Playing basketball with Jack and Emma later, and of course little Henry will get involved which always makes me smile and bend in little laughs with his energy and attempts.

Over word goal for day, now just looking at old shots again.  Emma as a little, little girl, the vineyard.  Thinking about time and where I put my energy, and why fear in me, any kind to any degree, is dead.  It’s just not something I feel anymore.  Beginning with this morning’s early types.

I have a love affair with coffee.  That much I know.  It’s always here.  Some would say I’m a wine writer or blogger— NO.  it’s coffee. Coffee wins.  Coffee always wins, and always will.

Losing the want to write.  Emma already ready, as is Jack.  11:38, and we’re so far ahead of schedule it’s unusual, and a little uncomfortable.  Know what to take from fridge….  And….  Hmmmm…..  Circling, circling.  Oh yeah, take camera.

Still sipping from this cup of black god-water.  Why?  Because throwing out coffee feels criminal, like wasting gold or free samples at Costco.  So I sip again, grimacing, feeling my pupils dilate to dinner-plate size.  By the next sip, I’m inventing problems just to solve them. Cleaned the fridge. Alphabetized spices. Decided the Nurse’s cat needs a middle name.