River respite and a purple bathtub

Written last night:

This afternoon Zing and I explored the long narrow path along the American River at Paradise Beach with Melanie and her lab Remy. We walked for more than an hour up and back. Melanie threw a plastic bone into the water and Remy splashed in to get it. Zing stayed mostly at water’s edge, sniffing and rolling in the dust. Melanie showed me a video she took along the river recently of a large seal catching salmon. I would like to see a seal.

Now I’m tired, in that good way exercise makes you feel. I’m out of shape! Tomorrow, yoga!

Also today: more boring stuff: I’m still getting intimate with numbers and passwords. Flipping your life takes time and patience.

Over the weekend I chatted with a man who lives in the building. He was loading stuff into a car parked out front. I thought he told me he was going to Birmingham. What’s that, a town near here? “No,” he said patiently. “Burning Man.” It’s a week of freeness in Nevada, where, I think, everyone is supposed to contribute some art to share. “I’m doing Purple Rain,” he said, “Right now I’m trying to fit a purple bathtub into my car.” 

I want a purple couch — and now I know someone who has a purple bathtub!

Love, 

k

Facing up to paperwork

Written last night:
Today was for paperwork. Let’s see how many days until I’m finished. I’m hoping it’s Friday. I want to be up-to-date by Labor Day weekend.

When I say paperwork I mean business stuff, not necessarily paper. Mostly it’s dialing a number (say, State of Florida Pension), listening to an automated response, selecting a number, listening to recorded lovely voices, waiting…. waiting… waiting… 

Talking to someone ...
being referred to someone else …
Repeat.  

This is OK maybe two times, but I’ve been doing it over and over, because when someone dies and then you move, you have to report it to many financial institutions, then get a new account, then tell them you want it taken out of/put into a new bank, with a new address … Sometimes (today!) it’s even more frustrating because you don’t have any credit connected to your deceased husband’s (the Citibank card was in Clark’s name, therefore I need a brand new card… ) they’ll tell me within 10 days if my credit is good enough. Never mind that I’ve been partnering in paying over many many years. Oh, no, you don’t want to hear me complain! I’ve just gotten started!

There’s more!  I’ll spare you, except to say that who knew that dryers don’t all have vents? Mine doesn’t have a vent. Therefore, the dryer I ordered could not be delivered. It stays in the truck at the curb. Send back the dryer that came today. It needs vents. Send back the washer, because it needs to be stacked with the dryer. Plan to go to Best Buy tomorrow and start all over, buying a ventless dryer and washer that matches. Who knew? Who ever cared! Me! Today!

You might tell I’m frustrated. Well, I was frustrated about 11 a.m. today. Then I said to myself: this is going to keep on happening. Is there any way to enjoy it? My answer box came up empty. But still I’m trying to enjoy the process. It’s clear that there’s a problem everywhere. I’m going to look under the rocks for shiny happy little things. The rest will take more time than I had planned.

Luckily, today Mary called. She gave me some good advice about window shades (I thought shades would be hard to buy, but Mary says no.) Mary also listened to my complaints. Thanks, Mary!

One of today’s business calls was to American Express. I had to close out Clark’s part. It was just plain business, but I burst into tears. Every time I close Clark’s part of a card or account it’s admitting he’s not here. It seems so cut and dried, but all at once I cry. 

Love, 
K

Rolling through the hills at night

Written last night:

I took today easy. It’s 10 p.m. and I just finished the breakfast dishes! 

Mostly I relaxed with family — thanks for the delicious dinner, Maria! — and checked out St. Francis church here — the one with the gluten-free communion line (just FYI! I'm, thankfully, not on that diet.)

Got a couple of contradictory appliance installation calls, but that’s normal. 

Fires are threatening  in the hills — hope they go away quick! 

At the end of the day  Rosa and I drove home from Maria’s in the dark. Doesn’t sound like much, but wow! I don’t think I’ve driven at night since Clark died, at least not in unfamiliar terrain. I’ve been on hold. So what should be everyday, for me was an unexpected challenge.

