Making it home

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

In spite of myself I am making a home here. 

Most of me doesn’t want to do it — have a life, without Clark. 

You know I’ve been plugging away at organizing my studio — the last room to get neat here. It's a heap  of paint and paper and fabric and tools. Settling it could take forever. Part of me has been back-pedaling, like I didn’t want to complete the job. But this afternoon I was sitting there, crouched on the floor actually, finishing up a bulletin board. I had just telephoned Scott the curtain man. He promises my windows will have shades by Tuesday. And Home Depot is installing counters and sinks (that Clark and I had chosen together) the day after tomorrow. These are the last big jobs. And here I was, putting final touches on the studio. I sat there on the floor and cried. Tomorrow would be our 42nd anniversary, and I am alone in this new home that’s mine whether I want it or not. I longed to start life with Clark all over again. So I sobbed for awhile.

If he saw what I am doing, Clark would nod yes. He would want me to have this comfortable new home. Now I’m going to have to live in it. 

Then late this afternoon Zing and I took a long walk around Land Park. (It is dangerously close to the donut store on Freeport Boulevard.) But no — we explored the park, a new area this time, a kind of kiddieland with a train. That section will be locked up until the weekend, but I could tell it's a great feature for kids! There are pony rides too, and a zoo. And lots of open space for my dog and me. It was only 5 p.m., but  getting dark as we drove home through the Land Park neighborhood, which is kind of like Oakwood near Dayton. Gracious homes with some years on them.

Like some of us!

Love,
k

Big but boring

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

OK, today was boring. To talk about, anyway. 

I might be coming to the end of getting my new home organized. (I hate to say condo… something negative about the term … and it’s not exactly an apartment … so I call it my home, my place. Do you have any ideas?)  Today I did little things that need to happen before the shades and curtains are installed next week, and the sinks and counters this Thursday. Phone calls, dry cleaners, etc. I sound so nonchalant, but these are big jobs! And I know something can go wrong in each. As a matter of fact, I expect something to go wrong in each.  We’ll see.

Love,
k

Slow Sunday

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

It was a slow Sunday, the kind I love.

This morning Zing and I met Jody, who was walking his wife’s service dog. We stood still on the sidewalk, as we do whenever our paths cross in the morning, and we talked awhile. All at once we realized we could be walking the dogs as we talked. Duh! Because we came from different directions, we would just stand still, forgetting why we were out in the first place. Sometimes it takes a long time to be smart.

Later, I went to the big farmers market under the freeway, and I told the farmer that I had made the best apple pie ever for Thanksgiving, thanks to his Granny Smith apples. “I keep them on the tree a month and a half longer than some people do,” he told me. (Or was it a week and a half?? I forget.) “You see how my apples have some red and yellow on them? That’s why.” I thanked him, and then I bought more, this time for applesauce.  

His carrots were almost gone: people were coo-ing over the purples and the oranges. 

And I bought a manzanita wreath for the holidays. It reminds me of the magnolia wreaths from Tallahassee. Although the leaves are much smaller, they seem sturdy and likely to last a long time. 

Love,

k

Farmers market carrots

Gray and relaxing

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Mid-morning I met a young man on the elevator. “I’m going to spend the day watching college football,” he said sheepishly, gesturing to the six-pack of beer he was carrying. 

It was that kind of day, gray and relaxing after the holiday. And of course I would have heard much more about college football if Clark were still around. (I hear Ohio State was playing some team to the north.)

Patrick, Steph and I had lunch at Zócalo, a popular Mexican place around the corner from where they live and not far from me. Before that, we all used the gym, me slow and they, fast. My building has an unassuming but well-equipped gym that opens onto a small garden with a pool. It’s too cold to swim out there now. It’s rainy and the leaves are falling fast, and some people are wearing winter coats (me), while others are in shirtsleeves. California! 

