11/1 Sat
Eight-year-old Gael knelt on my recliner and emptied the paper bag of Kit Kats, Nerds, and M&Ms onto the side table, dutifully did the head math, and counted out one quarter of his Halloween candy—a holiday tithe—to bring to his teacher on Monday.
11/2 Sun
She recognized me from a composting workshop I’d given with my husband, so we walked beneath the shedding overstory together, falling into a relaxed conversation about trees, retirement, and figuring out how to stay young.
11/3 Mon
I tugged one side while shoving the other, and the cart whirled a 180 like a Formula 1, earning startled glances from men who had been certain of their superior driving skills until they saw me handle a grocery cart.
11/4 Tue
The purple stems snapped and gave way as I tore the tradescantia out of the azaleas and peeled it away from the yarrow.
11/5 Wed
I opened the bedroom blinds, then crawled back under the covers, so Bob and I could watch the moon climb behind the Leyland cypress.
11/7 Fri
She chuckled, eyes bright, and gave me one of her signature side hugs.
11/8 Sat
We lay still, eyes pressed tight, trying not to jump with each flash and snap as thunder rained down upon our metal roof.
11/9 Sun
The thought of bed lay like frosting atop everything else I had yet to do today, daring me to eat it first, cake be damned.
11/11 Tue
The pain struck, so sharp and fleeting that I mistook it for a figment of my imagination.
11/12 Wed
After a night on the counter, my new sourdough starter stared back at me with dozens of eye bubbles, glossy and very much alive.
11/13 Thu
The sky quickened into a purple bruise in the time it took to log into My Social Security and read part of an essay on Substack.
11/14 Fri
It had grown warm in the house, but I hesitated to open the bedroom window for fear of spooking the sable-coated cat sitting regally upon the pine needle carpet beyond.
11/15 Sat
Bob and I sat on the back porch with our day-reading, enveloped in the pristine air, oblivious to the chittering chickadee.
11/16 Sun
I walked out across the grasslands, the undulating trill of insects in the tall blonde grass obscuring the sound of my footsteps.
11/17 Mon
I strained against the increased weight, laughing at the futility of it, and, relaxing my legs, dialed it down ten pounds.
11/18 Tue
Reading aloud to myself in the corner of my bedroom beneath a cone of LED glow, I grew annoyed with the insistent alarm—I’m trying to read this poem! I thought—then, realizing it was a chickadee, shifted my attention to the miracle of a new dawn, stood up, and opened the window blinds.
11/19 Wed
A flurry of bluebirds erupted from the birdbath when I stepped outside, and, as always, I reminded myself to look out the window first next time.
11/21 Fri
Bright orange persimmons mock me from their leafless perches, daring me to walk over and discover that they are still as hard as jumbo jawbreakers.
11/22 Sat
After a good rain, with temperatures in the 60s, I loaded a pickaxe into my wheelbarrow and went into the woods to pry coils of rusted fence from the softened ground, a task I had been putting off for months.
11/23 Sun
I nearly bit my lip in concentration, trying to pull together an overarching theme for self-improvement in 2026.
11/24 Mon
The fitness nurse blows a kiss, saying, “I love you guys!” long-striding past the chatty grey-hairs on the elliptical trainers.
11/25 Tue
Although my hands were steady, my burgeoning, pulse-throbbing unease confirmed I’d had too much caffeine, and there was nothing to do but ride it out.
11/26 Wed
Being careful not to get caught in the rusted wire spikes, I folded and stomped the old fence into a tidy bundle and loaded it onto the blue tarp in the back of my Tesla.
11/27 Thu
I turned to face the trees where I’d heard the yak-yak-yak-yak of the pileated woodpecker and stood frozen like a pointer dog until rewarded by a glimpse of its loopy flight.
11/28 Fri
Yesterday’s vibrant pepper leaves hung limply from their stalks after our first overnight freeze.
11/29 Sat
Feeling both selfless and superior, I poured hot water from our big pot into the frozen birdbath, then watched from the kitchen window for the first bird to curl its toes around the concrete lip and lower its tiny beak.
11/30 Sun
I squinted my eyes, I held my breath, but nothing was going to make the sun appear.
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