myself a cappuccino and clean up the dishes from the night before. I'm running out of pages in my journal. 

3. On 5th Street I swerve to avoid the hawk. It's carrying a fat mouse. 

4. The familiarity of these streets. Yet so much is changing.  

5. I'm just going through the motions of getting it all done today.  

6. I snip them some sage and rosemary and oregano to take home. 

7. Blue Melosa.  

8. Grateful I didn't have to make dinner today. He tells me that when I'm in a funk it comes out in my food. He's right.  

9. I didn't make her cherry handpies this morning or this afternoon because I had to do the grocery shopping and then the cleaning and then play soccer with him again because I said I would be done with everything by 4:45.  

10. I think of the woman bagging my groceries and how she talked of her two boys, one in Austin and one in St. Louis. How much she misses them. How, even though the plan was for them to be independent and gone, it still makes her ache in a way she hadn't imagined. I know I will ache in the same way sometime in the future. I'll maker her the handpies tomorrow.