She comes today. I won’t see her until tomorrow, but she comes today.
Reheat muffins, make coffee. He will want those leftover hashbrowns. I really need to drink my water before I eat anything.
I worry. I worry about the loss of dream time, of free time, of art time. I worry that I won’t find a new rhythm that makes space for the other kinds of work I know I’m meant to be doing. I mourn the prior life while also trying to hold the potential of this new one. I’ll figure it out. Right?
What is with the traffic today? Sirens from behind. State Highway Patrol. The voice says this is still the fastest route.
The problem with listening to podcasts when you drive is that it’s impossible to write anything down. I try to repeat things in my head, a desperate attempt to remember. And then I realize that it’s okay. That whatever wants to stick will stick, even if it’s not the words and only the feeling.
He left gifts on the table and each one is wrapped in the cutest red and white Japanese wrapping paper. I wish I could find out what’s inside.
Gratitude for leftovers.
Another bath. Another chunk of Delight devoured. I could get used to this.
Too much to think about at 5:15 in the morning.
So quiet. Still too dark for me. I need more light. Where is the light. I don’t remember it feeling so dark last year.
Episode 232: My Embodiment by Craig Morgan Telcher
He’s sending pictures from Disney World. Everyone looks so happy. I am happy that they are happy.
I get them all out the door so that I can just gather myself for a few minutes before I need to leave. Just a few minutes of quiet in an empty house does wonders.
All of the cows are back on this side of the pasture today, lazing around in the dry grass. A calf gallops andlands his face right into the side of an adult. The big cow doesn’t seem unnerved at all.
Sometimes I’m just waiting.
Holding all of this.
I never take a bath but I want to right now. Maybe I can squeeze out enough hot water before they’re all in the shower. I light some incense and set The Book of Delights by Ross Gay on the edge of the tub. Delight.
“If you’re black in this country you’re presumed guilty. Or, to come back to Abdel, who’s a schoolteacher and thinks a lot about children, you’re not allowed to be innocent. The eyes and heart of a nation are not avoidable things. The imagination of a country is not an avoidable thing. And the negreeting, back home, where we are mostly never seen, is a way of witnessing each other’s innocence—a way of saying, ‘I see your innocence.’” - from “8. The Negreeting”, The Book of Delights
Don’t want to get up.
I grab a stick of incense to take with me to the kitchen. I like that this is a ritual again. Thank you Michelle.
The morning time vanishes fat too quickly for my liking. I don’t like for my first cup to be in the car. What am I not doing right to get this routine down? The answer can’t be to wake up earlier. Or maybe it is. Maybe that is the only way.
Now I do know for sure that this will not be the place. And I don’t know that I want this place to be it either. We belong somewhere else and even though I know that and want that, I am also dreading the idea of shifting our lives once more. But I shouldn’t worry myself with that now. No need to future trip at this second.
4 more days.
Getting over the fear of doing something new; realizing that you really don’t have a choice in the matter so you better do it anyway.
I am later than usual but there’s still enough time to take them to the library. Everything I want is not at this location and so I request it all, knowing that everything will arrive at the same time and then I probably won’t read any of them.
All hail sheet pan dinners.
I make him breathless from forcing him to practice chest passes and bounce passes with me. He still beats me in PIG—twice. I let him revel in that for today. I just haven’t been practicing. Also, how is this child, my child, so tall?
Great British Baking Show together, all crammed into my bed. But if only they would all stop talking.
I don’t want to get up.
Make the coffee first, then set the oven to warm, then make your juices.
Curious about what today will bring. Do I have enough time to journal this morning? Maybe just one page. One page is better than none.
The thing about being so low and so close is that I have to wait too long for the morning light. I miss the old house with its wall full of windows, the way I could great the sunrise and sunset every day. I miss standing at the sliding door with my coffee looking for the deer and the foxes and the owls.
I will have to do the best I can.
The day goes by quickly; after a week like last week, I am good with things feeling a little slower.
James Baldwin and Maya Angelou had that same kind of voice, a church voice, a powerful voice, an intellectual voice, a honeyed voice; everything sounds like song, like in any minute they would begin to sing.
Oh yeah, this is good. It’s been so long since I’ve had it. A Brouilly that does not taste like Brouilly. We need to get back to Kermit Lynch soon.
Her stories say something like 3 more holidays until Christmas. I tighten up. Yeah. That’s right.
How is it already time to get up?
I put on a dress and a big sweater, grab my water bottle and make my way to the kitchen. Yes. Next house, half this size, twice as much land.
Coffee and leftover pound cake. The kids are still fast asleep.
The ride back is quiet. I respond to her DM that I find it easier to use process of elimination. That it’s much easier for me to pinpoint my dislikes than my likes. It seems to work for me.
I remind myself that we agreed upon a new way of doing this. So I”ll sit here for today, but next week we’ll do this together.
Skin warmed by sun. I still have to wrap my shawl around me when the breeze blows. I can tell which one is mine because of the thick salt ring around the hat. Someone should really wash that.
I ask her to make the muffins for me while I make dinner. I realize that I won’t be able to get through this new weekly schedule without some kind of meal prep on Sundays. If i can get a couple pans of muffins and a batch of granola made each Sunday, that’s at least 4 days of breakfast. They can add fruit to either one and that should be sufficient. Right?
All of this is just one big experiment.
March feels so far away.
I miss the ocean.