California breezes

Written last night:

Today Rosa's license plates are finally on --She loves her  California car jewelry.  The rear plate was easy — just exchange California for Florida —  but the front was a mystery. There were outlines in the bumper where screws might go, but no holes for the screws. I wondered if I needed an electric drill. (Rosa cringed at the thought.) The man at AutoZone on Broadway figured it out — they have screws sharp enough to pierce the perforations — and he attached the new plate.

Then Cameron helped me clarify what help I need to integrate my audio-video-tv system. Thanks, Cameron! Looks like I’ll be getting a Geek Squad visit soon.  

This evening Zing and I again crossed the bridge near the Crocker Art Museum. We took the River Walk all the way to where the concrete road ends; where young men were mingling -- and one asleep in a tent by the side of the road. There we  decided to turn around. It did feel great to be walking along water again, even without the scent of salt water. It was beautiful, and the wind blew around us like a scarf.

On the way home, just past the Crocker Museum, Zing and I crossed paths with a woman and her little dog. We stopped to chat, and the woman (Her name is Faith.) eventually said her husband has died and her son has died, and she is  depressed. “But you look so good,” I said to her. She rolled her eyes at me. “I feel like I’m in a dream,” she said, “like life is not real at all any more.” 

“We should have lunch!” I said. 
“I don’t know how we’d do that," she answered.
“I think we can figure it out."
In a turnabout, Faith jumped right in and suggested we meet on Saturday. “We can have lunch at the museum,” she said. So we will.

Along the Sacramento River

I would bark too if I could

Written last night:

I went out at noon. I was late. There is a noon concert every Wednesday at a church across from the Capitol. I love chamber music, so decided to see what this is like. Halfway there my friend Jennifer called, and I happened to be passing the Stanford mansion, so I sat on a park bench outside the big house, and we talked awhile. A talk with a friend is the best chamber music! 

Then I walked to the Post Office. By the time I got home it was 1:30 more or less and what should I see but a white envelope stuck in my door. “Is this about you?” I asked Zing. Yes, it was. The note was typed and anonymous by someone who has heard too much of Zing barking.  I think it’s from the man across the hall, since he looked down at the floor when I said hi to him, and I have met everyone else on the floor. (It goes back to my old journalism days --I don’t like anonymous notes, and we were advised then to disregard them.) But I knocked on the door across the hall. No one answered. 

So I researched collars that (gently?) shock dogs when they bark, and those that emit a citronella smell, and I got confused about what works. Then I made an appointment with the vet, and another with Cassie, the friendly dog-lover who runs Midtown Mutts. I decided to get more information from them before getting a training collar for Zing. 

Strangely, I am not nervous about what’s going to happen. I’m gathering information and proceeding. I wanted to tell him that. I feel for the guy. I hate barking dogs too. Zing has told me he’s had a lot of stress and change lately. We’ll figure this out. 

Love,

k

Rosa's legal!

Written last night:

Rosa is a registered Californian! I got her license plates and registration this afternoon, so she’s legal. Patrick and Steph, you were right! It was easy, as long as I had the papers and the money! I got in and out in a flash. What a relief! A couple of weeks ago I was so traumatized that I simply could not imagine doing this. And then today I looked around at all the people in the big (ugly) waiting room. Probably half of them were traumatized too. 

And yesterday I got my voter’s ID in the mail. I was worried there’d been a glitch (The election is rigged!), but once more I’d been fidgeting unnecessarily.

Seems like I'm on a roll toward normal … still, a couple of times today I  cried without notice: when setting up bill-pay for electric service (the woman on the phone was so kind.) and then on the elevator, after I’d held the door to wait for a man who seemed burdened. He carried many heavy bags. Turns out he was cleaning out the home of his sister, who had just died. He had my sympathy.

And, of course,  something else had to break today. If a thing breaks, then you get to know it well. Like people. Otherwise you take stuff for granted. Today it was the WiFi. Don’t ask me why. (Is that a poem?) Grrrrr! Its lights were flashing as they should (I thought), but still I couldn’t connect. I really wanted to hear the radio commentary on last night’s debate. I was determined to get the thing fixed (and also prove I know my way to the big box stores), so I headed right out to Xfinity, to make sure I’d paid my bill (Can’t ever reach one of the comcast/Xfinity people on the phone), but all the man did was try to sell me more service. He did think that since the lights were flashing on my box at home there was little he could do to help. So I headed over to Best Buy, where the Geek Squad kind of helped. I mean, my phone and iPad  worked there but didn’t work when I got home. Frustration! Why must I learn all this stuff??  Then I remembered what Clark said whenever our internet service blanked out: turn the box off and then on again. I did and it worked! Thank you, Clark! But why didn’t you remind me before I impetuously ran to those stores? 

