Up before the alarm. But it’s okay. I need to be up anyway. More time to sit in the dark.
I wipe down the counters and sweep the floors. I see that he’s unplugged the Christmas tree. It’s really time to take her down.
Coffee? Yes. I think today is another coffee day.
I take myself back to bed, fully dressed. Coffee in one hand and wordscapes in the other.
The sound of the rain. This is one of those sleepy kind of Sundays. It should be slow in the tasting room today.
He’s from here in California but went to Alabama for school. Work just made him get a passport so he’s curious as to what’s in store for 2019.
The four of them work for ESPN. That must be fun. Twenty-something and travelling across the country for work, tasting wine in your downtime. I know the city they are from.
He’s from Germany and so we talk about the old world whites from cold climates that we like: things from Alsace and Austria, Alto Adige in Italy. He thinks the California wines are too heavy but he still leaves with a bottle of reisling.
The two of them want to take a picture with me. They are the last ones to leave the tasting room but were so kind—which is what you’d expect from a group of southerners raised right by their mothers and fathers. “Roll tide,” they yell as the group tromps out into the rain.
This drive at night in the rain just wrecks my nerves. It takes a few minutes to unwind, unclench, remember to breathe.
Dark, dark, dark.
The twinkle lights making the quartz and the tiny glass jars full of feathers sparkle.
Today is a coffee day I think. I can’t remember the last time I had coffee. Maybe a week?
The call. One hour of this kind of connection is so good for the soul.
I scarf down luke-warm soup, grab a bottle of kombucha and put on my converse to head out to work.
Everyone is worried that it will be too slow of a day. I am okay with the slowness.
A photographer. He writes down his contact info for me.
These two are on a date. Or are getting to know one another more. It’s cute.
I unload my pockets and realize that the folded bill they gave me was not $10 but $20. I notice that I am having mixed feelings about the tips I am receiving. I wonder why it makes me emotional. I wonder why I care at all. I am grateful and curious and honored. It is challenging me to be okay with receiving.
The phone was right. It was pretty easy getting up at 5:30 after waiting until 10:30 to go to sleep. I think I’ve been going to bed too early.
Let’s make something with prosciutto and eggs.
No one is as excited about crispy prosciutto as I am.
Examine your expectations. Examine your expectations. Examine your expectations.
The quietness of a grocery story on a weekday morning. I hear my own heals, managers talking to other employees about the day, where to stack things, what items are missing. And it’s early enough that everyone is still pleasant and happy.
Camera play. I block the light and then reveal it. Eye contact with the camera. Who is this woman?
I join him on his bike ride. It’s a little chilly but yet I’m still breaking a tiny sweat. “I’m glad we live in California,” he says. “Look at this. I’m riding a bike in shorts!" Yes, man. You’re wearing shorts in January.
How do we expedite this?
The irises are opening up beautifully. They remind me walking through Whole Foods with Jennette before we headed to the ranch. I can’t wait for Fever Dreams. 9 Months to go.
I wake up after a dream with a burger patty the size of a plate, topped with ketchup, shoestring fries on the side. I am eating it with a fork.
Let’s hope the drain-o worked last night.
Dark, dark, morning. Where is the light?
Oh, wait, it’s Thursday. I’ll clean today. The sun is coming.
The coolness of the slate. The philodendron curling up in the sun.
They eat the leftover wings and I grab the ribs and sauce and go to my room. .
I find the light.
I remember that there’s still soup from night before so I pull out the pot and warm that instead. No work to do after all.
I think about conversation. About lineage, about protecting ourselves through instinct, about the truth that you don’t have to like everyone and everyone will not like you but that you can still respect one another’s work. We talked about Patreon, and other projects and ideas, about how children make you older that you intended to be.
I fight the urge to fall asleep too soon.
I’ll get up when the waves stop.
Steel cut oats simmered slow with butter and brown sugar. Lemon water.
Crusty stuff on my left eye which makes sense because it is on the left side of my throat that I feel the drainage and the left ear that keeps making that crackling sound.
I’m glad I left the house. Sun. So much sun and Mt. Diablo. In the next house, I want to see it from the window.
One large pot of ginger and lemon tea. I sweeten my cup with honey from her hives.
Tonight’s dinner already on the stove: the smell of onions and celery and garlic and carrots, bay leaf and rosemary and thyme.
The way the sun is hitting the pink petals. I am mesmerized.
I just want this to go to whomever it belongs.
Hot chicken noodle soup and a warm piece of rosemary focaccia.
The thing is, this only works because we are so different. How do we make sure that our differences in needs aren’t perceived as slights toward the other? We communicate but sometimes not well enough. A constant practice.