Cups on the counter, orchid at the window

Dog trains human, with small success

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

This is what I did today:

Zing and I are training each other -— He will be quiet without me for 15 minutes if he has a good bone and subdued lighting

             I cooked another batch of tomato jam, probably the last of the season

You can find the recipe at the New York Times

Loved Music at Noon’s Cathie Apple on flute, 

especially the Adagio by Jacques Casterede

 Remembered yesterday’s champagne toasts with new friends

Love,

k

Do you have a routine?

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Lots of routine today — routine, I’m learning, is good. 

In addition to chores and learning the city (and ukulele!), I am making drawing time a regular thing. Here are all my kitchen tools, drawn today, hanging over the sink, even if you cannot see it! I made this with a smudgy pencil. 

In retirement and other life-changing situations, routines shift, perhaps drastically. Also, some of us pretend we don't need routine. What about you?

Love,

k

Drawing: I learn my lines

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today I started a three-session class at the Crocker Museum on making an art journal — it’s really a drawing class, working in a sketchbook.  Here’s what I did today, copying a carved Buddha in the museum and fake flowers that Erin, the teacher, placed on the table. I started the flowers rather two-dimensionally, but the ones on the left are more lively, following Erin’s suggestions to use gestural* lines (I'm learning, I'm learning!)

Love,

k

* gestural, according to Merriam-Webster: of, relating to, or characterized by vigorous application of paint and expressive brushwork  

• gestural expressionism (think W. de Kooning)

He lives -- and laughs -- in my music

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I wasn’t going to ever tell you, but I’m learning to play the ukulele.  Oooo-kulele. That’s how they say it.

I’m sure Clark made this happen, and I can hear him laughing out loud. Most of you know I kind of didn’t care too much about ukulele when he was obsessed with the instrument. Yes, I adored it when he played songs just for me — his serenades would bring tears to my eyes. But until Meredith asked me to draw an ukulele for her I didn’t even know how many strings are on the instrument (four). 

All Clark’s beautiful ukes are in good hands now, but I did keep the Fluke that Patrick painted for Clark years back. It was on the table for decoration and memory. That is, until my neighbor Kevin spotted it during the condo crawl a few weeks ago. Turns out Kevin is learning the ukulele himself. He asked if I’d like to join the class. It wasn’t like me at all, but something (Someone??) nudged me and I said OK. Tonight was my third class at a community center not far from here. And, Oh, I’m terrible! I couldn’t even put together my music stand. (It involves a lot of screws.), let alone figure out how to move the fingers of my left hand into different shapes while strumming with my right (thumb?) (forefinger?) (flesh?) (nail?) 

It’s a wonderful class at Mission Oaks Community Center. The teacher, Mark, is superb. He subtly does the music part while his sidekick Auntie urges us to learn the Hawai’ian words for songs, and she tells about the way Hawai’i developed. 

Something has happened to me, and I think it’s name is Clark. Still.  

Love,

k

Mark with tonight's song

I sit in the back and sketch musicians

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I’ve found a Zumba class — great! (But not as lively as Florida — Florida feels like Zumba's heart) Went there today and then to hear the Chamber Music Society of Sacramento at the Wednesday noon concert. I’ve got to start listening to music at home.

Love,

k

I sit in the back and sketch 

at chamber music concerts

Learning starts at the Japanese bakery

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Japanese culture is big here, and I’m just learning some. There’s even a neighborhood called Japantown — like Chinatown in New York (and other cities). I think it’s close to me, but I haven’t found it. Today I was a bit farther away — exploring Freeport Boulevard for fun after a routine doctor’s appointment (You know how you reward yourself following such an anxiety-filled event?) I stopped at the Mahoroba Japanese Bakery, which is a small tent-like, pagoda-like building plunked down in the parking lot of a strip mall. I almost missed it because I wasn’t looking for a shop in the parking area. I’m glad I found it: I had a roll with two small teriyaki-flavored chicken meatballs for $2! It was light and satisfying — good for a late lunch. I’ve got lots more to learn, but what better place to start than a pastry shop?