I finished the day reading love poems in search of sweet lines for Gretchen and Rich, listening to music and drinking my new favorite relaxer — Camomile tea. Then I had some wine. 

Love,
k

Making Scrooge laugh

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I missed Clark sharply today … after the holiday … after the election … after the initial months of numbness at his death … now things are real again. I’d like to talk to him about this!

A nap on the purple couch helped and so did that deep breathing I was telling you about, plus a long bath and then lunch with Steph and Patrick at a place called, perfectly, Dad’s.  The food was so good (fried eggplant sandwich with avocado and red onion). Then we went to a doughnut shop and I don’t like donuts but these are scrumptious, as is the bakery next door. It’s the one with the pink boxes. Really, the food here in Sacramento is fabulous. It cheered me up considerably!

Yesterday Zing and I walked by the Capitol building; I could see a bit of commotion there and wanted to get closer — maybe it was a demonstration of some sort — But no; it seemed to be a Thanksgiving ritual. The small orderly crowd of cars and kids were all gathered to watch workers put up a Christmas tree in the Capitol! 

It’s enough to make a Scrooge laugh.


Love,
k

Cinnamon and chocolate

Written two nights back:

Dear Friends,

Some people I have come to know here — however briefly — have asked me how I’m spending Thanksgiving, and when I say with Patrick and Steph their faces relax. I think they were concerned about my first Thanksgiving without Clark. (Maybe they were worried they might have to ask me to dinner!) These firsts are supposed to be extra hard, but, really, every day is a first and I’ve had a lot of hard by now. I expect to enjoy tomorrow. I hope you do too!

The holiday began this morning, when Gretchen called and we had a long conversation. Thanks, Gretchen!

Then Zing and I headed to UC-Davis for our follow-up appointment with Karen, the behavioral veterinarian. We met Cassi, the dog trainer, there too; she is learning along with us. I was so disappointed the other day, when Zing barked that last hour when I was out to dinner with Keith and Judy. I began to wonder where all this is leading. But Karen reassured me; she said Zing has improved dramatically — way faster than they expected. You know how day-by-day and close-up things can get distorted. Karen was seeing from a larger and more objective view, and I trust her. We went over “advanced” activities for me and Zing. Essentially it’s me moving farther and farther from him, until I open the door and leave and return  — starting with a fleeting time outside in the hall to the ultimate goal of me coming and going with ease. Karen said it might take three months. 

The exercises take time and concentration. I am lucky to be free to do it.  (Zing feels it’s worthwhile for me to get all this training.)

Then I cooked, with a scented candle burning in the kitchen and music on the radio. It was getting dark, so the kitchen felt cozy. I used to cook this way at least once a week, but haven’t since Clark died. It was fun, and the house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate. Not a bad beginning for the holiday!

Love,
k

Thanksgiving apple pie

I finally know the secret of the key

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

As Thanksgiving nears, I miss Clark because it was our favorite holiday. Lately, I am beginning to be energized by him, as well. Energized to take it easy, to not worry, to wait awhile. To enjoy. That's what he was always telling me. Thank you, Clark!

So today when I got lost on the way to Arden Mall, I decided to take it easy and not to go to the mall at all. I didn’t really want to, but for a moment it had seemed imperative to buy a pillow to decorate the bed. I did get as far as the parking lot, so now I know the way. 

And, thanks to Clark, this evening I just sat still for 30 minutes. He used to do that, sitting in his leather chair. Thinking. It made me nervous… But earlier this week I read something about breathing in to the count of five and out to six. Today, sitting at the table after dinner, I began counting my breaths, but it was too much trouble. So I just sat. Not thinking.

Speaking of simple things — don’t tell anyone, but this week I learned to turn a key in the lock. Duh! We -- or at least I — rarely used a key in Tallahassee, thanks to the automatic garage door and also our watchful and quiet neighborhood. I kind of forgot how to use a key. This whole time in California I’ve been jiggling around at my front door, acting nonchalant but feeling stupid, taking too much time to get into my own house. I thought the lock was old, uncared for. I bought some black powder you spray into the keyhole to make the thing work, but it didn’t. I felt like an interloper at my own front door. I mean, who can't get into her own place? I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the secret of getting the key out of the lock. It took me a while to discover what everyone else knows. 