Love,

k

Can Rosa make it tomorrow?

Written last night:

Lately I’ve been needlessly apprehensive about getting a California auto registration for Rosa and a driver’s license for me. Patrick and Steph have tried to convince me it’s all rather routine, as long as you’ve got the papers and your eyeglasses (for the vision test) and study the online practice tests. But don’t talk sense to me! Since Clark died I’ve been like walking through mud or chocolate pudding. Simple things like this have become hard. I can’t explain it and I can’t talk or think myself out of it. And then there’s my forever fear that things will of course go wrong. Such as: Clark died. But I know Clark wants me to snap out of this right now.  So I’m making a plan to think happy thoughts, not as an antidote to reality, but as reality itself. I know it will take lots of practice. But I’m doing it for you, Clark! and for me. 

I drove to the DMV for practice this morning and it is a circus. You can’t get a parking space; you just drive round and round the lot. Finally you spot someone approaching her car, as if to leave, and you get a little hope. But no, she puts her purse on the hood, leans against the car door and makes a phone call. Then she smokes a cigarette. Then a young woman in short shorts and high heels comes over and sasses her. They were still talking when the car next to them backed out without fanfare and I finally had a place to park. Go early! 

I wanted to see if I need my driver’s license before getting Rosa registered. No, said the lovely woman who operates the desk admitting all of us desperate people for whom a car or an ID card means so much. She was one of those people who make you think you are the only person in the world right now, even with the whole room around us just slightly under the boiling point.  She deserves a raise!

She gave me the forms i need, highlighted where I must sign, and sent me outside to have Rosa inspected. A brisk man with a white jacket and a clipboard (perfect professional combo) recorded the numbers inside Rosa’s hood and front door (driver’s side) and said that she had passed. Step one! I suspected I was more nervous than most, but no — the young man in the car behind me stepped out for a smoke and he was so nervous he was crouching on the ground. “I only want to sell my car!” he said. “Good luck!” I told him as I drove away (cautiously — you don’t want to be in a  a wreck in the DMV lot.) Tomorrow if I’m lucky I’ll get the registration. 

Later I had a massage; I never, ever thought I’d be a regular! I like it. I want to treat myself well, maybe even go overboard. I am squashing the martyr who lives deep inside me. (Do you ever want to do the same?) 

When I got back to the condo parking lot, a large white car was in my space. What do you do when you own one precious space? It’s not really flexible; there’s minimal on-street parking. There are also big parking lots around here, but I’m not sure they’re open to the public. I could eventually find a spot, good for two hours, if I circle the block patiently. I saw a man and asked him what the procedure is; he said it had happened to him, and “I just parked in someone else’s spot, and figured let them deal with it,” he told me… hmmm ….  then a young man came running, apologizing, but not too much. He zipped away in the white car and left me my spot.

This evening Zing and I walked by the K street Arena entrance and saw a TV reporter setting up, probably for a rather generic opening story. I passed one of those men in lavender shirts and asked what they mean. “Security,” he said. “This is our new uniform.” Do the guards like lavender shirts? I asked him. “Some of them don’t,” he said. “But I do.” 

Love, 

k

Arena news prep

Sunday undulations

Written last night:

It was a relaxing Sunday. First thing, Zing and I had to patrol the mall to make sure that yesterday’s Farm to Fork festival was all cleaned up, and then we went to the next block to survey Arena construction progress. (I can’t believe that I’m so interested in the Arena, and I know it’s because Clark would be intimately involved if he were here — Clark would no doubt step over barriers, talk to the workers, and befriend everyone involved.) 

Before 8 this morning people were scurrying about — many young men in lavender shirts — we couldn’t figure out what was happening, but it is a step up in the clothing department, where work clothes and hard hats are what we normally see. I think purple must be a color of the Sacramento Kings. Purple and gold? (I am completely stupid when it comes to basketball. Actually, Clark had to tell me quite a few times that the arena was being made for basketball. I knew it was some kind of sport...)

