There’s snow on the mountains this morning, first of the season.

We’ve decided to move! We’re ding darn doing it. But I rest at the park now, reading instead of packing. We have a little less than a month which has felt like plenty, but I know there’s much to do. Also trying to enjoy these last moments of summer (it’s been getting cooler for weeks) and do things like let the sun shine on my arms while it’s still comfortable.

I’ve been reading lots and am starting to dream about books. Read Miranda July’s All Fours (recommended by many; gifted by Steph) in about 20 hours and even though I’m getting into another I’m enjoying (Sex at Dawn — about evolution and non monogamy) I can’t stop thinking about that one. July’s characters and dialog were enough to send me over the edge but also the way the story unfolded and its slow, beautiful resolution— I’ve never felt smart when talking about books; most of what I can offer is that they’re good and nice (Sarah simpleton code for I love it) — but the explorations of women aging and sex and parenthood just floored me, and reading in general lately has felt so soothing and inspiring. I love how familiar and habitual the practice has become — having a book in my hands feels like home, which makes me think of how much I loved reading as a kid, which also feels like home.

We camped with friends earlier in September and I left a day early to have some needed alone time — took the long way home through Big Sky and spent the afternoon at my favorite book shop in Bozeman. Proudly left with only one (James Mcbride’s Deacon King Kong) but bookstores by myself + early fall = probably the stuff magic is made of. That night I saw Hamlet in town with some pretty exemplary acting (saw it again a few nights later; Cal joined me halfway through.) The next evening hosted a little potluck and a few days later my friend Jenna asked me to substitute teach the first hour of her Meisner class that she knew she’d be late for the next night. I felt in over my head but not panicked, which felt like growth, and the students were warm and sweet and reminded me shit, maybe I really can do anything I put my mind to.

Getting the fun little hits of “I want to act more” but know it’s not quite the right time. Work on my script has picked back up although I’m currently a little stuck (again.) Seeing a new love tomorrow who recently said he wants to support me in my script writing and I said HOW COULD ANYONE POSSIBLY HELP MEE but I’m secretly happy to feel held by those around me throughout my creative processes, and also to be further than I’ve ever been in this particular work (though obvious, it still catches me as a delightful surprise — “Never been on p. 63 of this before, wowee!”)

We went to Portland over the weekend for my Grandpa Ray’s 90th birthday party. Reflecting on it, I feel wildly lucky I get to do things like this (thank you mom, who gave us countless frequent flyer miles — this trip wouldn’t have otherwise happened) and that Nolan was able to join last minute. Highlights were hanging with my cousin Merrissa, who I hadn’t seen since we were kids, and just the general feeling of love and celebration (also the preparation Carrie and Mark took in making the party very nice.) I relished in visiting with my great-aunt Julie, who stayed with my mom one night while we were there and is just so cool. She’s a retired teacher and doubles as the family historian, and she’d brought a book that a family friend wrote about my great-grandpa Harold that I’ve been trying to get my hands on for quite awhile. (Harold and my great-great-aunt Isabel, whose house I lived in in for years, were born just an hour away from where I live in Montana and I’ve been thinking I’d like to try writing about them.) 

Happy September —