These are today’s simple changes that I owe to Clark’s spirit. 

Love,

k

Apples for Thanksgiving pie

One bark forward, two barks back

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I’m cringing as I write because I’m listening to Zing barking on the recording. He was supposed to be all calm because I’d given him a tranquilizer prescribed by the vet at UC Davis.  I turned on the recorder when I left  a couple of hours ago to have dinner around the corner with Keith and Judy. I don’t like the idea of medicating Zing so I can leave, but even more I don’t like the idea that it doesn’t work.

I’ve got 53 more minutes to listen and he’s barking already. Maybe he’ll stop.

(On the other hand, it was fun to have dinner and conversation at the Italian restaurant.) 

Zing did go a whole hour before starting, and he isn’t barking constantly. There are minutes of silence followed by whines and sharp barks. The medicine calmed him, but not enough. This is hard. I am writing this and listening to my iPad at the same time. Can you hear Zing’s faint whine? No barking now. Oh, yes, now! One sharp bark. If I were a neighbor I’d be disturbed. Zing is disturbed too. Worst, the vet said never to let Zing get to this point again, so I unwittingly did exactly the wrong thing.

Wednesday we’re going to UC Davis for the follow-up appointment. (Zing is quiet now.I can hear the music from the radio that I left on in the studio.) I am going to turn the Zing recording off. I get the idea. I don’t know if I have the patience to see this through. 

Except, at this moment Zing is sleeping peacefully at my feet. His recorded barking doesn’t disturb him in the least. 

Love,

k

Pie crust and peacock meat

Written last night;

Dear Friends,

Today was simple. I made pie crust and then realized I’ve given away my pie pans. I guess I thought I would never make pie again. Don’t worry! This morning I also bought pie apples at the farmers market under the freeway. I am definitely going to make pie again — this week! Tomorrow I’ll buy new pans. 

That market is overwhelming, from the drummers at the entrance to the throngs with market baskets to the multitudes of mushrooms — my head buzzes for an hour after I leave. The farmer from Apple Valley told me he’d brought 700 pounds of carrots this morning — purple and yellow and orange ones, with those little hairs sticking out all around. By the time I got there, the carrots were almost gone. And when I left the market, a little boy had joined the drummers, and people were dancing all around them. 

Then I stopped at Safeway for ice cream and wine, and you know how the simple chat with the cashier can go: somehow our quick banter led to the subject of peacocks … I remember! A bird had flown into the supermarket and was chirping and swooping but not really bothering anybody ...  and the conversation went from there. The man behind me chimed in that he had eaten peacock at a wild foods get-together. “Is it stringy?” I asked. “No, it’s meaty.” he said. “Peacock meat is delicious. It’s pink. I don’t understand why we don’t eat more of it.” 

Love,
k

The farmers market under the freeway

I lost the plug and found my people

Written last night:

I’m sitting in my kitchen … it’s big enough for an easy chair — the green one from a corner of our old dining room. I think this is my favorite spot. This chair used to be Zing's favorite; now it’s mine. He has has claimed a corner of the couch.  

Today was supposed to be so simple: Zing went to the gym, I to the farmers market. Then I set up the sewing machine to hem the drapes. (You do know I am resisting this chore, don’t you?) I had everything ready and then discovered I don’t have the plug! Somewhere between Tallahassee and here I lost the plug for the sewing machine!  First I panicked and then I Googled. Found out Bernina machines are 15 minutes (or less) away. I called. They had the connection I need. Zing and I drove over, and I was amazed to find a giant fabric, thread, and sewing machine store very close to me. I’m afraid that I reacted with awe when I stepped over the threshold, kind of like I would react at the Vatican or the Pyramids. “Wow!  Sacred space!!”  The Bernina staff lit incense on me and gave me the plug and sent me away with a blessing. I’m glad I lost the plug, because in the process I found my people.