On our way back to the condo we passed two young men crouched on the sidewalk, trying to repair a bicycle. It looked like the bicycle was winning. The men may have been more than naturally confused. They were kind as we passed, fussing over Zing and calling me Miss. When we were down about half a block, I heard one of them shout after me, “Miss, we found a rose!” I turned around and saw him holding up a straggly dark red flower. “It’s for you! he said. “Here — you take it!” I know they meant well, but I didn’t go back for the rose. Instead I blew them a kiss and wished them good luck.

Then I had Sunday breakfast that Clark would have loved: coffee, berries, and warm cinnamon roll (I froze the ones from Ikea), along with reading the New York Times. Later, I went to the giant Sunday farmers market, that I’ve been hearing about, “under the freeway, rain or shine, open year-round.” They say you can get a parking spot, but that must be for early birds. I parked several blocks away, but it was a lovely morning so I didn’t really care. And Wow! Yes! It’s everything people had told me. The cheese man (one of many) described how he makes Parmesan-type cheese melt in a sandwich (Put the bread and cheese in the microwave for just a few seconds first, then grill or sauté.); the mushroom woman told me how to cook the fluted beauties that I’d bought (Keep them in the refrigerator, then sauté them for risotto, or an omelet; and the baker where I bought a tiny apple pie told me they’re not allowed to sell cookies at this market (“It has something to do with not getting kids hooked on sweets,” she said.)  These are cookies made from whole wheat flour and oatmeal.

I got home about lunchtime and made myself a salad from gorgeous greens I’d just bought. The farmers had lost their utensils, so I got to scoop the lettuces up with my hands and into a bag. I recognized dandelion greens and various lettuces, none of them wilted or yesterday-looking.

I had a great talk with Mary — glad she takes a long walk, because that’s when we talk!  And in the afternoon Zing and I went to Land Park, which Keith showed me when we went to the Tower Restaurant soon after I’d gotten here. It was dark then, and he described the place as big and very nice, with a zoo, but I had to imagine it.  In daylight, Land Park is green and well- mowed, lots of benches and tables under large trees, many ball fields, a zoo, a golf course, and much more. All surrounded by a lovely neighborhood. (No homeless in sight). It was fun to be out in nature instead of on the city streets, but the park is not wild.  

Rosa kind of guided me home, and for a while we were on one of those residential streets that has gentle dips and rises. The traffic signs said “Undulations.” 

… ups and downs …

Love,
k

Workers in front of the arena early Sunday morning

Watermelon turnips, above
and Maitake mushrooms, below

My lunch: Farmers market greens
fried bread, raspberries, tomatoes

Weekend magic

Written last night:
Even when a person (me) does not have a M-F work-week anymore, Saturday can be delightfully off-track: Zing and I cherish the illusion that we have the streets mostly to ourselves then, along with a few others without schedules. Instead of hustling office-workers, we greet sunrise-loving joggers and bike-riders, dogs and their dog-walkers. This morning, though, was different: we ran into lots of workers — heads-down,  intent on beating schedules: Before 8 a.m. men in orange vests were running (literally) around the new Arena, which has a grand opening Oct. 1, and nearby on Capitol Mall scores of young people hustled to set up booths before the Farm to Fork festival opened later today. Zing and I swooped past this frenzy and headed to the Capitol, with its wide green park. There we edged past kids and parents and pets and people in scary-crazy costumes, all waiting for the start of a parade. I saw posters about infertility and hope, promoting infertility as a legitimate disease with possibilities for a cure that included acupuncture. More toward afternoon, walking home after a brunch with Patrick and Steph, I came upon the start of another parade. “What do we want?” the leader shouted to her straggling stalwarts.  “Justice for elephants!” they shouted back, and began to march.  

That brunch at the Porch (I had a shrimp po-boy and coffee in a big white cup) was golden. Clark, thank you! for leaving me with such treasures! P & S were going to the hills right after we ate, and I find myself even now reaching out to re-live this morning. Not to be dramatic — it’s just that death makes everyday moments like this matter. 

