1. Morning walks. I think next week I need to be more intentional about going later so I can get some pictures, as fall color seems to have peaked. Because the past year was so dry, it isn’t as brilliant as some years, but there are still a few trees that are doing their absolute best. I texted Chloe’ the other day “The g.d. fol-i-age. Driving down Shields, I almost wrecked multiple times.” To be fair, I’m not a great driver in that sense because a cute dog (this includes ALL or ANY dogs) will distract me and almost make me crash too. In particular, that stretch of road has a long row of ash trees planted along the back side of CSU’s campus, along with a few parks that have tons of massive cottonwood trees. There are also quite a few locusts that are flared up and my gym still has a few purple mountain ash trees in the parking lot and when they go off, they will stop your heart. On one walk, I stopped to take a picture of a cottonwood tree that was lit up and when I turned around, Ringo was looking up at me in that way he does (expecting his payment of one treat for waiting and being such a good boy) and I took what might just be the cutest picture of him, ever. He’s going to turn 13 next month, but sometimes he still looks just like my tiny baby boy.

2. My Oregon tiny family, as in my brother and his girls and the little kids. Other than being too far away from the ocean, not getting to be around them more is one of my only regrets about not living in Oregon. I was texting my brother last night, and I sent him a picture of the dinner I made for Eric and I. He sent me back a picture of the dinner he was getting from the Safeway deli, and we were laughing because they were the same meal. I told him it was too bad we didn’t live closer because I could have brought him over a plate.

3. 33 years. As our anniversary just so happened to fall on the same day I was meeting with my wild-ish writing group, I used the prompts to write about it a bit.

Given to Rust by Vievee Francis
Time and disaster.

Time and disaster. At 33 years married, our anniversary today at the end of a long week of other anniversaries, some joyful and some sad, we have experienced both: time and disaster. The past six years in particular have been stormy, choppy water, a few near drownings. There’s that poem published in Sun Magazine I love so much that talks about how marriage is a partnership between two people taking turns holding up the ceiling with their bare hands. One person holds it up, arms reaching overhead bracing the weight in their hands to keep it from collapsing, falling in on them, and when that person gets tired, the other one reaches up to hold it, taking their turn while the other one rests. And this poem by Vievee Francis, given to rust, ends with the moment where the ceiling is collapsing, the roof rusted and leaking, and the people inside the house putting out pots and pans to catch the water, similar to when a boat has a leak and is in danger of sinking and the passengers bail out the water with buckets to keep the whole think from collapsing. Eventually, with enough time and disaster, it all breaks down, the roof collapses or the boat sinks, but maybe that moment won’t be a tragedy but rather like that haiku by Masahide, “Barn’s burnt down – now I can see the moon.”

Things I Didn’t Know I Loved by Nâzim Hikmet

I know I love when Eric sits in a chair in the backyard for hours and hours even when it’s too hot for me and Ringo. I know I love, mostly, when he lies on the couch with his phone watching videos, and he sends me ones he thinks I’ll like. I know I love when I get up in the morning after he’s already been up, already fed Ringo breakfast, and he is on the couch with the blue light on. I know I love how he stands in the kitchen or cooks or does dishes while listening to old radio shows from the 40s. I know I love the kitchen counter love notes that he leaves me every morning, now in the cupboard by my box of green tea rather than on the counter. I know I love the way he adds markers to his Christmas list because he uses them to write those notes. I know I love how he brings me flowers from the grocery store. I know I love how he asks if I’m okay. I know I love how he invites me to lunch when he’s been working a lot. I know I love how he talks to Ringo when he doesn’t know I’m listening. I know I love that he has so many costumes from various D&D events that I had to buy him a clothes rack on wheels. I know I love that he loves his work and isn’t ready to retire. I know when he’s gone, I’ll miss the way anytime he’s been in the kitchen for long, the dish towel will be wet or there won’t be one and I never notice until I’ve finished washing my hands. I know I love that I have to put new wiper blades on both cars because his hands aren’t steady enough. I love how terrible his handwriting is, because his hands aren’t steady enough. I know I love how many pairs of running shoes he has. I know I love how easily he gets cold. I know I love that sometimes he packs his bag for the gym and forgets something essential like clean underwear or a pair of pants. I know I love how he takes me to catch the airport shuttle, lifts my heavy bag into the car and asks if I have my wallet and my i.d. and my glasses and insists on bringing Ringo along for the ride. I know I love when he brings up something and I tell him I don’t want to talk about it he drops it. I know I love that he only really likes to watch cheesy, easy, dumb TV shows. I know I love that I’m his favorite person.

