1. Morning walks. We snuck in a few more golden trees this week, as the warmer weather has lingered and we haven’t had any hard frosts or snow yet. 

2. Practice. Red Sage yoga with some of my favorite people and one puppy, Friday morning writing with some amazing humans and poems, reading so many good books, and my meditation practice still trying to find its place, happening at random times but no less precious.

3. An average of 300 days of sun per year. I’ve been hearing from Oregon family how miserable it was there last week, stormy and gray. I’m so glad we landed somewhere that has all four seasons but also more sun and less moisture. Even when it snows and is the coldest it gets, there’s more light here than where I grew up, and I’m so grateful. And yes, I also complain all summer long that it is so dang hot. 

4. Good books, TV, films, poetry, comedy, and music. This week, I finished It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over, a wonderful and weird contemplation of love and loss from the perspective of a lesbian zombie after an apocalypse that reads like a long form poem. This week’s editor’s note at the beginning of the “Weekend Reader” email from Lion’s Roar says, “I couldn’t help but liken the main character’s journey to the bardo. Bardo is a Tibetan word, often referring to the period between death and rebirth, or more generally the transition space between two states of being. It is the period of change from one reality to another.” I finally watched Past Lives, which really feels more like a play than a typical film, and the final scene just gutted me. I also started rewatching Somebody, Somewhere, which is one of my comfort shows. I’m reading the new poetry collection from James Crews, Turning Toward Grief: Reflections on Life, Loss, and Appreciation, and it’s just so good. I am looking forward to seeing Maria Bamford at The Lincoln Center (my favorite local venue in part because it’s only about five minutes from my house). And I have been obsessed with this song, Malleable by Tiny Habits, since I heard it a few days ago even though it is a year old. It reminds me a lot of Rosie Thomas.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. My friend Cynthia said to me recently, “you’ve got backup, Eric and Ringo,” meaning I’ve got support, that it isn’t just me against the world. She’s absolutely correct. If nothing else goes “right” for me, I’ve already got everything I need, everything I ever wanted. I was telling my therapist this week that all I wanted when I was a kid, when I imagined my adult life where I would get to choose for myself, that I just wanted a partner who loved me and made me laugh, time to read and write, and some dogs. And look at me now. 🙂 ❤

Bonus joy: free geraniums from Eric’s campus nursery, slowly decluttering and cleaning our house, “trading some,” other people’s kids and dogs, looking forward to Christmas lights, gummies, Reese’s holiday shapes (hearts, eggs, pumpkins, bats, ghosts, Christmas trees, etc. — because they have less chocolate and more peanut butter filling), a hot cup of coffee, a warm mug of green tea, toast, getting books from the library on my Kindle, that Ringo is aging so well (better than me), being able to start over and begin again no matter how many times I need to, book club, that there was a single ticket left right next to Chloe’ and Barb and Eric and Jen wanted my pair of tickets, the cute plush blue heeler stuffed toy I got for the neighbor’s new baby (that is so cute I want to keep it but I already have two, see below, and don’t need anymore — right?), clean sheets, a warm shower, a sandwich (so weird how something so simple just hits the spot sometimes), onion rolls, down blankets and pillows, a couch that is comfortable enough to sleep on, cuddling with Ringo (which is very rare but does happen, is more likely once it starts getting cold out), the holiday lights in Old Town, poetry collections, true crime, grocery shopping, sitting in the backyard in the sun with Eric and Ringo, reading on my Kindle in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.