When I heard of the "Farm to Fork" festival to be held today around the corner from where I live, I couldn’t wait. Yesterday I scoped the blocks where it was being set up and took a photo of a lone old truck signifying the history of farming in this area. But when I finally strolled over this afternoon -- maybe I was tired out — I was disappointed. I guess I expected a giant farmers market and what I found was mostly promotional booths for everything from honey to rice to goat meat. I saw a monk in yellow robes and people with rainbow hair and many families with babies and dogs loving the food truck fare. Nothing tempted me, so I went home and made a grilled cheese sandwich with a slice of farmers market tomato. 

There’s more — the tedious stuff even invades the weekend — collecting papers for auto registration and reassuring myself that yes, maybe I will be able to pass the driving test, that I should just study the online materials and take the leap. "Bound to fail” is hardly the attitude I’d recommend to anyone else, but it’s hard to chase that irrational fear from my own heart. 

A lovely talk with Susan interjected my afternoon, and evening closed discussing free-motion quilting on the phone with Janis, just as if we were face to face with a piece of art between us. That’s weekend magic.
Love,
k

Above and below,
preparing for Farm to Fork

Farm to Fork display

Before the Infertility March for Hope
Capitol Park

Justice for Elephants and Rhinos march

Promoting honey,
Farm to Fork Festival

The words are out there somewhere, aren't they?

Written last night:

I just did one of those things where you erase everything you’ve written. (Yes, Mona -- Like you did the day before!) 

Briefly, it said I took an AARP safe driving class this morning. I thought it might give me some confidence, and it did. I left determined to re-adjust my side mirrors and to clean Rosa’s windows often, and to be decisive, not hesitant, when making turns. To be respectful of large trucks. To turn right more often than left… 

I’m going to take Zing out now. I try not to take this last walk too late. (But don’t worry — my street is well-lit and mostly empty of stragglers, and lined with first-floor residences.) Zing is asleep on a heap of pillows, but he loves this last walk. 

He told me he’s given up barking when I’m gone. I just say "No bark" as I head out the door, and give him a treat when I come back. "Good boy, no bark!" I say. I swear it's working. 

Tomorrow I’ll try to keep my words afloat. Happy Saturday! 

Love, 
k

A new season

Written last night:

Even here in California the trees are losing their autumn leaves. You can step through crunched golden crumbs on the sidewalk, then look up and see they came from the tree shedding leaves without ceremony. As in Tallahassee, fall here is not splashy, but leaves do drop, it is chilly in the morning, and the days are shorter: 6 a.m. is dark now. It seems like, without ceremony, I too am shedding — not leaves, but I am letting go of a season — the stunned feeling that covered me these last three months is dropping away. 

Today, for instance, was kind of normal! First thing, I dealt with the bank and the insurance agency (simple questions, really, finalizing the transition from Tallahassee to Sacramento). Now I don’t hesitate to ask "dumb” questions without apology.  Later in the morning I practiced driving, like a 16-year-old. I’m going to have to take a driving test to get a California license. I drove  up Broadway to the DMV and picked up the book to prepare for the driver’s test. On the way home I got lost, kind of on purpose,  disregarding the Mazda navigation system. Rosa and I went home by instinct. I also drove around in West Sacramento, which is just across the bridge, and got lost and found myself there too. A week or so ago I simply couldn’t have done this. I was frozen. My life in Sacramento is beginning to warm up. 

Not that I’m completely normal! No, my transition is slow, like autumn leaves fall, one by one. But I do feel more “myself.” I did other normal things today, like give Zing a bath, and tell him sternly “No Bark!” I walked to the library to sign up for a card, and made a donation to the public radio station, which Clark and I always did, and took note which streets are filled with people and which ones empty quickly after 5 p.m. I learned my cruise control wasn’t working because I hadn’t turned it on. Oh, and I made a quick trip to Ikea in West Sacramento. I bought some cinnamon rolls, which is reason enough to go to Ikea. They’re right up front, and you don’t even have to venture into the terrible maw of furniture and style beyond. I did go in there, but it was overwhelming. I’m not ready for the complete Ikea experience yet.

Love,
k

Wind by the river

Written last night:
I have a thing for bridges, as you know. Brooklyn Bridge, Golden Gate Bridge, southern Indiana covered bridge — all are thrilling, but the best for me is the Rickenbacker in Miami. I love the way it feels at the rise near the center. There is always a breeze, always a broad view, and sometimes even a bit of drama from the passers-by or the mementos left on the railing. Everyone says there’s so much gorgeous nature for me to experience around Sacramento — but secretly, to me, it will have to measure up to that wild feeling at the middle of the Rickenbacker. Today I got a little taste of it. 

