10 Notices. Eight.

1. his surgery lasted over 7 hours and now he needs to heal so they can begin chemo. and then they still need to deal with the throat cancer that came back. fucking cancer. 

2. my mom asked me to stay the night with her in her hotel. we ate creamy sugar pea carbonara and briny puttanesca over homemade noodles and shared a bottle of wine at Bizarro. 

3. "Don't you think we should go back to the hotel room, get comfy and drink whiskey?" she said. 

4. we talk until 2am and pass out. when dad calls at 7am, she answers, talks, then falls back asleep. we both do. 

5. we awake at 9, don't shower, and go over to the hospital. the hospital is full of great art and i find myself entirely grateful for that fact. 

6. we do a couple laps with him and his walker and everyone is being so friendly, not weirdly, just nicely, and i notice it. 

7. yesterday an entire shelving situation very suddenly detached from my kitchen wall and came crashing down, breaking a ton of my favorite glass and ceramic kitchen tools and talismans that had been displayed and housed within for a very long time. it just all of a sudden decides to jump off the wall. wtf. total disastrous mess with tiny shards of glass ev.er.y.where. and a tea and flower water and computer combo that was no good. detach, unfold, release, expand. repeat. 

8. clay Mother Mary rattles.

9. hawthorn. the sweet smell of death and decay. ancestral. of the heart. jasper's totem tree, his middle name, 3 planted in our yard. she marks mother's day each year and gives good medicine. she loves people and she grows where they invite her, found in old hedgerows and hollers. thank you hawthorn. we love you. 

10. i'm kinda trying to ignore the download, the one skirting the edges, skulking in my periphery, almost fully formed but not necessarily attentionable. what if we wanted to try it? what would it take? how do you crunch numbers on something like that? how do you get the gig?