wordquilt

Oct 21, 2017

Daisy, the Home Depot cat

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

It was a busy day doing chores, and the last one was at Home Depot’s garden department. I took Zing in with me because the store welcomes dogs. Immediately, Zing nosed around the floor by the cash register. 
“Cat food,” the cashier said. (Zing loves cat food.)
“It’s Daisy’s food.” 
He pointed to a high shelf, and there above the flowers was a yellow cat eyeing us like a furry private detective. 
“Our store cat,” he said proudly.

Do all Home Depots have a cat? 
“I don’t know,” he said. “But she keeps the mice away.”
Without Zing I would have missed her.
Love,
k



Oct 20, 2017

Poetry at the library

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

You know I love poetry, and I am amazed to find that Sacramento has lots of people like me. Between noon and 1 p.m. today I joined in the monthly poetry reading at the main library, a short walk from home. It was a half-dozen people sitting around a table in a large, book-filled, but otherwise empty space called The Sacramento Room. It’s so simple. We each brought a poem to read,  A little discussion might follow, and then the next person reads. There were two women, friends of about 30, and a young man, an older man, Mary the librarian, and me. One of the women had memorized her poem (by Kentucky farmer-poet Wendell Berry); she said she recited it out loud every time she fed her new baby. I hope to return.

Love,
k

Oct 19, 2017

Lost moon

Written last night:


Dear Friends,

This is what I saw early yesterday. This morning I looked for the moon again, but it wasn’t there. So I drew the moon.

Love,
k




Oct 18, 2017

A natural valentine

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today Zing and I walked by the river again. There’s a blacktop path for bikes, with softer shoulders for walkers and joggers. Then we veer off to a sandy path approaching the water. We go as far as a steep drop full of holes; By now Zing knows the routine: he lies down at the crest and looks over to where he’d like to run. At this point my knee would never let me clamber that angle. (But I’m exercising, so maybe someday, Zing!)

From that point today I looked over the grass to the water and felt myself missing Clark and cried.* Missing is different from sad. Then I turned around, called Zing; we started down the path we'd just walked and saw this — a natural valentine.

Love,


*I tell you about these tears because maybe you cry too — for Clark or someone else, or something traumatic in your life. Then you know. -k 








Oct 16, 2017

Pears off the page

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

Today's fun: 
  • cleaned Rosa’s windows. Usually the rag gets yellow with pollen. Today it was black.
  • explored a new neighborhood, which locals call The Pocket. It’s near downtown, where the road goes straight but the Sacramento River bends outward, making a “pocket" of land full of ‘60s-style ranch homes protected by a levee. Looks like a peaceful place.
  • sang a song at church. 
  • found a great coffee place -- Philz, almost in my neighborhood. The cashier and I talked about books. “Thank you for your wavelength,” she said to me as I left. (Nobody ever said that to me before.)
  • drew these pears, as they ran off the page.
Love,
k



Oct 13, 2017

Nature is never routine

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

People groan at routine — boring! — but I’m glad to be getting a dependable, flexible design for my days. Back in Tallahassee Zing and I would run in the woods on Tuesday and Thursday, and finally we’ve found a safe place here to enjoy nature. Today we went to the American River again, just like we did last week. It feels like our old routine. I even thought I saw an alligator lurking by the water. It was a log.

Love,
k







Oct 12, 2017

Watching fingers dance

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

After Zumba, which always makes me dance and cry at the same time (Don’t worry — I’m in the back row.) I went to hear chamber music at noon. It was a piano, cello, violin trio of American favorites: Samuel Barber, Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein. Thanks to my humble ukulele playing (if you can call it that!), I mostly watched the fingers of the violinist and cellist: how do they get so nimble? It’s that gift we call muscle memory, honed by practice and years of playing. 

Today I didn’t even try to draw at the concert.  But here’s a mandala I’ve been working on. I love its sky-blue and cloud-pink palette — more cheerful than our present smoky skies.

Love,
k

12" x 12"

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