Let me tell you about my marvelous god by Susan Stewart
“the quiet minutes”

The quiet minutes are my favorite, that empty spacious time where we are both home but not really doing anything together, just existing in the same space and time, close enough that if one of us were to call out, the other one would hear it. I also like the moments when we sit on the couch or in the backyard or in the sauna at the gym, without talking or maybe we are, but again just existing in the same space and time. And that’s miraculous, a bit magic isn’t it? I mean if you really think about it, what are the actual chances that we would be here together now? We had to be born at a certain time in a specific place to particular people, and then our lives had to unfold and move in a specific way. We had to speak the same language and somehow arrive at the same time in the same place and meet each other, have reason and awareness to see each other, learn each other’s names, keep talking, keep coming back together, find reasons to keep going, keep showing up, want to choose that, and then decide to align our lives, our selves in such a way that we weren’t just in the same town or at the same job, but in the same house, the same bed, the same family with the same last name, and as our families shrink around us, to choose that we will continue, there will always remain the two of us, no matter the time or disaster, that we will continue until it ends, as it will eventually for all of us in these temporary, impermanent, given to rust homes and boats of bodies riding out the storms, gliding under the occasional rainbow or gazing at the moon, eyes raised to the sky, holding on to each other for as long as it lasts.

4. Canceled plans. I had one of those weeks where I was tired for no apparent reason. I just couldn’t get motivated. I’m sure a lot of it is grief related, the way you are doing so much invisible, internal work, and it makes you tired in your bones. I’m so grateful that I have the luxury, the access to be able to stay with it when that happens, to live a week mostly staying home if I need to, if I choose to, and it’s an extra bonus that even when I’m doing absolutely nothing, I have the very best company.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. I really do love it here, so much. It’s everything I ever wanted.

Bonus joy: meatloaf with lots of ketchup, getting laundry done, replacing some old worn-out house items, clean sheets, Eric bringing home flowers from the grocery store, leftovers, ginger cookies from The Bread Chic, apple season, Autumn Crisp grapes, getting to hang out with Chloe’ after we finished Wild-ish Writing, small group training getting canceled so I didn’t have to go back for the first time in a long time when I really didn’t want to, cooler temperatures — especially for sleeping this is so lovely, down blankets and pillows, having a couch that is big and comfortable enough to sleep on, the Chinese herb mix I got to see if it helps keep my hair from falling out not having much taste since sometimes herb mixes can be funky enough to be almost undrinkable and the dosage for this one is three scoops twice a day, listening to and watching podcasts, watching TV, documentaries, true crime, comedy, poetry, a new notebook, stickers, ink refills so I can keep using my current favorite pens, a new hoodie (seriously, y’all, if I could live the rest of my life in nothing but wool slippers, a big hoodie, and lounge pants, I’d be satisfied — and to be honest, if I’m home and it’s cool enough, this is my uniform), being able to appreciate things like makeup and fashion and skincare routines but still not feel like I have to participate, going out to lunch on a random weekday with Eric and how the waiter at our favorite Asian restaurant remembered most of our regular order, 11:11 a.m. (iykyk), crying, feeling sad, pulling tarot cards that make absolute sense without needing to be “woo-woo” (although, woo-woo is fine too), other people’s kids and pets, pumpkin season (the actual orange domes, not the flavor — I’m more of an apple pie, ginger and molasses girl), all the fall quick breads like the three kinds of zucchini ones I make (lemon glazed, chocolate, and regular with toasted walnuts), family text threads when it’s someone’s birthday (I wonder if they’ll remember mine this year?), the text Chris sent me for our anniversary, curly hair, new glasses (the first ones I’ve ordered in years), tiny brass animals, short comedy videos, blooper and gag reels, new books, my new laptop (WHY did I wait, suffer for so long?!), grapefruit juice, Sunday morning Pilates followed by book club brunch (this might just be the perfect combination), making my Pilates teacher laugh, getting a card with a long note from Eric (it’s usually the only thing I really want on a birthday, anniversary, or any other holiday — oh, how I miss getting cards from my mom… [cry break]), all the cards and letters and texts and voicemails from my mom that I saved, the way when Chris sends me a card he has everybody in the whole family sign it, lunch, a warm shower, a nap, that Ringo is willing to take pills and wear “pants” and let us stick needles in him, texting with neighbors, delivery, being able to message my doctor’s office about stuff in a app rather than visit or call, online bill pay, computer glasses, gummies, soothing stomach drops, how well Ringo has been doing with his belly and arthritis, the chance to start over, the opportunity to begin again, the possibility of trying again, not giving up, the whole house fan, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.