And it was stunning! Maria lives in El Dorado Hills, 30-45 minutes west (?) of Sacramento: Emphasis on the HILLS. I entered I-50 on a hilltop near her house at sunset. There was an indigo sky and the horizon down below in front of me was glowing red, orange and pink  -- kind of bleeding all over some hills. I think my mouth dropped open, it was such a stunner. Since by then I had no choice, I proceeded along the highway normally,  holding the steering wheel a little tight. The road dipped and curved through the night. Sometimes headlights of oncoming cars seemed to be heading directly at me, and they were, except that this road wasn’t straight, like the ones in Florida, where you can go for 40 miles without a curve. Here roads bend right and then left and then up and then down, so you think headlights are coming straight toward you -- but you won’t collide because the road curves. I got used to it, but for a moment it was a fun ride as I gripped the wheel under a simmering sky. That’s what a night ride in California hills is like through straight-arrow Florida eyes. 

Mountains or hills?

Walnut Creek, CA

Written last night:

This morning I followed mountains west. Or maybe they were hills.  How is a flat-lander from Florida to know? I drove 90 minutes to Walnut Creek, CA, outside Oakland, where there was a regional meeting of art quilters. It was a chance to get to know the area and meet some people who share my inclinations.

Unlike the ocean, mountains show themselves way before you get there, so you can enjoy them longer. As I left Sacramento, they were a violet smudge up ahead. I thought it might stay that way, but in five minutes or so the edges began to sharpen up. Oh my! As you drive toward mountains they become real! I got all worried that I might be driving slanted soon. Thank goodness I grew up in hilly Steubenville, Ohio. It all came back to me: turn your wheels when you park on a hillside; that way you’ll tend toward the curb. And what else?? Quick! Where is my emergency brake? I had no idea! In flat Florida an emergency brake is a flourish, not a life-saving device. My heart was popping, and then, just in time, the road (I-80?) turned away from the high points. 

Then back. Is it a hill or a mountain up ahead? Oh, these were hills; Rosa and I were rolling on earth plump like mounds of bread dough, yeasty and golden, spotted with a few trees. 

Oh, no! Now mountains! Those sharp points! 

Thankfully, we veered away again, across a bridge over water deep enough for container ships. I marvel at the large imaginations that designed all I was passing through: fields and silos and tall buildings and apartments and farm stands selling peaches and cucumbers and tomatoes. 

Walnut Creek itself I must learn to love. It seems a manicured place. Several women at the church where the meeting was held said they are a “20-minute BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit)-ride from Berkeley.” So, I gather, it’s where ideas bloom. Glad to be here! 

Then, in the afternoon I returned to a still-messy place that feels like home. Zing was waiting for me and he hadn’t pee'd during all the hours I was gone. So he’s at home here too. We went for a walk and then I talked for a long time with my friend Pam. I fried some bread on my new stove and had a salad. Now I’m listening to opera (don’t ask me what!) and looking out the big window at the night and the scattered lights in the office building across the street. 

Good night!

Love,

K

Speakers discussed the Modern Quilt Movement
(above and below)

More than 50 members of
Studio Art Quilt Associates
 from northern California and Nevada met Saturday

Pati Fried, Cathy Miranker and Tara Faughnan, were speakers

(I think quilt detail above is by Tara Faughnan, but not certain)

It's not easy to make it look easy

Written last night:

Some of you deal with plans and numbers and schedules every day. It’s your job — maybe more than half of you juggle people or products or services regularly. I have been dealing with the complications of moving logistics lately, and my hat is off to you! Respects!

Here’s why: 

You make two things coincide. How on earth? One side is always early or late. From 8 to noon today I waited for the refrigerator and stove and they got here an hour late, at 1 p.m. Besides, they were supposed to be here yesterday.

You make things arrive in one piece. Not always easy. Today I was watching two men unload appliances from their truck so they could get to mine, and one piece (can’t remember — something squat, like a stove) was sitting on the street with an edge over the loading part of the truck, that kind of elevator thing in the back. One man was talking to me and he nonchalantly pressed the lever that raised the loading platform. As it went up it flipped the appliance onto its back on the street. Crash! “Oh, nothing happened to it,” the man said as he hustled over to right it. Perhaps he was correct.

