Finding friends

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

When I first met Helen I was crushed by Clark’s death and not very sociable. That was months ago — at the Women’s March right after the November election. We said we’ve got to get together, and finally today we did. I am lucky to be making friends, slowly.

Another friend is my neighbor Tony, who calls Zing his “therapy dog.” Tony watched Zing while I was out today, and it seemed to do them both good. They took two walks. Later, I left Zing alone in our condo for short times (30 seconds!), and he stayed on the couch while I was out in the hall. This is progress --he used to rush over to the doorway as soon as I clicked the latch. The experts say it takes intense patience to work with a dog’s separation anxiety, and I’ve decided to go for it.  There’s nothing to lose, except time. 

Tomorrow I hope to make art all day. I’m telling you so that I live up to the commitment.  

Love,

k

Ready to work
in the studio

Weekend splash

From the weekend
Dear Friends,

Sunday night:

The only thing to say today is I love Ace Hardware of I Street
They help in a personal way that Home Depot just cannot match.

Yesterday Rosa got a notice flashing on her dashboard "Key battery low. Replace soon."

I have no idea what that means — and I don’t really want to know. I checked YouTube and it got even more complicated to my brain. So today I went to Ace, where the man at the key station looked up that very YouTube, and in a minute he had my key renewed. For $6.95. This is one of the things Clark used to figure out easily, and I don’t want to. So I will keep going back to Ace. Their personal service seems an anomaly now, with everything so mechanized. But I’m not the only happy customer — there was a long line at the register when I went in. I am so lucky to have the store nearby!

I know this sounds like an ad.  It isn’t.

Monday night:

When I write Family, my thinking is extending, stretching. Today was a lazy afternoon with family at Judy’s -- her family, and Keith’s, all of us connected somehow. Almost everyone (not me, not Marissa … ) eventually ended up in the beautiful pool. Now I am tired, feeling like I too swam for hours. But all I did was watch the splashing.

I hope you also had a lovely holiday.

Love,

k

Tastes of buffalo, elk, venison, wild boar

on sale at the Sacramento Music Festival

(Zing and I explored the festivities in Old Sac Monday)

Mayonnaise: the continental divide

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Yesterday I told you I’m lost without Hellmann’s mayonnaise. Who knew that life could be so different in California!?!

Several of you wrote to assure me that Best is simply Hellmann’s West. I said OK, but I still prefer Hellmann’s.

Then this morning I found a jar of Hellmann’s in the refrigerator, hiding in plain sight. I remembered that back when my mind was still cloudy (yesterday, maybe?) I had conducted a Hellmann’s search. Then I just put its absence down to Safeway “specialness.” I didn’t look farther, but eventually I did find this errant Hellmann’s jar somewhere. Target, maybe. So I bought it and forgot it. 

Anyway, today I tested the two — just for fun; you know the results are skewed because I’m prejudiced. Here’s what I found:

Hellmann’s has more tang. Best is more — to use your word, Susan — unctuous. Slippery. 

Hellmann’s is yellow-er. 

                       First I tried with little tomatoes, but their acidity overwhelmed the taste.

I switched to plain crackers.

Result: Hellmann’s has a brighter flavor. Best is more virtuous. There is a difference. 

Their labels (which were impossible to photograph because they are curved) have the same ingredients, but Best uses only organic, and cage-free eggs. Hellmann’s has something called calcium disodium EDTA (used to protect quality, they say). Every cook knows the eggs from different chickens might taste different. Also, the ingredients could be in slightly different proportions. A drop of lemon juice can make a difference. Also, since we’re delving into this way too deep — their jars look the same, but the lids aren’t interchangeable. 

You may continue to research here. Thanks to Susan (my Irish friend who notes that Mayo is also a county in Ireland) for the link!

Love,

k

Neighbors, and who stole the Hellmann''s?

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I am now slightly whirling — from the condo crawl!
Wine at two places, sangria at the last … with brandy … which is the secret, Beth and Bob told us. And I agree. I’m not sure the exact recipe, but it’s something like, cheap red wine, brandy, a cinnamon stick — let them marinate for 24 hours or so.  I’m not sure if there’s anything else.  Ask me tomorrow.

It was lovely to get to know people who had been just passing characters on the elevator. And to hear the differences of the units — freeway sound on the south side of the building, morning trash pickup on the north ... and sights:  harsh sun on the south, views of government buildings on the north. It was also fun to see what each person/couple did with similar room layouts. I visited three places tonight, each one distinct. I like my home the best!

On another note: I don’t know if any of you are Hellman’s Mayonnaise fans, but I hope there’s one out there! Then you certainly know that it’s the best! Here’s a quirky thing about Sacramento: Hellman’s can’t be found.  I was making potato salad today, and needed some Hellmann’s. I went to three places, starting with Safeway, then Target, then Walmart. Also the corner grocery store at 5th and N. Nobody carried Hellmann’s.  And that other stuff — it’s no good! I’m going to have to order two jars of Hellmann’s every January. 

