Thank you to the veggie-leavers and gifters and carers and huggers and wonderful souls looking out for me and the girls

Bless you for the bag of fabulous produce and jam that you left on the porch the other day. You know. (Did you see I still can’t bear to get rid of the apple branch?)

Bless you, Davide, too, for the extra produce you sent home with the girls, and for the apple pancakes. You know it meant a lot.

Are you all sitting down? You should. Your gifts inspired me to cook Potato, Leek and Carrot Soup, whip up a batch of Red Cabbage Salad with Radishes and Toasted Sesame Oil, and then today, to continue the groove with Steamed Quinoa and Cauliflower (that I mixed into the Red Cabbage Salad, fancying myself a wild gourmet. Now that my sweet mama gave me a rice cooker—bless you, Mom!—I feel ready to take on the food world. Better late than never).

But my God! You should see my kitchen. My mother backed out of it, wordless, tonight. She is rarely wordless, let me tell you. But I think she’s pleased I’m trying to cook.

The chaos was worth it. I ate well, by my own hands, for the first time in a long, long time. It felt good. You know.

If only my pumpkin seeds had, well, roasted like they were supposed to. Instead, they took on the consistency of chewing tobacco. But we had a lot of fun carving the Jack-o-Lanterns with my dear friend Wil, and no one was bummed out about the seeds but me. C’est la vie. The pumpkins turned out great, no bloodshed. We lit them and decorated the front porch by candlelight while Wil took wonderful photos. Bless you, Wil of Chai Teas and mystery and world travels. You know.

Bless you, Girl Posse, both near and far. I would not make it without you. You know who you are.

Bless you, Heather H., for the paint chips that finally got me out to the paint store. You know.

Bless you, my Katieface and my new friend Mia. You *get* it. You know.

Bless you, Musicmakers of my life: Todd, Erika, Karmen, Sarah. I want to believe in something close to creative utopia. I’ll need a tour. You know.

Bless you, Keeper of the Torch, Hunter of the Magic Numbers. Someday we will burn them all, let their ashes fly into the sky. You know.

Bless you, Neighbors of Goodness. You make me feel safe and loved, even at 3am. And that’s something. You know.

And bless you, Emma-Heloise, for the ever-so-pleasingly peculiar package that arrived from New York. You know.

Bless you, dear Girls’ School (Katie! Mary! Maude! And all!), for letting me break down, and telling me one day at a time is just fine, just fine indeed. You know.

Bless you for the toilet installation (Mike of the Red Truck and Usher tunes!). You know.

Travis, your comment meant more than I can say. You know.

Bless all of you—for there are more of you than I can possibly name here—for the meals and prayers and rides to school and kind emails and loving, supportive comments. They mean the world to me. I really need them. I do. You help me more profoundly than I can tell you. I don’t know what I would do without you.

You know.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Today was a good day, and I owe so very much of it to all of you.

Every day.

Thank you. Even in the swamp of sadness, I know how damn lucky I am to have all of you in my life. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

You know. I hope you know.