You make people who don’t know each other produce for mutual benefit. The department head depends on the salesperson, who  depends on the delivery person, who depends on the scheduler. Theoretically, they click like clockwork. Ha! Today the delivery men insisted they have nothing to do with the appliances. They deliver, plug in, and leave. But they discovered I had the wrong water line (who knew there is more than one?) and my stove plug is too close to the floor (really? really?). No wonder the delivery men arrive defensive. “People usually blame us,” they said. “We can’t do anything about it.” 

They told me that scheduling and connecting issues happen all the time. It’s frustrating and time-consuming and inefficient. That’s why, whatever it is that you organize and schedule, my hat’s off to you for all the times you make it work seamlessly. Whatever you make happen, now I know it’s not easy. Thank you!

So the stove plug must be raised, a bigger water line must be attached, but at least I can look to my right and see a refrigerator and a stove, kind of perfectly in place in my kitchen. I made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, and had ice cream for dessert. I’m home.

The rest of the day I furrowed my brow and attended to more of those financial details. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I called a customer service number about 2:30 p.m. and got the message they’re closed for the day, because it was 5:30 p.m. somewhere.  So I just did online stuff until I couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Good night!

Love, 

k

Paperwork with interludes

Written last night:

Today was so boring: lots of paperwork that I'd  put off while unpacking. It’s true I did some at the hotel — seemed like a lot, but I think that was a mind-trick. 

“Today I did paperwork,” I said to Bill the contractor when he dropped off his key this afternoon. “I hate doing it!” “Yes,” he nodded, “but it has to be done.” Exactly.

Something about paperwork makes my heart thump: I expect everything to turn out wrong. (OK, I know — think happy thoughts! Everything will be OK.) Today it looks like everything is OK. More to do, but no financial disasters yet: no missed payments, etc. The more I do this all alone, the more confident I become. Tomorrow I hope to finish all the address changes, name changes, direct deposits and automatic payments. Even as I write this, I know that won’t happen. But I’m off to a solid start.

I took a break to get lunch at the Thursday farmers market on Capitol Mall. It’s only one block away, hidden behind tall office and government buildings. (Where I live is kind of like Brickell Avenue in Miami.)  There was olive oil pressed in Sacramento, and local wine (Yes, wine at a farmer’s market! Don’t you love it?), nuts, honey, skinny eggplants, sweet and firm  melons that are half honeydew / half cantaloupe. (I finally bought a I bought a curried chickpea wrap.)  I wanted to take pictures of the cops and construction workers and office workers all leaning against buildings and sitting on planters, relaxing with good food for their lunch hour. But I decided to leave them alone.

More paperwork followed. Then for a late afternoon break, Zing and I went to Paradise Beach on the American River, just out J Street, near Sacramento State University. You turn left for the park and right for the university. 
Several people, including Melanie, who loves to run and knows her parks, have told me Paradise Beach is beautiful and safe and nearby. Those are its advantages. But I have to say its sand isn’t as sandy as  Florida's beaches. I'll learn to love river sand.


To get there you drive a shady street just past a school, there’s a parking lot; then you climb a levee and follow a sandy downhill path with dried grasses on each side. Soon you see trees and a clearing and then another downhill slope to the river, where the color is green and families and teens are splashing. Because of my knee (much better but I didn’t want to push it), we stayed up on the hill, where I snoozed  on a bed of dried grass, while Zing did the same nearby. It was comforting to hear the kids yelling in the distance. I can’t wait to feel the water myself — to see how cold it is, and how the bottom feels.

Zing and I were so happy to be in the “wild” again. Aside from a couple short walks at Phipps in Tallahassee, this is the first time we've roamed since Clark died. We’ll be back to Paradise Beach (What a great name!) on Tuesday. 

We hurried home, to beat the rush hour traffic — ate stuff from my cooler (chopped kale salad, pre-made in a bag, with crackers and an avocado and tomatoes), and I tried to learn to program the TV. Now I’ve turned it off. Good night!