Love,
k

Living the un-planned plan

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

The only thing I meant to do today was paint and draw. And what I didn’t do at all is paint and draw.

Instead, I went to the nail salon, because, Gretchen, while your marriage vows are forever, I’m sorry to report that my wedding manicure lasted only two weeks. And who should come by as I was drying my toes in that tootsie toaster on the floor that seems a bit of a joke — it was Stephanie! Isn’t it great when unplanned events are so perfect that you couldn’t plan them if you tried? Somebody is pulling the strings in manicure-land, I believe!

The only reason I went to this place (aside from that its location next to Safeway grocery makes it the most convenient salon in midtown) is that when I approached to see if Zing could come in with me they said “Of course.” Zing curled up silently the whole time and did not ask for any nail services at all. 

The manicurist taught me to say thank you, cam o’n, in Vietnamese.

Speaking of Zing, he and I spent many minutes upon minutes training each other — he still whimpers when I’m out of the condo for more than 60 seconds. My job was to leave and return before he whimpers, and his was to break down like a dog threatened with sad sad things. Trauma. I wanted to believe all this was past, and that I can just come and go like in a normal dog household. But I discovered otherwise when I turned on the audio recorder and there were sad sounds! 

What led to this today is that yesterday I gave him the anti-anxiety pills, because I was going out for an hour. I’m pretty sure Zing didn’t bark or even whimper, but when I returned home, and for several hours after, his tail would not wag. He was not himself. So I decided to work and work and work some more with him on these exercises. All the books say it requires patience. 

And this evening my neighbors invited me for a glass of wine (with Zing), and we laughed like old friends for more than an hour. 

So the day slipped by and I did not paint at all. Tomorrow!

Love,

k

Tiny details make a life

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I’m digging myself deeper into Sacramento: today I looked for a Zumba class (wouldn’t you know it’s just been canceled for the summer?); wandered around UC-Davis Medical campus to find a restaurant; and got keyless entry for my door. Separately, these are tiny details, but together they say I’m feeling more and more at home here. 

I’m sure I’ll find another Zumba class — that’s part of the adventure, looking around; let's say it’s a good omen that the first one happened to shut down the day I showed up. 

And I’m all excited about meeting someone for lunch at a neighborhood beyond the downtown grid. I’m even excited that there are no restaurants there. Just big hospitals and classrooms. Important stuff. I did discover a sandwich shop under some trees. That should do. This is the second time I’ve roamed this area, gradually claiming it as part of the city I know.

And the new lock on my door! You push a few buttons, turn the knob and the door unlocks. No key needed. However, you do need to remember the numbers. Ah! so that’s why people get tattoos!

Love,
k

Sandwich shop near U-C Davis medical centers

Bread crumbs and ice water

Written last night: *

Dear Friends,

I am drinking ice water. It is hot. It is going to be hot until October, if I remember right. Got to get used to this! (It’s definitely nicer than steamy Florida heat, but still an adjustment after Spring drifted away last week.) Early this afternoon Zing and I sat in the hot shade at the car wash, where they do a very good job and take a very long time. Zing was spread out on the cement floor like a fallen furry fairy. “The dog’s asleep, Mom,” a little girl said. “He’s not sleeping, darling, he’s hot,” her mom answered. She wouldn’t let her daughter get close to Zing — afraid, I guess, that being hot is catching. 

On the way home I dreamed of icy drinks — a chocolate and coffee milkshake sounded superlative. When we got home I took out the blender. But instead of a milkshake I made bread crumbs and then I drank ice water. 

… and how is your summer?

Love
k

*Today it's cooler.

Too hot for frogs

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I hate to disappoint you, but we didn’t see a single frog at the Frogtown Fair today. Oh, yes, the frogs were there and well promoted, but they were in a building too far away and it was too hot. The allure of the frogs wilted with the heat. In the end we didn’t even want to buy a frog t-shirt or bracelet or bag or frog toy. We went at midday, the exact hottest time, when the crowd was small and slow. It didn’t help that the weather’s been cool, but it’s suddenly summertime hot. In a way it was disappointing, but overall it was neat just to be at the Calaveras County Fair outside the town of Angels Camp in the Sierra Foothills. 

