a tangled web of lies.

some weave. sometimes you, sometimes me?

today i did yoga in the middle of my work day.
on the scale of good ideas for self care: ten.
on the scale of good ideas to see clients after doing yoga: one. i was a sweaty mess.

i have some news for you but you'll have to wait just a few more days. it's kind of a big deal for me. no, i'm not pregnant or engaged or quiting my job to go live on a kibbutz in israel. here's your hint: i thought i was done going to hawaii this year. not so fast there, cowgirl.

you want to work in presidential advance, emily?

kiff asked me that question in the middle of our second wedding planning meeting. hahva laughed and translated, "that means he thinks you're organized and he's not worried anymore."

worried? why should kiff be worried? anyway. i went home and looked up presidential advance: the group of people who make shit happen at the white house. hello flattery, welcome to my heart.

they got hitched this past saturday and i felt a resounding peace about their marriage. maybe it was their age or their party or their wedding attendants and guests (best best-man ever). ultimately, i think it's their hearts for the world and the way they're making change through their vocation (hahva is quite possibly the best social worker i've ever known and kiff is making musician corps a reality). the night was flawless and the music was incredible. what more could i ask for in coordinating?

house sitting, again.

i'm enjoying the silence; there is something about the quiet of the morning, the thought of an afternoon nap because work is ever-so-close and an evening to make strawberry shortcake to thank the most wonderful vegetarian/hippie/oh-so-jewish psychiatrist i work with.

the strawberries sat, marinating in the balsamic while i closed my eyes to feel the cold of the butter on my finger tips. i was reaping the benefits of the wedding registry and using a fancy micro-plane to zest a lemon. i have never used a micro-plane: the easiness of it was magical. i have it so good, i thought. from the chocolate spiced donut with one of my dearest friends to watching two children- who, on monday, i referred to as my little sinking whales- swim to the flags.

today, i wouldn't have it any other way.

silverware can be a tough choice, i imagine.

some of the best evenings are filled with stories that redirect recipes, goat cheese to compliment beets and impromptu marriages.

things i'm loving lately:
strawberry shortcake.
my bowerbirds pandora station.
james taylor and carole king with my mom.
the nordstrom anniversary sale.
briefly living in the mission.
envisioning december twelfth.
thinking about greece.

they say it's your birthday.

and we're gonna have a good time.

happy birthday,
dear julie.

your wisdom,
kindness,
generosity and
beauty
make for one
admirable
woman.

these questions are not meant to be answered.

i wonder what it feels like to be oscar's mom? or sister.
i wonder what it would've been like to be on bart that new year's day.
and i wonder what it feels like to be johannes' family. or johannes himself.
what does it mean to be a police officer in oakland?
what about to just live in oakland?
what would i think if the fruitvale station was my stop?
would the verdict be different if their races were switched?
or what if the trial was held somewhere else?
or if there was someone african american on the jury?
what if i were the judge?

my heart feels heavy but i will continue to live in the questions.

the grief, the loss- it's astounding.
this bay area, this is my community.

i'll sleep next to you, even with dakota the girl dog.

"when going through a breakup, it's nice to wake up next to somebody. it doesn't have to be a boy, and preferably, it should be you, emily katz."

reaping the benefits of meg's house sitting adventure in sea cliff has been special. it's meant never knowing the exact words to use or how to navigate the feelings of someone else's heartache-- because, let's be real: no one heartbreak is ever the same. this has been so good for my soul. to simply be present and remember the diary of my own heart; the reality of what this weekend has been, and will never be again, recognizing my own freedom from my past and the direction i get to choose for myself-- it's been nothing but refreshing.

the fog continues to burn off over the golden gate bridge and i think about how overwhelmingly grateful i am to be able to vacation from my life but to stay in this sweet, transient city. a place where i make no commitment of permanence, but rather, a commitment to indefinitely invest deeply in what i'm surrounded by. the people i continue to wake up next to and share almond scones with who are partnered with a good God who helps me to love better.

and so today, i look forward to a new twelve months. for continued grief and loss and community and wisdom and real joy. for new babies and the search for rainbow chip frosting. for friends who've moved so close, and more opportunities to see my favorite fireworks from a rooftop, the ones which adam's mother has named the the bob marley ones. for more of meg's lies saying, "it's really a party, you should come." for travels to greece and portland and turkey. for rachael's musical knowledge of good music like bowerbirds. for sixtyseven dollar gourmet ice creams. for wednesday mornings at dynamo. for more conversations about kids and teaching and the social/emotional connection. and for you, the wise woman i've been able to wake up next to: your grace, courage and strength are awe inspiring; i have so much to learn from you. and i'm surprisingly looking forward to my first cup of black, home roasted coffee.