About 5 p.m. Zing and I walked the few blocks to the Crocker Art Museum. (Part of the way I balance-walked on the curb.) Just beyond the museum there’s a short, unassuming bridge over the freeway. For the first time, we crossed over it. Ho-hum. We found ourselves on the River Walk, a broad cement path overlooking the Sacramento River. I was unimpressed. Rivers remind me of work and places you go when you can’t get to the ocean. I sat on a bench, gazed at the water, with the freeway buzz close behind me. Then I stood up and began to walk the path with Zing, and right then the wind picked up and swirled my hair; for just a few seconds it  felt like that strong Rickenbacker breeze. (To me, the wind is magic and God and maybe even Clark all rolled up in a gust.) It felt great, and I thought maybe I’ll give this river a chance.

Earlier this afternoon I talked with Florida friends Jennifer, an artist from Tallahassee, and Pam, whose career at Carrollton kind of echoed mine.  I am delighted that friendship stretches this far! 

As for work — it was the usual: screwing chairs together, driving to Michael’s to get art framed, digging down deep into the automatic bill pay function of the bank … answering stupid questions like what was the make and model of your first car? Fiat 500, of course. Don’t tell! 

Tomorrow is the first day of Fall. Wherever you are, enjoy the change!

Love,
k

Losing power

Written last night:

I don’t even know how to tell you — today the electricity suddenly went off midmorning. I was screwing the legs of one of those new chairs to its seat when the A/C halted and the refrigerator clicked. I figured it was somehow related to all the construction going on around here. After all, I could see three big cranes on the roof of the Wells Fargo building on the next corner, and I could hear city workers sawing limbs off the trees down at street level. After a while I opened the doors to the balcony because it was getting hot inside. Finally I went to the HOA office on the first floor to see what had happened. They had no idea. No one else had complained. (Just then a woman named Darius peeked in to say her lights had indeed flickered some time ago.) I went back upstairs and the condo was still dim. The freezer registered 17° instead of zero. The clock on the stove was flashing. I was finishing up that first chair when it dawned on me that I had probably not paid my electric bill. That’s right — I paid Sacramento utilities, but I discovered today that it did not include electricity. The condo association pays something but it’s not electricity. (It’s trash pickup.) In the maelstrom that has been my brain all these things got jumbled. 

The beauty is I made a call to the city and quickly talked to an actual person. She said they try to notify people when a turn-off is imminent, but sometimes in condos and apartments that does not happen. She got me hooked up in less than 30 minutes, working so kindly and efficiently that I didn’t even feel embarrassed. (I’m more embarrassed telling you!) So that was this morning. 

I had relied on Clark, and he on me for these bills. They came up one by one and we talked them over. Often it was Clark who made the phone calls concerning service. Once set up, they worked smoothly and we -- or at least I -- barely thought about it.

But this afternoon I made a sweep of other bills I’d been paying, without changing from the old setup. AT&T (They seem to call it ATT now.) was still in Clark’s name and I hadn’t streamlined the number of devices on the account. Today seemed like the day to take care of that. No harm done there, thank goodness! 

You hear about people who lose electric service routinely, then pay the bill and have power turned back on. Today it was me.  

This took so much time that the afternoon slipped away. I got another chair put together, but have two to finish up tomorrow. 

At lunchtime Zing and I walked over by City Hall, and one block beyond we came upon a well-preserved Victorian house turned into a Hostel. 

Really, when you visit me I expect all my services will be well organized, but if you feel you need the name of a good, dependable hotel, that hostel is a quick walk down Fifth Street. I noticed that the lights were on inside.

Love,

k

Waiting for the creation

Written last night:

I feel kind of worn out. I guess it’s that pieces of life here are coming together: budget, handyman, learning the road to Home Depot. Even after dinner tonight someone knocked on the door; it was delivery of four chairs for the trestle table. Now their big boxes block the hallway. Pretty soon I’m going to have to start really living here, and that is scary.