Love,
k

Farmers Market on Capitol Mall
Notice the grass is not green!

Paradise Beach
on the American River

Loving the day

Winters, CA
Aug. 24, 2016

Written last night: 

Maybe it’s the yoga, maybe it’s the friendship, maybe it’s the dream … but tonight I feel relaxed (maybe it’s the wine!).

On Wednesday evenings there’s a yoga class in our first floor meeting room. Tonight I gave it a try — or at least I put my yoga mat down in what I hoped was the back of the space. “I’m expecting a phone call,” I said. “I’ll be back.” Mary Louise tried to convince me to stay, but who can relax when waiting for your phone to vibrate with an important message? 

So I went upstairs and did leg lifts for my knee and waited — you don’t want to know the details! There was a scheduling screw-up for my appliance installation. So I waited for the call while doing what is good for my knee pain: lie on new wood floor, tighten thigh muscle, lift leg, hold, tighten, lower, over and over. Zing, perched on a pillow mound beside me, followed each move with his head. The phone was on floor beside me. Earlier, Mui of Best Buy had called to say they can’t accommodate my delivery date, because I have such a large order. (all new appliances, as Clark and I planned). So, she said, wait until next week, not Thursday as we’d agreed when I bought them. 

Oh, no! That’s what I thought and that’s what my beating heart pumped out: OH NO. But just in time the spirit of Clark took hold and shut me up. Instead of accepting Mui’s bad news, I gave a little, and insisted a little, and did it all in a reasonable tone. That’s what Clark (who could definitely speak his mind!) taught me in recent years: Be nice. (I tend to get frantic.)

I was nice, and I was firm, and eventually Mui called to say I got what I wanted, almost. Refrigerator and stove to be here Friday. The rest (which truly I don’t care so much about) on Monday. Thank you, Mui! 

Free then, I went to the last half of the yoga class, and I can’t believe how lucky I am! Although it’s been years since I  did yoga, I could follow along, making adjustments for my knee. I’ll be going again, probably even become a regular. It sure beats driving to yoga.

Before that, about midday, I was one of three high school friends: Carol, Susan and Katie. (That was me then! Late puberty turned me into Katie.) We met for lunch in Winters, CA, less than an hour from here. We are three different souls, and it was delightful to remember and laugh and challenge each other. Life, death, family, health, faith, and more … we covered it. We stayed so long we felt we owed rent on our lunch table, which we gladly paid. I would love to continue tomorrow; I wonder when that tomorrow will be.

And earlier —  back, back to the start of today — on waking up, I was dreaming of Clark; he held me, and nuzzled my ear, whispering that he wants me to love my life.

I loved today.

Winters, CA

Winters, CA

Winters, CA

Sunflowers everywhere

Warmhearted day

Written last night:

Today was filled with loving, lovable people.

In the morning I kept unpacking and putting things on shelves. It’s getting homey. At last. I also talked to Patrice and Jennifer and Mary — that connection makes all the difference!

Then Melanie took me to lunch at the Tower Restaurant, where we sat under the trees in the garden. (It’s the same restaurant Keith and I enjoyed last week. Obviously, I don’t have to tell you it’s a place people here are proud of.) We celebrated how we got to know each other under intense circumstances on Saturday. We even toasted the man on the bicycle who brought us together. Health to him! Earlier, when Melanie stopped outside my building to get me, it looked like her front seat was full, so I reached for the back door. “Here,” she said, lifting a bundle beside her and thrusting it toward me,  “I brought you some flowers.” And she pushed a bouquet of sunflowers and purply blooms out the window toward me. “Maybe you want to take them upstairs and put them in some water,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

I really can’t say more. At lunch we talked and talked (OK, maybe I talked more!) over tomato-bacon-avocado salads, and I am overflowing with admiration for this gorgeous, gutsy young woman. She was kind to me.

And this evening Steph and Keith and I had a relaxing dinner at Jack’s Urban Eats, where they sell simple, delicious food. We ate outside, leisurely talking until it was almost dark. It was perfect.

Altogether, this was a warmhearted day. 

