Art to relax the heart

Written last night: 

Dear Friends,
This afternoon was another "Don't mess with me" moment. Don't ask me why, but my smile turned into a straight-lipped line, and my hobble became a stride. It seemed like people stepped aside for me on the sidewalk, and even Zing moved a little farther away down the sofa.

I'm sure you have such times too.  I just want you to know you're not alone.

All's good now. People have been jumping into my path and smiling, talking, joking. And the drawing class this afternoon swept me into a story. We are making picture books. Here's my ditty:

Alexandra lives in a house by the sea.
She sleeps 'neath the moon and a tall palm tree.
She dreams of a fish.
She dreams of the sun.
She dreams of a boat that sails like a song.
When Alexandra wakes up
Her dreams are  done,
But she still has the boat/ and the fish/ and the sun.

Today I had art to relax my heart. I hope you are as lucky.

Love,
k

Here are some working sketches:

Blight and beauty along the river walk

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today was a quiet repeat of yesterday — I think I’ll be back on energetic Pacific time tomorrow!

Today Zing and I returned to Sutter’s Landing trail along the American River. I plan to go there at least twice a week — as I went to Phipps Park in Tallahassee every Tuesday and Thursday morning. I think I went to the river two days in a row just to make sure it is as good as I hoped. It is. (a gravel path with glimpses of river and wild flowers all along, ending — for me — underneath a truss bridge). Someday Zing and I might venture beyond that.

Yesterday the graffiti under that bridge contained a white swastika, but now that hateful sign is gone. Then Zing and I rested in the bridge’s cool shadow, thinking maybe we’ll bring some food along next time, and we saw another swastika mixed up in the letters on the opposing bridge wall. Don’t worry — it’s gone too.

Love,

k

Swastikas yesterday,

not today

Slow time flows like the river

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today I dreamily removed each item from my suitcase — whether underwear or iPad charger or little piece of lint -- looked at it quizzically and with much more respect than it deserved -- and then, once I’d identified it, slowly and deliberately took it to the drawer, shelf, or trashcan where it belonged. That’s what jet lag does to me … puts the next day into slow motion. I’m not sure what I’d do if I had to hit the ground running. Today went slow, and yet it is nighttime so quickly!

The best thing Zing and I did today is walk the path along the American River, from Sutter Landing Park to the railroad bridge this side of the freeway.  Finally I’ve found a place where I can’t hear traffic hum. Birds were chirping, and ducks made their calls. I’ve missed these sounds. Birds used to start my day. The river is not my dear Phipps Park in Tallahassee, but already I see its charms. It’s about 10 minutes away. We’ll be going back often, I think. 

Love,

k

The American River

Graffiti under the bridge

Do you see the swastika?

It is a blight on the river walk

Wedding weekend

Wedding Recap

Written May 4:

Dear Friends,

After the red-eye flight via Charlotte, we’re here in Columbus in a downtown office tower-turned Hotel LeVeque. I mean, just turned. We may be among the first customers. Men were painting around the elevators as we stepped in. But first, my suitcase was “delayed.” That’s American Airlines’ word for “we kept your bag in Sacramento because …” Maybe because my mac was inside. Maybe because it was magenta. Maybe because the flight weighed too much and some of the bigger bags "had" to be held back. Whatever the reason, we got the impression that this happens deliberately and often, that it is not the airline’s intention to get every passenger and every bag to their destination on time. It was frustrating. It is over. My bag arrived, via Phoenix, and it was in my room when I got back to the hotel at 10 p.m... Oh, the experience did not do one thing to make me think the airline cares about the customer.  But I do have my pajamas.

For a while I fumed about how I might have to dress up my jeans and running shoes to wear to the wedding. Then I decided to make the best of the afternoon and (forget the jet-lag!) uber-ed to lunch at Northstar Café in the Near North neighborhood. Things got even better when my dear friend Linda joined me. Then the family had delicious, laughing Italian takeout for dinner at Mary and Bob’s. 

It was a fuming, frustrating, fabulous family day.