To get our bearings this morning, Zing and I walked to the main library on I Street, and then to City Hall nearby. These are the bones of the city, and I need to know where they are. We passed fast-walking early risers balancing their coffee and their iPhones, and also plenty of homeless. A woman sat on the sidewalk, pulling on her socks, and right on City Hall lawn two men huddled under sleeping bags, with a third body between them — a large, yawning dog whose head popped up as Zing passed by.

When I’m painting or making a quilt there’s often a point just before the end when it all feels wrong. Then, you keep right on going and whoosh! soon you’ve created something new, or it has created you. That’s where I am now: waiting for the creation to happen!

Love,
k

Sacramento City Hall 

Cesar Chavez Park
across from City Hall

but can dogs fly?

Written last night:

I love to walk on Sundays; nobody much is around. You feel you own the town. It’s a good time to get to know a new city. I’m beginning to feel like my old self — able to explore on foot without pain. Also, I wanted to tire Zing out. It’s been a long time since we had those 4-mile runs in the woods. I think I succeeded -- Zing is fast asleep on a pillow next to mine. 

We got up at 6. As the sun was rising we walked down to the Capitol. No one was there. 

When we got home I made myself a hearty Sunday breakfast — potatoes and green onions and bacon and an egg. I’ve been eating kind of light, but not on Sundays!

I spent an hour or more reading the Times, or most of it, and then I took Zing out again for a long jaunt. (It was going to be short, but one thing led to the next.) We ended up crossing the Sacramento River on what I’ve been calling “the yellow bridge.” Up close it really is golden. Everything here is golden. Yellow with a shine. Then we went along the River Walk, which I’ve been told is lovely and also a good place to encounter homeless people. Yes, the first person I saw was asleep on the cement, with a backpack nearby and a grocery cart not far away. I wanted to walk where he was, because it led under the bridge, but decided against it. Yet, Sunday felt perfectly safe, and it was.

Not knowing what we’d find, Zing and I strolled the bank of the river, taking the low path close to the water. It's not the grasses and wide fields of our walks back at Phipps Park in Tallahassee. Rivers are so — narrow! This was the closest we’ve gotten to open country, a little broader in feel than Paradise Beach along the American River. It’s odd to feel constrained by Nature herself. (No offense, Mother Nature!) 

We encountered families and joggers, and eventually a food truck festival (“Off the Grid”), with chairs and even shady tents, free for anyone to use, overlooking the river. My friend Mona called, and I sat there in the shade facing the river, talking to her. On our way home Zing and I took a detour to what is called “Old Sac,” or “Old Town.” It’s a busy and fun clutch of restaurants and an old train and other links to the past — it seems a popular Sunday family spot. As we left, a woman approached me for directions. Luckily, her question was simple.

I determinedly don’t do much on Sunday, so I spent the rest of the afternoon puttering in my studio and putting books on the shelves in the big white living room. 

Time for another walk! (I did this one more for myself than to tire Zing out.) 

And who should we meet in front of our building but the dog who jumped off the 15th floor balcony and lived to tell about it. Clark and I heard the story when the realtor explained the reason for the mesh between our balcony railings. She told us that a couple of years ago a dog had slipped through and — unbelievably — landed in the hot tub. I believed her at first, but then we told a skeptical Patrick and Steph, and began ourselves to think the story a fiction, an urban legend. But no — this afternoon Zing was nuzzling up to a black dog on the sidewalk. His owner, Kyle, and I began to talk. The dog is blind, Kyle said, with cataracts.  Just before Christmas a couple of years ago, Sam (the dog) and Kyle were on their 15th floor balcony, and in a split-second when Kyle wasn’t looking, Sam slipped through an opening to the neighbor’s balcony and then pushed through the railings and fell, landing (one supposes) with a splash in the community hot tub, swam a couple laps around it, and then got out and collapsed, with several broken ribs. A neighbor on the eighth floor had seen him fly past the window. The neighbor rushed downstairs. Kyle did too. Sam survived, got interviewed by TV and newspaper and now walks around, a celebrity dog, a real-life urban legend.

So an uneventful Sunday was amazing after all.

Love,

k

Sam, the dog who flew

Zing

Almost home: from bleak to cozy

Written last night:

Today my condo feels kind of like home. Actually it is home, just not complete. I put the ukulele that Patrick painted for Clark and the clock that was a wedding gift to Clark’s grandparents on the new shelves, and maybe tomorrow I’ll add the books that are now heaped on the floor. Clock and ukulele and books too  are signs of life. Each reverberates in its own way. There’s Rig’s Asian art leaning against the woodwork, and Clark’s Tallahassee barn photograph and his photo of gorgeous graffiti (whose, Patrick?) nearby, waiting for my final OK.  

