A little bit of daylight.
They’re stocking the grocery store. I am only one of three people actually trying to shop. But I just need a little bit to get them through the next few days.
I need to renew my routine of proper meal planning. I hate this errand-running thing.
Coffee. First cup in four days.
All the rain means saturated earth, saturated colors. Everything is more rich and lush.
I walk to the car for a lunch break and turn on The New Yorker Poetry podcast. There’s just something about Marie Howe’s voice.
So much pain.
The moon is almost full and there’s still a little bit of evening light left over. Silhouettes of mountains. The promise of a star-filled sky.
Turkey burgers are waiting for me.
The wait in the ER feels so long. The last thing I want to do right after a long day at work. I play word games on my phone. But at least it’s quiet. At least I’m sitting down. Yes, a bladder infection. Medicine. I’ll feel better tomorrow.
The sound of rain.
He’s sleeping with his legs crossed. Even now, in their growing bodies, the way they sleep mirrors much of the way they slept as babies: arched backs, fists at the chin, legs crossed, arms overhead.
A little bit of sun.
Resistance. Just not feeling it. Could also just be the stress of it all.
The fear of missing out.
Culture over everything. But how sometimes that philosophy makes it hard to do the things you need or have to do.
The rain is back.
What do I want to be when I grow up?
“…that life can be perfectly satisfying without major achievements.” - “Too Much Happiness”, Alice Munro
That feeling you get when you realize that life still is not set up in such a way for you to do everything you want to do, but that it is primed for the kind of work that your heart’s been longing to do. There is time for the writing. There is time to be the greatest writer I can be. If only I weren’t so afraid of the work required.
I’ll save the boxes of candy for after school.
I remember how my mother used to buy the both of us a box of chocolates every Valentine’s day. She never said anything either. They would just be there in the morning when we came downstairs for breakfast. Every year.
A little bit of sun breaking through. Everything is damp and glittering.
What is it about freshly vacuumed floors that give so much pleasure?
What is it that I want to do though? How is it that I’ve come all this way and now feel so lost? It i s both scary and freeing.
Acknowledge where the blessings have already been received.
We drive to Livermore in the rain. The hillside is dotted with cream-colored sheep. Where did they come from? What lies on the other side of the hill? Cows gathering in the corner of the pen, their backs turned toward the rain.
“You just can’t do strip mall sushi.” “You’re such a snob.” “I’ve always been bourgeois.”
He offers to get the kids from school which is really the very best kind of gift anyone could give me.
Champagne and pizza and a long, very hot shower.
I feel like I need more sleep.
The sound of the rain hitting the concrete. I wish it was one of those days where I could just lay in the bed and read and drink tea.
Cold hands. Cold feet. He reminds me that I forgot sliced cheddar and chicken nuggets. The other kids always wonder why he gets so much more and that’s because he is always asking. I think of how my mother used to tell me, “Ye have not because ye ask not.” Is that from the Bible? I don’t know. I just know I wish I was as comfortable with asking for what I wanted as my 7 year-old.
Short day. Cinnamon, cardamom, clove, a slice of orange, peppercorns. Sweeten with local honey. Add a little bit of vanilla pea milk. Oh, yes. This is going to be addictive.
It’s too late to quit. I better sit down and get to work.
The pond looks like it might overflow. Where will the water go when it does? There is something peaceful about today’s rain. The way the palms are swaying in the breeze is hypnotic.
The dough is yellow just as I’d expect it to be. I can’t get the pasta machine to roll it out thinly enough. It just won’t anchor to the counter well enough. I decide to hand roll the rest. I end up with big fat squares filled with basil and ricotta.
I wish I had Chianti. I pull out a bottle of Sonoma Coast Vineyards Pinot Noir. But then I think about how they ruined it by changing the clonal selection and I decide not to open it. What I really need is a Chianti, anyway.
We manage to get the hair done without tears.
This app won’t work for overnight.
The upside to him being gone: turning on all the lights and making the bed before breakfast. It’s the little things.
Not enough of the right things to cobble together a lunch for school.
There’s still a teeny bit of snow up on Mt. Diablo.
Oh, hard to hold this fire inside me / All I know, sometimes it's frightening / Hard to hold this fire inside me
There are just something things that you don’t forget not matter how hard you try. But I’m noticing that as more time goes by, the emotions attached to the memories begin to fade.
Maybe it’s not too late for a refund. Shoot. Missed it by 3 days. If only I had thought about quitting sooner. Just need to buckle down. But probably no more after this.
Everyone needs a Sarah Dorfman in their lives. 8 more months.
She brings in a large box and says that it’s for me. Even the 11 year-old boy says that the bottles are so pretty.
Save the seeds. Begin the olive trees indoors. We’ll see how this goes.