1-5-25

09:49

Vacaville.

Nurse and I wake before kids, I get coffees and Nurse starts making breakfast for kids, her always-demanded and wanted bacon and eggs.  Today toast to side.

As soon as the kids are seated in the dining room and Nurse comes back into kitchen to sit with me at square table with the puzzle still on it from xmas, she’s called in.

What kind of case, I ask her walking up the stairs with her to get ready.  She explains once in our room, “A sedation case.” I ask what that means, even though I have some idea, and she explains and I learn that what I thought it was, far more complicated.

I admire her, like I’ve always written.  What she does, the hours and terminology, can’t believe I know her and we’re together, what we’re building.  The gratitude again squeezes me like an actual bear’s Grizzly hugging.

Set timer for 26 mins.  Assessment so far of self in terms of discipline and productivity in ’25, not that optimal.  Why I forced self to sit, appreciate the day with the kids and Nurse here at our VV home, in writing.

Everything written.  Everything… this latte, the puzzle, Peet’s on whatever street that is with the large group there as always talking about whatever they do.  Dozens of exchanges happening at once like some expansive orchestra or chorus.

Full from breakfast.  Can’t remember the last time that happened.  Couldn’t resist.  Eggs, bacon, blueberries, toast, espresso of the latte.  Everything perfect.

The day, beautiful.  Not sure how to put into words what I’m feeling.  Work tomorrow but not thinking about it now.  Not stressing.  The pressure of sales and quota and numbers and that silly ‘comp’ document aren’t anywhere in my thinking, at least not to any meaningful altitude.

Emma asks me for more bacon, then Henry.  I tell them they’ve had enough then they ask for blueberries.  I say sure, “Have at it small fries.” Then they’re distracted by the puzzle.  Watching them and their attention and how fragile it is has to be one of the more fascinating consistencies of observation in my story.

“Dad, you forgot the blueberries!” Emma cites.  I get up and get a small bowl, Henry laughs like a hyena at who knows what.  Then I find myself laughing, and not sure why.  We form our own band.