Steph, Patrick and I were glad we went, even if we did call Patrick The Curmudgeon at the Fair. (It’s a compliment, Patrick!) It’s the prettiest fairgrounds ever, with the stage area in a little valley so you can view from a blanket on the hillside. That’s where the frogs were — down there near the stage, and the rest of the fair was on top of the hill. In line to get a quesadilla, I talked to a woman wearing a pin that said she’d jumped a frog. She said, “They gave me a frog on a thing like a lily pad and then you let it go and it jumps three times and then they measure how far it went. I was lucky — I had a jumper. Some of the frogs don’t jump. Mine went more than 10 feet in all.”  That was as close as we got to a jumping frog. I think there was a major frog event scheduled later in the day, involving trained frogs (yes!)  but after an hour or so of wandering we left to cool off on Patrick and Steph’s shady front porch. 

It was lovely, and the ride back to Sacramento was peaceful, through rolling hills. 

Love,

k

Mark Twain Monument, 

with explanation below

(Note that he lived on "nearby Jackass Hill.")

Magnolia at a farm stand on the way back to Sacramento

Kayaks and bicycles and dogs in the spring

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today the weather was perfect, people all seemed happy. There were kayaks on cars and bicycles on the streets, and lots of dogs at the farmers market, and a Domino's pizza delivery man I met tonight in the elevator told me K Street was closed for a party. 

Liz, Jody and I wandered the farmers market for a long time. Maybe it was all the pollen in the air, but I felt like I was in a dream. I was searching for the perfectly sweet strawberry — like the one I remember, the small dark red one that grew wild in the woods behind our house in Steubenville. Maybe that is a dream too. I ended up buying sweet but giant organic berries. It was the best I could expect, Liz said, considering these berries are grown commercially. (Don’t tell, but I think the berries from Burr’s and Knaus Berry Farm in Miami are better.)

Tomorrow Zing and I are driving to the fair at Calaveras County — the one with the famous frog-jumping contest. (What, you haven’t heard of leaping frogs?) Mark Twain made up a story about it — the literature says the story jump-started his literary career. More than a dozen years ago I added this story to our American Literature curriculum, in which I tried to include writing from all across the country. Little did I know that I would end up driving to Calaveras County, all excited about seeing this frog thing in person. 

Love,

k

Chicken and Flan with Family

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

How enjoyable it is to sit and talk over dinner with friends/family! Keith and Judy just left and that’s the way it was. 

I have promised the foodies among you (Gretchen!) to describe the menu:

Cheese: Smoked and Manchego, with Trader Joe’s Crackers

Joel Gott Oregon Pinot Gris (I’ve got to admit I love it because it’s got a screw top … but it’s also delicious.)

Keith and Judy brought a beautiful salad with greens, tomatoes and almonds.

Coq au vin from the New York Times. You cook chicken with wine. The man at the wine store recommended I use Louis Jadot Pinot Noir.  I am trying to learn to make this kind of French stew as well as my great-grandmother did. My mother would say she loved the way it smelled coming from her grandmother’s oven, and she tried to make it herself but was never satisfied. I’ve made the stew before with beef, but this is the first time I made coq au vin. I used dark meat, as suggested in the recipe, even though I am usually a white meat person. Also, this time I cooked the stew over a couple of days, marinating it in wine for the complete 24 hours, then making the stew itself, then refrigerating it overnight. I also used fresh little onions, rather than frozen. The recipe tells how they peel them easily if you immerse them in boiling water for one minute first, and it says frozen onions are too full of water to brown easily. It turned out delicious!

I like this stew because it’s ready the day ahead, so entertaining is easy. Same for tonight’s dessert: flan — Margarita’s recipe from 40 years ago in Miami. Margarita was our next-door neighbor when we lived in North Miami across the street from what was then called Barry College. She was from Puerto Rico, and her husband Laurenzo was Cuban. 

Margarita's Flan

Make a caramel by melting 1/2 C. sugar with 2 1/2 T. water in a small pan over medium heat. Be patient! Wait until it's brown, but not burnt. Pour that into a bread pan,* tilting it to cover the entire bottom. Then mix 1 can evaporated milk, 3 C. whole milk, 3/4 C. sugar, dash salt, 4 beaten eggs, 1 tsp. vanilla. Pour that over the carmel. Put the pan into a larger pan with water in it that goes halfway up the bread pan. Bake at 350° an hour or more, until the custard is set. Chill thoroughly, then turn the pan upside down on a platter so the custard is surrounded by carmel.

*I used glass custard cups instead, & did not turn them upside down for serving. It's comforting to have your own cup of custard, I think.

Love,

k

More work than magic

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today I worked intensely on eight final drawings for my book, to have it for the 3 p.m. class. I don’t think I’ve been so immersed in making something since Clark died. It still needs color, so I'll show you later.

