i couldn't remember what day it was this morning. i thought maybe monday. i dreamt of dogs and kidnapping and cameras and wet sand and i spent a solid 1/4 of my dreaming trying to find a lost baby. my mind snapping like a flashbulb trying to remember where i put him. who had him last. trying to rewind the tape and i woke up with the baby right next to me and when i nursed him he bit me.
if i hadn't checked facebook last night i could have easily overlooked the fact that it was new year's eve. i watched a documentary about the salton sea and thought about when my dad and step-mom took me fishing there and we camped in the middle of the desert and i coudn't stay in my tent because of the sand storm. i spent one whole afternoon dipping myself in the water like an ice cream cone and watching the rings of salt dry on my bathing suit. i was still so young, round belly and spindly arms. i have pictures of myself holding fish and i remember how desolate and brown the water felt. how warm. i never knew the desert could smell so wet. there were no waves, just water and sand. and wind. and heat. we cooked the fish we ate and i didn't enjoy it as much as i enjoy the memory. then again, i'm not a desert girl. with or without an oasis.
funny how the perfect spot to create a desert oasis turned into a mirage after all.
we made family goals this year. well, individual goals. as a family. because we are the sum of our parts. and our parts are full of possibility and we know that the only way to keep ourselves afloat amid all the chaos and runoff is to each have our own dock. our one combined goal is to make/craft something together as a family once a month. i already have art projects bookmarked and yet i'm thinking that there might be months when we need to craft hope or love or patience. and that the tangible result of these things might look less like art.
but more like home.