There is one long to-do list but at least it doesn’t involve going to work.
I see the cones blocking off the road up ahead. Set-up for the farmer’s market. I make a left for donuts.
I move slowly but keep my list in front of me so that I don’t get too distracted. But the whole point of the store is for you to be distracted. I fill the cart up with 4 different kinds of deodorant. One way of marking the passage of time is to realize that almost of all of your children need to wear deodorant.
I think this will all work out just fine.
I thank her for sharing her process with me. That it helped me to take the final step in shifting away from the old life into the new one. That making the decision lifted so much weight off of my heart.
Everything is coming together.
This nut-free pesto plus pasta plus grilled chicken thigh dish.
We talk about the power of connecting through language while drinking La Caña Albariño at dusk. Pale pink and hazy blue skies. The sound of crickets.
Early morning bird chatter.
There is no where to be today and so I move slowly.
I can feel the perspiration coming. I carry the branch the rest of the way. I can feel a little bit of soreness in the knee but it feels good to be moving.
There are no figs but she says that we can pick some. $4 a pound. Yes. I want to do that.
We buy a baby olive tree for $20 and the man hands us a handful of yellow figs. I didn’t even know such a thing existed. A fig tree will be next. And a lemon. And a lime.
Monse’s margaritas. She gets married next weekend. We leave her a big tip.
I say something about empanadas and then stop myself; I don’t want to give it all away.
Sometimes you just need to shift everything around. Immediately. Because sometimes, when you aren’t entirely sure what you should do, you do what you can. Even if it means moving glassware from one cabinet to another so that you can reach it.
I show him a picture of the yellow figs. I wish I could share them with him. One of these days.
So dark. I’m a little saddened by the lack of light.
A little creativity goes a long way.
I set the boxes of cereal on the table but slice up some avocado and dress it up for myself to eat for breakfast. She says that she was craving guacamole last night.
El Camino Diablo.
So this is the Altamont. I ascend into the morning fog and follow the curves of the road. I will be on time after all.
It’s not doing what I want it to and I can’t figure out how to make it do what I want it to do. I keep the positive self-talk up. This is part of the process. I’m going to have to learn something new.
I go for the Merlot. That will be the base of my blend. I think I’ve got the right combination. We’ll see in three months.
Brut, Artisan White, Pinot Clones, Artisan Red, Lot 009. Three of my favorite wines. But the cheeses, the cheeses. And the prosciutto. And the olives. And the pate. And the dates. And the salami. And the almonds. All of everything.
I think I see smoke in the distance.
He reminds me that I can make it however I want. That I can create something new. Maybe even better.
No milk for making scones. I run to the store to get cereal and milk and orange juice. No one will be upset by a box of Lucky Charms.
The slow coming of morning. The sound of sprinklers. The pink of the Crepe Myrtle tree glowing in the morning sun.
That solid feeling of clarity.
The smell of wet concrete and the surprising way in which it grounds me.
“Good morning.” “Good morning.” “Good morning.” “Good morning.” “Good morning.”
A.M. homes reads Margaret Atwood. I need to read more Atwood.
She’s leaving Atellier Crenn to be the sommelier at NOMA. Tattooed arms. The most beautiful French accent. A European coolness. She tells me to message her anytime I want to go to the restaurants in San Francisco. She seems sad about leaving in spite of that adventure that lies ahead. I can relate.
I tell them that there’s a way to get the wines there, that he just needs to ask the right people.
I stay for a post-shift drink to wait out a little bit of the traffic. Sauvignon Blanc and chicharones. A little bit of Nth Merlot. Today was such a nice day that it makes me a little sad to know that I’ll be leaving.
Endings and beginnings.
Just a hint of light.
A counter scattered with odds and ends to make a breakfast. There is enough here; now to show them how to cobble together a meal from it.
The time is gone. No time to eat the eggs. I’ll save them for tomorrow. We’re all leaving at the same time; this is a different dance.
Two crows perched upon a developer sign. A big bush of something pale pink sticking out of the straw covered hill.
A steer high up on the hill. I always wish I had time to pull over to the side of the road and capture what I see. I want to gather all the wildflowers that blow in the wind. I wonder what I can crow now, so late in the season.
On the desk is a basket with pens, post-its, a hat, a t-shirt. There’s also a bottle of Brut next to my computer and my phone. And now suddenly, I feel a little bit like more of a grown-up.
“I’d be no fun if I had a filter.”
We walk back to the office. Blue sky. Golden hills. Green trees. Full grapes. A bowl of candy. There are worse things.
I stop at the farm stand for zucchini, avocados, red onions, and corn. I gift myself a bunch of lavender. One of these days I’ll grow my own.