1. I am not getting used to this darkness.
2. He coughed all night and so all of us are tired.
3. Warm water with lemon while I make the lunches. 3 lunches and 3 snacks. I try to remember that is my way of loving.
4. I think back to newsletter I wrote last night and how I said that it's all the ways in which we do our living and loving is our art. Making lunches is my art.
5. I yell at them while we're trying to get out the door for school. I had been so proud of myself for having maintained my cool since returning from Squam. Maybe my zen has worn off. But really, why is he rollerblading in the driveway when it's time to go?
6. We talk for two hours about life and our work together. I'm so energized by her. She casts one more line about France before we sign off.
7. Lunch at Turf Room. We drink a glass of Pinot Blanc and sip lobster bisque on the hottest day of September. I commit to dessert—gooey root beer cookies with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream—and coffee because life is short.
8. The heat.
9. Chianti with dinner.
10. In the shower I think of Fever Dreams Collective and orange trees; the lake and the garden and the fountain; the succulents and labyrinth; the women who have already stepped in and the ones we're calling forward. The water isn't hot enough. The three of them took showers tonight, one right after the other.