Love,
k

Written last night (Sunday):

Patrick, Steph and I just got back from  Gretchen and Rich’s wedding in Ohio an hour or so ago. I am more and more deeply grateful for my family — as it grows! So many people told me how much they love my sister's family -- and therefore me too! The wedding was in the most beautiful “churchy” church — Our Lady of Victory in Marble Cliff, which is a pocket of Columbus that was — and still is, I think — near a marble quarry. Here are some photos.

Love,
k

Celebrating the small details

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Now I know! it’s the change of seasons that is making me feel all relaxed and kind of misty-cloudy. I forgot. It happens all the time. And today was in the mid-80’s, definitely a switch. It will probably be summer when we get back from the wedding. 

I spent most of the day on details that will free me to leave Sacramento once again. I'm tired and can’t remember them — must have been exciting!

Love,
k

One thing I did is try on this dress -- kind of baggy, and my legs are so pale!

But I love the red shoes

 and maybe another belt ... 

I was looking for a special wire to charge my hotspot ... hmm ...

Zing would rather be chasing squirrels

Read! draw! march!

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today might have been my most relaxed since Zing and I arrived in California. Maybe it’s because the windows are open and the weather is sunny and warm. San Francisco might have been a turning point … who knows? But today I went slow, did what needed to happen, and didn’t worry (much!). 

I am starting to shape my days around what I love. One thing I finally did is read -- a book — for an hour or more. And then I drew from after dinner until just now. I finally finished the book, The Body Keeps the Score, by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D., “one of the world’s foremost experts on trauma.” (You can hear an interview with him here). I first thought of trauma in connection with Zing, from the veterinarians at UC-Davis. I wanted to understand why I couldn’t train him out of his separation anxiety. Of course I was confronted with the realization that Zing might be a reflection of me, and that I too have suffered a trauma. 

I’ve been reading this 400-page book for ages. It is not the kind of thing to read as you're falling asleep. It is full of thoughts that are challenging and true and useful to everyone, I think. There’s a lot about addiction and abuse and PTSD, loss, and pain and also joy, meaning, creativity and connection — for children and adults (and also maybe dogs). Van der Kolk shows that accepted ways like prescription drugs and talk therapy may not fully address deep pain, but simply mask it. He discusses other trauma therapies, from sophisticated neurofeedback to basic theater and dance.

Soon after I sat down to read I heard shouts and challenges on the street, so I had to put the book down, of course. Zing and I followed the noise and  joined a May Day parade heading to the Capitol. Well, we didn’t exactly join it, but trailed at the edges. In addition to fair wages, the signs called for equal rights for women, LGBT and Native Americans. 

The marching cry was: "Be loud/ Be clear/ Immigrants are welcome here!”

Zing and I couldn’t go all the way to the Capitol; we had to hurry home because we were expecting a phone call, but I am glad we could be part of this for even a short time.

Love,

k

Suddenly Sunday disappears

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Suddenly Sunday has disappeared, without too much fuss. I love keeping in touch with you all, even on uneventful days. Thank you.

Zing and I went to the farmers market under the freeway at 7th and W. More people are coming, now that it’s warmer. Someone was tasting the cherries and then she made a face. I asked her how they were, and she said “a little sour … “ At that I put my still-empty plastic bag down, and she did the same. Another woman saw us, and she asked how they were. “Picked before ripe,” the taster-woman said. We all grinned at each other and walked away to find sweeter cherries down the aisle.

Then I stopped to see Amy at Mad Dog Mesa olive oil. I owed her some money for shipping costs for the oil she’d mailed to Mary and Patrice. Earlier she'd charged me for the oil, but said I should pay shipping later, when she knew the exact price. She trusted that I’d show up with the check. Today she told me there are more than 200 varieties of olive tree. I can’t remember the exact number. She sells French and Italian oil, using fruit of trees common in those countries.

Every week I fall in love with the market, and every week there’s a new reason to do so.

Love,

k

This is not the booth where the cherries were sour
I didn't taste these, so I believe the sign

This is Amy of Mad Dog Mesa Olive Oil.
When she saw this photo she said, "I look pretty intense."