Then Zing and I went for a walk in the rain and passed a sad monument. Only a block away from where we live is the Japanese-American Civil Liberties Monument, an unassuming building that we'd passed many times. It's next door to a barber shop and surrounded by apartment buildings. Today I took the time to read the signs out front, commemorating the forced internment of Japanese Americans in WWII. It’s a memorial to the whisking away of Japanese Americans, who were feared in WWII. There’s a display on the street that describes in simple terms their great loss, and also their amazement that they were treated this way. The horror echoes today. 

Above and below, parts of the signs near the sidewalk

in front of the Japanese-American Civil Liberties Monument

A simple day

Written last night:

Dear Friends,
I was going to say this was a simple day, but just now Zing and I came into the lobby from our evening walk as Chad was going out. He’s the husband of Sandra, who owns Zing’s gym. We chatted at the door. Chad is getting his pilot’s license. He loves learning. In these things, he reminds me of Clark.

Then Janie came in with her husband, who was carrying a bag of fish tacos. Then a couple with their year-old child, Grayson, and we all started talking -- standing there in the lobby. About restaurants and children and dogs. Someone suggested we should do this again. But really, the spontaneity was the great thing. Then we all went our ways.  

Other than that, it was a simple day. 

Love,
k

Wine country or work?

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I promised myself to hem the drapes. But I also promised myself to take Zing for a long walk — wild if possible — every Tuesday and Thursday. Those are the days we would run 4 miles in the woods in Tallahassee. I want to get back to that. I was a coin toss: hem drapes or go exploring? Hmmm…. 

I can finish the drapes tomorrow.

At 1 p.m. we drove to Napa and Yountville, places people have been raving about for the natural beauty and, of course, for wine country. I put Thomas Keller’s  Bouchon Bakery in Yountville  as my navigation destination and took off. The bakery and cafe are part of Keller’s food empire that includes the French Laundry restaurant, where my Saturday friend had eaten a glorious and expensive three-hour dinner a week or so ago. Yountville is just up the road from Napa. 

Our drive took a little more than an hour. When we arrived, we took a long walk around town, then bought baked goods to go: a $10 slim slice of quiche (very light and tasty, but with a sorry, soggy crust) four croissants and two pecan rolls. From the nibbles I’ve had so far, I’ve got to say the rolls are pridefully made, but not over-the-top delicious. Flaky, yes. Overpriced, yes. Will I come back for more? Yes. 

I was not prepared for wine country. I expected quaint roadside signs announcing wineries every now and then, but it’s more like winery, winery, winery. And then you get to Yountville, which is like a deluxe Disneyland of wine and food: one long road of deliciousness. Summer camp for sybarites. Me. You.  Classy, understated hotels and a couple of clothing stores. A cultivated cemetery. And the scenery looked like a label on a wine bottle — rows of vines with rolling hills in the distance, and maybe a Spanish-style building in the foreground. They aren’t faking it; that’s the way it really is!

Thursday was not too busy, but I have the feeling weekends can be crushing. Zing and I will be back soon, looking for a dog-friendly hotel and nature paths to explore. Then I’ll go out to dinner. 

Love, 

k

Late afternoon on Washington Street, Yountville, CA

Thanksgiving is for dogs too

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I dropped Zing off at Grateful Dog early and was amazed to see a Thanksgiving menu posted. Dog guests will eat turkey, green beans, cranberries — either as-is or mixed with dog food.

“That’s a joke, right?” I asked. 

“No,” was the answer. “We’re serious.” 

“But dogs don’t like green beans, do they?”

“Some do.”

It was all said with a smile, so I can’t be too hard on them. I mean, what do I know about dogs anyway? 

