daily life

Awake, because my mind won’t stop. This night I kind of enjoy the ride.

Scheming and planning and trying to plan just the right family trip.

If I don’t remember a book I read and loved, does it “count”?

Could I learn to be more like the dog?

Sometimes what I really need is right in front of me.

The spiral of remembering continues, fondly and sweetly.

I’ve been thinking about how we store the things we need, hold onto them, and balance the books.

Change is in the wind. It’s a great time to curl up with a book.

There is a time to admit that one is sneaking up to, perhaps stepping over, the boundary of middle age.

Three quiet weeks with the sixth grader away at camp.

Dad was a compulsive helper, never happier than when he’d made something wonky work again.

Sometimes it’s been hard to tell up from down.

There’s a sweet spot between 6 and 7:30am, and if I catch it, the whole day goes better.

Connecting deeply with a work, feeling like the creator knows me.

Memories of my dad at the Berkeley Marina.

I can feel it now. We’re going to find our way back to each other.

Perhaps I was counting too much on the relief being vaccinated would bring.

Every day calls for improvising and offers hope of new ideas, but sometimes it’s clear the whole plan has to change.

I need to know that after the disruptions and losses and sacrifices of 2020, things can improve.