record keeping
the new daily, why i write these they way i do, and a walk with my sister.
hello friend[s],
long, long time no see. i took my own advice to let things go slower in the summertime. i have a new routine again. i’m blessed with work that ends at a certain time. a lovely shift from my usual 24/7 studies.
i wake up at 6:30 am and make myself a strong cup of black milk tea, a baguette with cured meat and cheese and maybe a tomato. i eat it while doing the crossword then i go get dressed. by 7:15 i’m on my bike, turning left on my way to work. by 7:30 i’m finally awake and i have two kids in pjs that i need to get ready for the day and take on adventures. at 4:30 pm i turn right and i make my way home. i have a shower and change into comfy clothes by 5. i sit outside and watch the sun juuuuuust begin its descent. often i open a can of something and drink it while helping with dinner. i eat at 8. i sleep at 10:30ish. i do it all again.
by the end of the day, i will have had at least 8 hours of sun on my body, i’ve sweated out the 3 water bottles i drank, and my throat is scratched from talking and explaining for 15 hours, i am exhausted. i absolutely love it.
during weekends i get to have almost stolen moments. vegan pancakes and strawberry mush in my sister’s balcony garden. cleaning her kitchen to old songs, switching winter clothes for summer clothes to call me if you get lost.
i sit outside and smell whatever it is that my dad is smoking with cherrywood and hickory. my sister showing me her new guitar songs she’s composed. the wind in the trees, the cicadas, the birds.
they feel stolen because they feel liminal. things i’m supposed to have should have a limit but these don’t quite. happiness can’t last forever but i think it can, actually.
i’m doing something very strange right now. i’m writing this on a saturday. truth be told, i’ve started and stopped this note several times over the last few weeks but felt unable to go for more than a paragraph at a time. i’m wracking my brain to remember who said it, but i read recently about someone who writes for themselves to preserve all the little moments. life being a poem. life being delicious words.
this note is an open diary and my friend, my inner thoughts are often “god i love this moment, how do i contain it forever while also living it?” i always come to the conclusion of record keeping. not in a cold, files in a basement, tucked away to never be seen again way, but in a filled with love for a moment way. the urge to share with the future.
the poem how delicious to say it by vievee francis is a beautiful example of record keeping. a record of love. i’ve spoken about my love for pádraig o tuama many times and i don’t think i will ever stop. his understanding of this poem is so rich and warming. please, give this a listen while you’re sitting underneath a tree (much like my beloved forever friend, a, often does). give the tree a hug while you’re there too, please.
my sister said to me a few weeks ago that when she experiences particularly serene moments, she wishes i was with her. not only for me to experience it too, but also so that i will write about it, and she can relive it through my words. so now i dedicate this to her: a retelling of our walk.
we left your apartment at a foolish time. it was 3 pm and the sun was much too high in the sky to be a good idea. our sneaky path isn’t so much sneaky as it is
parallel. we crossed the street together no less than four times, chasing that desperately needed shade. you pointed out your favourite garden, the one with the statue surrounded by overgrown plants. i pointed out every edible plant to you. i was trying not to hiccup the carbonation i drank just before we left. the brio we split on your balcony surrounded by your plants. (now that i’m recalling this in the future, i think about the italian house we talked about, the one we think you should buy.i now know the owner won’t be with us much longer). i wonder if we’ll pick that sumac before it’s too late. linden and saskatoon berries were already such a win, it seems we must lose somewhere, mustn’t we? ross gay asks us to consider what we do with our hands. we cleaned and washed the berries and flowers our mother used to pick. without us, they would rot on the tree. (they still seem to rot with me, though. i only just now put them in the freezer).i can’t remember what happened next. we made it home and ?? maybe sat down on the big kitchen chair? did you stay for dinner? i don’t even know what day of the week it was. i just remember it was warm, and i spent all day with you, and i woke up early to walk over to yours for 9, and it was delightful.
a last-minute list:
it’s somehow 3:35 pm on sunday and this note is just barely finished
i’m sitting in a new room on h&m sheets on a bigger bed than i’ve been on in months in my best friend’s apartment
i haven’t moved since we finished our breakfast
i am once again in a decidedly liminal space.
that june/july playlist from 2018 is playing
we finally decorated our lighters to match
the air feels like its embracing me
i am tired but i like it
i hope you’ve had a kind few weeks. i will continue to archive my moments. you’re always very welcome to use this newsletter to store your little moments. i hope we can build a library together. all my love.
xx delphi
i miss ur notes delphi <3
very heartwarming! :,) i love this sm