Love,
K

Monday is for laundry and luxury

Written last night:

Today was not lazy, but it was routine. I’m letting a new routine emerge. 

I did the laundry: uneventful, except that in the laundry room on the first floor (It’s got plenty of washers and dryers and looks onto the garden, so it’s only slightly inconvenient.) I did meet a woman who observed (complained) that the ceilings here are too low to properly hang her antique Japanese kimono, which she has framed like a picture. She had to put it in storage.  “Is it silk or cotton?” I asked. “Silk.” 

Of course there had to be an hour or two or three of unpacking and putting things away. This should be simple, but somehow I’ve lost my winter jackets and sweaters. I remember stashing them somewhere when I was numbly opening boxes in the dark last Friday. I hope I find them by December.

Then I treated myself to a manicure and pedicure at the Vietnamese shop around the corner from the grocery. I recently started doing this, at Clark’s insistence. He wanted to pamper me. The first couple of times, in the Tallahassee shop, near the Lake Ella Publix, I felt clumsy. It’s kind of like a dance and I didn’t know the moves: Someone greets you (rather abruptly) usually from a stool where he/she is polishing someone’s feet. “Hello,” but not just hello. There’s a gesture made, and I didn’t know what it means. But had I followed the hand I would have seen it pointing to a wall of polishes. I was to select a color immediately, or maybe two. But I don’t want polish. “No polish?” “No color?” Since that first time, I’ve gotten looks that were disapproving, or puzzled, or even relieved. Usually I get an extra finger massage for simplifying their work. 

On a roll with being good to myself, I followed with a pressure-point massage for my pained knee. (After the knee heals I’m going to continue massages anyway.)  I am breaking out of a rut — a deeply dug habit, part guilt and part righteous shunning of such luxuries. 

As I drove home, Patrick called and eventually I was able to pull over to talk. It’s hard to find a parking spot in Sacramento at rush hour. People are not just escaping to the suburbs; many are weaving around the “grid” as I was, stopping at shops and restaurants. Then, since I was two blocks from a small Thai restaurant called The Coconut  I went in and ordered Cashew Shrimp with brown rice to go. While I waited, I ordered four dining chairs from West Elm. “Oh, are you shopping online?” the waitress said, “I do all my shopping online; I never go to stores anymore,” she added. So she approved. Dinner was delicious. I will go to The Coconut a lot, I suspect. It is a plain couple of rooms decorated with original paintings by a local artist, and people of all ages enjoying straightforward deliciousness. I will feel comfortable eating there by myself. It was a perfect spot to finish my day of pampering.

Love,

K

On-purpose lazy

Written last night:

Today was a lazy Sunday. For the last couple of months, when I was doing little or nothing it was because I absolutely could not rouse myself. It was that "cloud over me" thing. But today I guess I turned a corner because I realized I was being lazy. It was a choice. 

I read the NYTimes slowly, then talked to Mary as she walked in the woods by her house. These talks would always amaze Clark. (“What do you find to talk about?”) He admitted he envied such casual rapport. On the other hand, Clark and I always seemed to be in the midst of our own continuing conversation. We can’t talk anymore, but our communication continues nonetheless. 

This morning brought another great talk — my dear Tallahassee friends Irene and Ana from across the street texted me. In response I did waver, as texting is often complete in itself, but I needed to hear their voices today. Should I call? I did, and am so glad because I found out about new kittens and Ana with the blue hair and other vital details that might have otherwise passed without me knowing.  Besides, the voice of a friend is a gift itself, whatever the news. 

Zing and I unpacked more boxes. We have a room full of empty boxes again (the second bathroom). To forget about  boxes, I drove around midtown for fun, finding the boat dock on the river and food trucks circled like a wagon train in a park on Broadway. By mistake I found my way home, crossing a bridge that led to the Crocker Art Museum, which is three blocks from where I live. 

I ended up eating Steph’s delicious pasta for dinner with her and Patrick. 

And to show just how to end a lazy Sunday, Zing is already asleep on the leather footstool.