After that I went to the gym. I mean, my gym, the one in this building. Not Zing's gym. I am lucky to live in a place with a (small, but big enough for me) exercise room. Dogs aren’t allowed, so I haven’t been there lately.  I generally think of gyms as torture chambers, but lately I have to use a stationary bicycle since I can’t run anymore.

Back upstairs, I opened a box that was in yesterday’s mail. I couldn’t remember buying anything online. Did I actually click on that candle that I’d looked at? No! It was fat Christmas candle size, but so much better: a surprise jar of Tupelo honey from the family of Colin, who was a student of mine in Tallahassee. His mom told me that her father had pulled the honey himself. (I’m not sure what that means -- I think it's about pulling the honey from where the bees store it.) Tupelo honey depends on trees in a tiny part of swampy north Florida and South Georgia. It’s mild and never crystalizes. If you visit me very soon you might get a biscuit with a taste of my Tupelo. But hurry!

At noon I was able hear chamber music at that church down N Street across from the Capitol. Today’s program was organs — not my favorite. So triumphal. It reminds me of elephants. But I loved it anyway, just sitting there listening. 

I spent the rest of the day measuring drapes, preparing to shorten them a bit before the window professionals show up to hang the shades.

Love,

k

Tupelo Honey

Thanksgiving is for dogs too,
especially at Grateful Dog

My peaceful stroll

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Just when I am overwhelmed with sadness, loss and details, I see something beautiful and it turns me around. Here, it is often the sky. Today I saw the most beautiful rainbow in my life — and you know there are gorgeous rainbows (sometimes double ones) in the Florida Everglades and out on the water.  What made this one different was that it was large, intensely colored, yet blurred. I would have taken a picture for you but I was driving on I-80. No taking photos — not even of rainbows — while driving in California!

Zing was at the gym again; it was his new playmate’s last day, and I had six hours to myself. I was feeling a little lost, so I decided to start with a nice, relaxing walk the few blocks to get a library card. I tried to get one a couple of months ago, but didn’t have any papers then to show I was a resident. They told me to come back with something with my address on it, but then I became aware of Zing’s separation anxiety  (SA, as they call it at the UC vet school), so since dogs can’t go to the library I’ve been putting it off. (I know, library cards seem rather quaint, don’t they? But I still want one.) 

The walk was supposed to clear my head, but I hadn’t strolled even a block when I noticed all these people lining the sidewalks by the federal building and also across the street. They were milling around in their shirtsleeves. There were no political signs. Somewhere inside a building a siren was screaming. There were several Homeland Security vans at the curb, and even a UC Davis Vet School van that said Attack Dogs, Stay Back. (Hi, UC! Remember me?) It didn’t seem to be a protest, but it wasn’t calm either. “Is this a strike?” I asked a man. “No,” he said, “a fire drill.” Hmmmm. 

When I got to the library, over on I street, there were a few straggling people lounging on the steps. Homeless, maybe. Inside, I learned that the system had scrubbed my initial application and I had to start over. Then I presented my California driver license and got the library card. Meanwhile, a woman was coughing and then throwing up into a waste basket nearby. “You can’t do that here, ma’am,” a guard said politely. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” We both left about the same time.

It hadn’t been a very relaxing walk, but at least I now have a Sacramento library card!

Next, I went to the food co-op (which is a kind of local, cramped and friendly Whole Foods) to check on Thanksgiving turkeys. Then, instead of going straight to my car, I walked around the block, which has a restaurant, wine bar, coffee shop, gluten-free bakery, meditation center, creative services agency, and I’m sure I’ve missed something, but you get the tone. Across the street behind the store is the Sacramento Food Pantry, with a long line of people. 

These contrasts can be disconcerting, but I always said I don't want to live in a bubble. 

This evening I drew some pears, and then I cut them up and made pear crisp with almonds. It smelled delicious. 

Love,

k