OK!

Not to mention flowers from the farmers market in a red vase, over by the window so you can see them reflected too.  Oh, and the TV, front and center. And the stained glass lamp Dad made for me is on the heavy trestle table that was Clark’s parents’. 

The place is warming up.

When I was describing my decor to Maria last night it sounded bleak: white and empty.  But today I see my condo is full of warmth and memories, just not quite “put together” yet. I am beginning to feel at home.

Zing and I walked a lot today: over to T Street,  where we came upon a small music festival in a park, with a young man riding his bicycle in backward circles in time to the music. The park is across the street from Our Lady of Guadalupe national shrine; up past the California Park Department office (which is in one of those old Victorian houses); and in the morning we went up to the Capitol, where we saw young people in fancy dress posing for photographs.

This morning I went to the Saturday farmers market, where the woman who pressed a free tomato on me last week gave me a bunch of grapes today. I’m eating them now; they’re smaller than grocery store fruit -- sweeter, tastier.   

This afternoon I found my way to a giant shopping area, with Walmart, Ikea, Home Depot and other big box stores. I only ran in to Walmart and out again (although Ikea called to me)). When I left the condo, I kind of knew it was very close to Zing’s walk time. “Wait for me!” I told him, and he seemed to nod OK. But when I got back an hour later, there was an anonymous note on my door that said, “Your dog barks a lot.” 

I had a talking to with Zing, and he told me I should respect his pee needs. 

I was feeling like a bad neighbor, but then we went for a walk and Zing was loved by everyone: a woman in a wheelchair; a retired minister walking his growling black dog; a young man who said his girlfriend loves dogs like Zing, and finally the woman who cuddled him on the elevator. When she got off she said to me, “Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t even looked you in the eye! I love your dog!” 

“Yes,” I said. “So does everybody.”

Love,

k

Dinner, with conversation

Written last night:

Just came home from a lovely dinner with Keith and Maria. We ate outside under the flowers and vines at the Tower Restaurant. It’s Maria’s favorite, and fast becoming mine. Delicious food, perfect service, and they let us stay and talk and talk and talk. Most restaurants I know would kind of hover and wonder if you were going to ever leave. We were tossing ideas and memories and hopes back and forth and probably could have stayed longer … Thanks, Keith and Maria, for a lively evening!

Chris and Sandy -- educators -- you must be here soon! We were talking about kids’ obsession with technology and how we who are older just can’t understand it and how teachers  are under-appreciated and often talked-down to. Keith says you, Chris, engage teachers in give and take and of course respect their ideas and hands-on experience. I wonder what it all means, if indeed what we are saying today will matter a bit tomorrow. 

We also talked about moving and changing and paring back our possessions. Maria is tackling much the same as I’ve been doing recently, in her own way. 

It was a fun end to a tense, business-oriented day for me. I had been putting off a couple of daunting chores. For some things, I expect the worst, even when it is really unlikely. Every time I call a bank (today Capital City Bank in Tallahassee) or deal with car stuff (getting a smog test for Rosa — a requirement for California license plates), or work with the printer on something new (today it was scanning — I used to be able to do that, but aren’t things different in California?) my heart goes bumpy and I feel like a loser. The bank will laugh at my question; Rosa will fail the test (No, not Rosa!); the printer will go offline and never come back … I’m not easy with cars or banks or technology. Today I tried to put a new face on. Yay! I thought, I will of course pass the Smog test (Rosa did indeed pass); Yay! I get to talk to the bank. They love me because I am a peer — I know what I am talking about; and Yay! I get to make the printer do what it’s supposed to do: scan the documents as I command. 

And indeed these things happened today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Love,
k

On a food note: For lunch today I tested the chili I made yesterday. My eating habits are changing, of course. For the past three months I barely knew what was on the plate. And now I'm eating more simply -- it's not the same when you don't have someone to share your meals. So I have this faint notion of frozen chili packets and red beans that I cooked separately, to eat with the chili or some other way. I used this great recipe my friend Teresa gave me ages back. I never follow it exactly, but it is always delicious.
Teresa's chili recipe