I ate my quinoa salad, O. ate his PB&J, I. ate his turkey and salami and we sat on the 4 train headed to Yankee Stadium. This is the part of kids I really love, that I didn’t anticipate, that it took me awhile to come around to. It’s fun. It’s fun to go to a game and watch them take it all in. The crying, the bedtimes, I could do without that. But O.’s face when JD Martinez stepped up to the plate, his full-throated rendering of the national anthem, these parts are good parts.

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Dispatch from my couch: it’s sunny but that doesn’t mean it’s not cold so grab a sweatshirt; Archive Fever really isn’t about archives but then again I can’t really tell what it’s about; that’s the last of the quinoa salad.

I ate and read recaps of last night’s dramatic tourney-clinching win, oh man, totally crying over here. Coach says of the failed buzzer beater that pushed the game into OT There wasn’t one person who had their head down. I went to the huddle and said, ‘We get to play in this environment for five more minutes. How about that?’ How about that how about that! Go ‘birds!

K. told me to just call the ranger station and ask them to send me a cancellation for my parks passport. A Ranger will pick up the phone! she insisted. With my Lake Mead cancellation from Monday on its way to Brooklyn, I tucked into my dish of life-giving, artery-relieving quinoa salad and turned up the day’s soundtrack.

Lunch came late and rushing in a day that started late and rushing, grouching and grousing and all the rest, but I was stopped by C.’s happy-birthday-grandpa post. How often do we explain the intricate interdependencies that make our lives possible? When do we ever say thank you? How can we remember to lift our full cups in gratitude and remember that ours are not the only cups, that we’re responsible for the empty ones too?

I ate while moving through a list of books, choosing the ones I wanted to keep and the ones I wanted to throw away in the garbage can. Kristeva, Rifkind, Benezet, you’re in. Directory of coastal resources management organizations from 1977? Your final day has come.

Way to my heart: make me a meal. E. chopping onions, S. cooking pork chops, C. making seitan, C. and A. fixing lasagna and Greek night and Christmas dinner, D.’s amazing swiss chard pie. So there was a burrowing quality to all the dicing and boiling and mixing and, eventually, eating, in front of the TV, mix of tired and relieved.