Love,

k

This looks serene, but there are cars parked all around, 

with stores to the left, and busy Freeport Boulevard to the right

You can see the pastry on their Facebook page

I ate mine before I thought of taking a photo!

Downtown, where things happen

Written last night:

Dear Family,

I am still putting pieces of my new life together. I might volunteer somewhere, but don’t know where …  I know, I know! lots of opportunities! I’m not ready. It’s taking time to know the community.

Today Zing and I walked to the main library — it’s nearby! — and as we did we passed so many homeless people, women and men, on I street, where the city and county offices are. We also saw a demonstration forming in front of what is maybe the state justice department. (These offices don’t have big signs in front.) People were bringing posters as we left, but I couldn't read them. Can’t find any hints online.

I like living downtown, where things happen.

Love,

k

More Wide-Open Walls art

Demonstration forming on I Street

Two artists blotted out by light

Squeak Carnwath asked if they could dim the lights, and the answer from the cameraman was No.

It didn’t look this bright to the audience, but you can see the glare the two artists endured

At the bottom is my sketch of Staprans’ face, otherwise blotted out by light

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today I heard Squeak (Yes, that’s her name!) Carnwath, an important Bay-area artist,*  interview the even more important Bay-area artist Raimonds Staprans, whose work is on exhibit at the Crocker Museum here.  He’s in his early 90s. Earlier today I asked Patrice what she’d like me to ask him if I got a chance, and she said, “I want to know what things interest and excite Staprans today. Why does he want to get out of bed each day?” From the moment he began to talk you could see that he is so wrapped up in making art  — every part of his demeanor showed he delights in painting — that I had no need to ask the question. 

“I am the most happy person when I am painting,” he said. (He  also referred lovingly to his wife throughout his talk.)

Love,

k

Raimonds Staprans

* If you live in South Florida you can see Carnwath's work nearby. My Google search shows Carnwath is among the artists in the exhibit Women Painting at Miami-Dade Community College Kendall Campus until Sept. 29.

Those bears might be alive

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Not much happened today: I went to bed late (midnight!) and so felt dreamy all today, doing little. (Except I discovered the washer is not broken and went to the farmers market for what may be the last strawberries of the season and shopped a bit and left Zing for 10 minutes while he was under the bed in the darkened room, which is supposed to be calming … made some easy curried shrimp and walked pretty far pretty fast, wondering if I’ll ever be able to run a little bit again. Probably not, but … maybe if I exercise … ) Hope you had a relaxing day too.

Here’s a photo of Zing on our morning walk, nosing around a new statue of California bears at Bank of the West. It was hilarious to watch him sniff and jump back, as if he thought the statues might be out to get him. Can’t be too careful!

Love,

k

A homeless man sleeps under a quilt ...

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Random things I learned today:

6:30 a.m. What is that homeless man sleeping under? A red, gold and purple quilt in the Lone Star pattern. (Zing was growling quietly, so there might have been a dog under there too.)

6:29 a.m. What is the name of the smiling woman, the one you often pass on her way to work, the one who warned you to be cautious because there’s a sleeping man on the sidewalk? Ramona.

11 a.m. Why did that perfectly-groomed, self-assured woman slip in ahead of you in the long Self-checkout line at Safeway? Obviously she was in a hurry. 

11:01 a.m. You could see the men ahead in line did not approve. No matter — no hurry. 

11:02 a.m. Why did an actual human being checkout manager motion for you to go to her cash register by the door instead of wait for the next machine?

“I’m just standing here waiting for one of those machines to malfunction, and I can’t stand it,” she said. "Let me check you out. And here, see this picture of how the world will be one day?” She flipped over her name tag to show me a photo of flowers, sun, and smiling children.  “Peace, love, happiness,” she said to me. “Have a good day!”

Noon, at Capitol Park.  Who was that woman talking to when she smiled and said, “How cute!” Not me — Zing, obviously.

2 p.m. Why is your washer leaking? I dunno. Let’s wait ’til morning. Maybe that puddle will dry up by then. 

