Ten.Fifty-Four

1. The yellowness of this morning's sun. Ten tomatoes. Sometimes feel silly for counting them each morning. For inspecting the sage leaves, for touching the rosemary and then bringing my fingertips to my nose to smell. But then I remember that life deserves this kind of attention. 

2. I think I am ready for what's next. 

3. Where do I go from here? 

4. We sit on her porch and drink coffee in the sun. Notice how quiet it is. Talk about family and Christmas and cleaning techniques and toilets that stay stained (cheap materials). I like this moment.  

5. I turn on the twinkle lights overhead even though there's plenty of daylight. There's a fieldmouse stuck in the window well. He keeps trying to climb the screens and almost reaches the top before tumbling back down again. He is persistent.  

6. Jennette and I speak of life changes and my trip to California and bleeding keys. How once you've been shown a new truth, you are forever changed. And even though everyone wants you to stay, you know that it is time for you to leave.  

7. I tell her that people keep asking me when I'm going to write a book.  

8. This. I don't know how to handle this. Every year it's the same. And we're only 1 week in. He doesn't need to love school but... it pains me to see him on the brink of tears and for me to not understand how I can help him. I don't want him to be one of the ones who gets lost.  

9. La Crema Willamete Valley Oregon Pinot Noir. It tastes like a wild cherry Luden's cough drop.  

10. Squam in 3 weeks.