New and long-time friends connect

Written last night:

Today I enjoyed people.  

Men and  women, some with dogs, smiled at Zing and me on our morning walk. People respond to Zing as he bounces along; they might think I’m like that too, so I bask in his reflected friendliness. We were a little late (7:30 a.m.), because noise woke us (me!) way early — maybe 4 a.m. It was a scraping city noise -- street cleaners, garbage collectors ...

This afternoon a woman hurrying up the sidewalk on her way home from work waved as we passed and said, “I saw you this morning!” We’d been going in opposite directions then. Down the block a bit, I chatted with a man weaving the leashes of three barking, bounding dogs — two dachshunds and a pit bull. I like becoming part of this bustling neighborhood.

Then Patrice called while she took a long uber ride, and we laughed about broken beds and kitchen sinks and couch pillows. 

And following Patrice -- Lesley, my Philadelphia poet friend, who called me because she just got to Miami (visiting family). She will be visiting Cuba soon to trace family roots. 

And this afternoon, while two men hauled a new bookshelf* into the corner of the living room, my next-door neighbor Kevin knocked and gave me his and his wife Jennie’s contact information, in case I ever need help. We talked for quite a while about the homeowners association and he showed me their condo, which has sweeping city views. 

All this is mundane, everyday, and the fact that it is happening means I’m settling in. I know I am not alone at all, and it’s a relief.

Tonight I made chili — an actual meal -- but it wasn’t ready at dinner time, so I ate frozen lasagna. 

* