Monday. 11 April.

Gorgeous, steady rain this morning. It’s needed, and a blessing, and it also makes me unsure of what I’ll do with my nature-loving baby today. If the wind stops, we’ll pull on every bit of waterproof gear we have and go puddle-hunting.  

Two of my best friends from college are coming to visit this week. The other time they visited – for my wedding – we had record rain, so apparently they are some kind of witches. I always suspected as much, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that they’ll be here. 

I recently bought a toaster, for the first time since – well, I don’t think I’ve owned a toaster since college, and even then it was a toaster oven, rather than the small appliance with a single job and a satisfying pop to signify its conclusion. I’d resisted buying one because it just felt like one more thing to have, more clutter. I looked at reviews that meant nothing eventually for the way they canceled one another out, and then purchased a pale green one from a brand I’ve never heard of because it was cute and because it has a bagel setting. I’ve used it every day and it’s fairly true that I love it

Before the pandemic, I did yoga almost every morning. I chose free playlists off of YouTube because local classes weren’t timed well for my schedule and were too expensive overall. Though I’ve long been a runner, though at the time I was attending early morning spin classes at least twice a week at my local gym, I swear that yoga was the thing that made the most visible difference in the shape of my muscles, the tone of my body. I’ve started dabbling in it again. I don’t have much time to myself, and the time I have is crowded with everything, and still I am astonished at how even just a few minutes of intentional stretching and breathing improves my day. 

I met my friends’ newborn yesterday. He is tiny, and perfect. 

I sent some poems off to an online literary magazine. I do not think I am a poet, but I scribble words down here and there, returning to them and tweaking them when those syllables stick with me. Perhaps I am a poet, after all; perhaps someone else will think so. 

I am dreaming of Paris. Someday, I’ll sit again in the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont and I will be so, so happy to be there. I will show the city to my child and discover things I never knew before. I will wander the streets, walk along the canal, find bookstores to linger in; eat small bits of divine chocolate, a ceramic cup of yogurt each morning, quiche at lunch. I will still, always, be a tourist, and that will be all right, too. I will stroll those streets with wonder, with joy.  

I had toast this morning, because it was what I wanted, and the rain continues. The baby will be awake soon, so off to the yoga mat I must now go. I hear geese and cars passing by; I know how lucky I am.