The best thing I’ve learned from Abigail vanCannon’s class is that making art  takes time and work. (I thought it was magic.) Abigail helped me remember what I already knew: mastery follows practice. She led us through possible steps on the way to completion: draw your piece lightly, considering composition; when you like it, go over the pencil lines with black ink; then make copies or else compose simple mock-ups and try out various color combinations;  then enlarge the drawing so you can complete the piece. I think I forgot some other steps I could take before making a finished piece. It's basically trying out options and seeing what you like best. In reading biographies of artists I see that Abigail is right — Picasso made many “studies” before tackling his final pieces. Now, of course, his studies are considered valuable pieces themselves.

I love making things. Now I know it's more work than magic.

At 8 this morning I tried out a line dancing class over on J Street (Thanks for the idea, Keith and Judy!). I was not nimble, but it was fun anyway. 

Then I walked that neighborhood and stopped at Sutter’s Fort State Park around the corner. I’ve got to learn more about this guy Sutter. I think Sutter's mill was where gold was discovered -- don't know what kind of mill  -- oh, I see it was a sawmill -- and I read somewhere that at first he didn't want word about gold to spread, because it would mess up his mill work. Anyway, I guess he needed a fort to protect his operation or something like that.... History! to be continued...

Love,

k

These costumed women are playing some kind of a hoop game

 on the lawn of Sutter’s Fort State Park.

I think the men are from a TV station that was filming there.

My studio is clean, really, really clean. Really.

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

No way would Clark want me to carry bitterness and sadness into the last part of my life. He’d want me to toss bad times and be rejuvenated by the good. Mother’s Day with Patrick and Steph reinforced this attitude. Thank you!

In some crazy way, this realization propelled me to spend hours cleaning — really cleaning — my studio today. It’s the chore I thought might never get done. I threw out enough trash for three trips to the garbage room: old cardboard, scribbled-on sketchbook pages, dried-up markers ...

I evicted one piece of furniture from the studio: the gray file case on wheels. It kept muttering to me about its important files: Insurance,  Health Care, Social Security. They seemed so dignified and crucial compared to my beloved plastic drawers on wheels, which were whispering things like Sparkles, Collage, Painted Fabric. Soon, the two filing systems were screaming at each other. They are clearly incompatible. I need both, but not in the same room. So I rolled the practical part to the little entrance to the bedroom, where it seems happy with a bright cloth from India on top.

That leaves art: it’s not practical — maybe even useless. And that’s its beauty. 

Love,
k

Is there a useful worry?

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Nothing much happened today. 

But  here’s a list of useless worries I have had. I am only telling you so you don’t feel ridiculous about your own useless worries. Any of these can be accompanied by trembling and/or nervous coughs. 

1. Somebody’s going to call me on the phone and ask an important question I can’t answer. 
2. I have to hurry.
3. Zing’s barking is going to get me evicted.
4. I have missed an important phone call.
5. I have to hurry. 
6. My toilet is leaking onto the unit below.
7. The automatic garage door will come down on my car and split Rosa in half.
8. Zing is more anxious than I am.
9. It’s my fault.
10. I am not worrying about major worries.
11. It’s too late.
12. I will turn into oncoming traffic on a one-way street (lots of those here in midtown).
13. These are such insignificant worries, revealing my pettiness. I should be worrying about larger things.
14. I lost my keys. 
15. I lost my phone.
16. My car Rosa has left the parking lot without me.

I hope that makes you feel better! 

Love,

k

Returning to routine

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I am coming back to life, and not sure if it will last. It seems too fast and it seems too slow. But today I made a long To-do list and I tackled it enthusiastically, while last week I wouldn’t have done the whole thing in one day.  I credit my family and friends … Thank you!

Today there was a little girl in the Safeway checkout line; she stood like a ballet dancer. I learned how to do that once — foot turned out, hand on hip, chin level with the floor. Standing there with her father, she had no idea I was mimicking her stance — I’m not quite as beautiful --  but she’s my today hero — stand there like you matter! 

I’m making coq au vin for dinner later this week. I really want to master these French stews. They say to make it a day or two ahead of time for the flavors to deepen, so tonight I shopped for chicken and marinated it in California wine. 

I also worked on the storybook for my last drawing class Thursday -- words, drawings, adding color, binding pages somehow -- It's more challenging than the last assignment of scribbling with my eyes closed.

Love,

k

Can a writer be too tired to write?

Written this morning:

Dear Friends,

I was too tired to write last night… yes, that can happen, especially on a Sunday, which for me is nap day. Okay, I did nap, but I was still too tired. 

Patrick and Steph wanted to take me to someplace special for Mother’s Day, so I chose Chicago Fire pizza here in midtown. We had a big booth by the window, which was open to the street, so it was private but we could see action (passers-by and kids playing on the sidewalk) at the same time. Yes, they would have taken me anywhere … but you can’t beat perfect. 

Love,
k

Zing contemplates a side entrance to the Capitol
on our walk early this morning
(after 8 or so there are lots more people around)