Love,
K

A quietly violent morning

Written last night:

Early this morning (about 6:45), Zing and I were walking alone on the street one block over, called Capitol Mall; This is a boulevard of a dozen or so blocks, connecting the Capitol Building at one end and a yellow bridge over the Sacramento River at the other. Shops and offices line the way. On weekdays it is busy, but nothing was happening there this morning. Or so I thought.

In front of a bank was a bench — a rarity around here —  so I sat down and let Zing’s leash go out far. He spotted a larger yellow dog across the street with a young woman in running clothes holding the leash.  Not too far behind her a man was slowly riding a bike. I didn’t take much notice. But then the young woman crossed the mall, turned and purposefully walked her dog by Zing and me. Naturally, Zing went out to greet them. I got up and went over to say Hi. “He’s following me!” the young woman said. Her eyes were both relieved and frantic, and her pain was out of place on this fresh Saturday. So Zing and I walked (strolled) along with her, and it turns out we had things in common, lots to talk about. She was shocked by her encounter, and so was I. So I drove her home and she in turn offered to help me with moving; we’ll probably meet for coffee or lunch next week. What a sad, quietly violent way to meet my first Sacramento friend!

When I got home (home!), I continued unpacking. Progress is visible, but only if you look around the mess. Later in the afternoon Patrick and Steph helped me so much. I don’t know which part I liked best — they drove me to Best Buy so I could order appliances (The same refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher that Clark and I first selected for our remodeled Tallahassee kitchen). Soon my Sacramento kitchen will be complete; funny how appliances can ground a person. Then we three had dinner outside at a casual midtown restaurant. After that, Steph drove us past well-kept parks and houses near midtown, so I can get acquainted with my new home, Sacramento. I like it. 

Love,
K

We're in!

Written last night:

I am leaning against pillows in my own bed in my new and still-messy condo, with Zing not quite at my side. After Clark died, Zing would always snuggle up to me on nights we were together, but tonight he’s at the very edge of the bed, ears cocked, watching the lights of the high-rise office buildings across the way,. He’s not used to this. Neither am I.

Now Zing’s sitting up straighter, alert.

I didn’t want to move in today; There are good reasons not to be here: I am welcome at Patrick and Steph’s; this place is still messy, filled with boxes; I don’t have kitchen appliances — only an ice chest, microwave and coffee maker. But the main reason not to move in, I suspect, is that I am reluctant to begin this new life in Sacramento without Clark. Sleeping in my new home makes it real. I don’t want it to be.  But it is, and here I am, with Zing, thank goodness. (Poor Zing has been at the kennel so long -- I finally showed up to get him 15 minutes before closing time today.)

OOOps! Excuse me! I hear something loud and strange outside, and so does Zing.

... I just stepped onto the narrow balcony outside the bedroom, expecting to see some kind of train or bus rumbling noisily, but no! 

… Fabulously, it is fireworks!

There's a fireworks display over the Sacramento River to welcome us. 

Clark may have staged the show.  The timing is perfect. Even if he did not, I know he would be happy that, persuaded by booming lights in the night sky, I acquiesce. I say yes. OK.  Hello, Sacramento! I am here. Thanks for the flashy welcome!

Earlier today, amid the tedium of unpacking, there were other welcomes. Late this morning I was hauling flattened boxes to the trash room on the first floor. There was enough corrugated cardboard to fill an elevator. (I am not joking.) I had a key that would keep the elevator doors open once I got to the first floor, so I could finish the terrible, tedious job. I was trudging the hall from the trash room to the still-open elevator, thinking of the horrible work before me, when I ran into the HOA manager and the cleaning professional, laughing as they dragged my boxes -- my boxes! -- down the hall, past me, and into the trash room. I was amazed because it is a dirty job dragging those boxes. “Thank you!” I said. “Oh, of course!” they said together, and they laughed again. “You’re welcome!” Together, we finished the chore in a minute.

And this evening, as Zing and I were walking near our building, we ran into a handful of others who live here, including two people who have been here 30+ years. All of them stopped to welcome us and to chat. I liked them. They made me feel welcome.

And then there were fireworks!

Love,

K

Home!