I didn’t write the newsletter. I decide not to let it bother me too much.
Words feel so distant. I think I’m allowed to still be floundering after such a transition. Yet, there is this desire to have everything need and tidy and predictable.
Gray morning and a cup of hot coffee. A little piece of quiet before I go to work.
“I was saved from despair countless times by the flowers and the trees I planted.” - Alice Walker
Reading these makes me want to write a bunch of love poems.
The hiss of the iron. Pillows of steam floating into the air.
I wave to the hawk standing guard on the post.
He’s explaining wine to her in their native language. Something eastern European but I can pick out little bits and pieces. I know just enough of a few other languages to be able to eavesdrop rather effectively.
I could write 100 books based on the people I meet here. This is kind of a thrilling idea.
He drags me out of bed and brings out the camera so that I can see the moon. She is a wonder for sure. I’m glad he’s forced my out. I had been completely content with the idea of missing it, but I would have regretted it.
What’s that glow?
Granola. Fruit. Coffee. Waiting patiently for sunrise.
New babysitter. She lives right across the street. Please let her be a good one. What time is it?
Coffee, sipped slowly, feet up on the coffee table. It’s still quiet right now.
Math club and honor society. She will probably be a keeper.
The sun is finally out and it feels a little like magic.
I try to listen to him teach her about France and grapes but I already know this stuff. I walk to the back bar with The Wine Bible and read that instead.
I eat my beet salad with goat cheese and pepitas in the car. No music. Windows down. The turbines are spinning. There are people out pruning the vines.
Everyone likes to hang out. I just want to get back home to have dinner with my family.
Wandering around in the dark. A metaphor for life sometimes.
He really doesn’t stop talking.
Parted clouds. The peak of Mount Diablo. The soft glow of morning light.
This coffee will be cold by the time I get back.
It feels good to see how much I still know. I ought to be more confident in my knowledge.
“It’s just…I don’t have the words to describe how grateful I am for you.” Oh, my mama heart.
There it is. That tightness. The feeling of constriction. It’ll be okay.
I did say that this might be the year of more, didn’t I?
No one is excited about the beet salad. I’ll save it for work tomorrow.
I don’t want to get up. Partly because I wanted to see how the dream finished.
No one seems to be able to wait for the bacon.
To coffee or not to coffee?
Farouche. Forasticus. Wild. Living Outside.
The trouble with seeing all the possibilities is deciding which ones to go after. Or, maybe instead of going after, it’s about being patient enough to allow the best ones to filter through.
I remind myself that everything will take some time. Trust in the timing of things.
I love a good book store but the layout and quantity of books in this one feels overwhelming. I leave with a book of poetry by Alice Walker.
Burger with aged cheddar and red onion. Cote de Brouilly Beaujolais. No dessert today.
One bowl chocolate cake. Maybe this is the end of the rain.
Feels like a day for a black turtleneck.
What are the stories I’m trying to tell?
Sightly better look on his face this morning.
The clouds are covering just the tip of Mt. Diablo. It feels so good to have a bit of clear sky before the rains return.
No v-neck undershirts. All the things for chicken tortilla soup.
I laugh while I stir the pot. Time just goes by so quickly when she and I are together. I suppose that is the power of depth.
“I want to be with those who want to tell the truth.”
Yes, yes. That’s right. Be unapologetic in your choices.
Wherever it is that we are, it’s gorgeous. Hills upon hills upon hills all around. Cows, olive trees, an alpaca. This place.
The loneliness is really setting in for him.