4:10 p.m. Do you really need to go to Target during Friday rush hour? It’s the best time to check Rosa’s agility on this new route I just learned. (Proven: I street enters the freeway with fewer dodgy lane changes than P Street. But maybe you knew that.)

9 p.m. What does a vegan make for her husband’s birthday cake? Black bean brownies. (Happy Birthday, Jack!)

See? It wasn’t an ordinary day after all.

Love,

k

School kids at the Capitol line up to pet California Highway Patrol horses

A frizzle of details

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today frizzled with important details — the kind that used to make me feel over-burdened and fearful. Paperwork, car stuff (Rosa is fine!), driving to unfamiliar places in my new city, with a possibly-critical passenger who knows the streets well. I was feeling anxious — out of habit, I suppose — and then suddenly fine. I’m not sure it’s a turning point, but it is a relief.

Love,

k

More new wall art, this near the car wash
Car wash manager told me with amazement that the artist used only spray cans for the whole thing
"I said his pressing forefinger must hurt," the manager told me.
 "But he said No, spraying strains his arm between elbow and wrist"

Magical, musical ragtime

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Music at Noon today was possibly the best I’ve heard here. Or most enjoyable.

“It was a privilege to hear him,” the man in front of me said at the end. 

Adam Swanson is 25 and his piano is alive. Ragtime. You would love it. Who wouldn’t?

Adam is a charming guy with a big smile and magical musical hands. The piano was hidden from my view, so I drew Adam Swanson as he stood to introduce each piece. My drawing doesn’t catch it, but he also has a pocket watch in that vest. So 1920s!

Love,

k

San Francisco: chocolates, motorcycles, art -- and a bridge

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I planned to meet Leslie in Berkeley today, but she had to return to Tallahassee because of Hurricane Irma. I decided to take Amtrak Capitol Corridor (train and bus) to San Francisco anyway. (I'll meet you, Leslie, next time you visit your son on this coast!) I want to get comfortable with San Francisco. A year ago I thought this would be easy, but it has taken time. 

San Francisco was cooler than Sacramento — pleasant — and I did what I’d hoped: explored  the Ferry building food market (didn’t buy anything), had lunch at SFMOMA (San Francisco Museum of Modern Art). Walked to Union Square — lots of shopping — mostly chain stores like Bloomingdales and Nordstrom and Anthropologie (which I love, but was disappointed in this store’s displays and merchandise). I was going to go to Bloomingdales, but after the walk I was too tired to shop! At least I know where Union Square is. I passed a Vietnamese sandwich shop, where I want to eat next time. Then I followed my nose to SFMOMA nearby, had lunch in their busy, busy café (not the really over-priced spot). Had shrimp salad sandwich with onion and dill and avocado on rye toast. The highlight was an exhibit of Edvard Munch paintings, mostly self-portraits in oil on canvas. He’s famous for The Scream; the paintings I saw today were dialed down a notch, but still quavering with color and emotion. 

When I got up this morning I considered staying home. I’m glad I went! Zing had a day at Grateful Dog.

Love,

k

About 9 a.m., from the train

That brick building is the train station

Flat land west of Sacramento

Something makes me love this scene

It evokes the Everglades or Paynes Prairie outside Gainesville — two favorite Florida landscapes

Lots of motorcycles

Looks like jewels, but it’s chocolates

on display at the Ferry Building
I did not check the prices!

Flavors of chocolate

Bay Bridge 

from the Ferry Building

Love this mandala-like design 

on the window of Japanese Sweets 

on Market Street

Julie Mehretu, a favorite artist,

 has two giant pieces in the lobby of SFMOMA

Bringing flowers home

Written last night:

Dear Family,

I painted a lot today. At the bottom it says, “Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.” It’s a line from the poem Under One Small Star by Wislawa Szymborska. 

Love,

k

Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home (Wislawaa Szymborska)

Acrylic on board

16" x 20"

Below, before pink

Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home (Wislawaa Szymborska)

Acrylic on board

16" x 20"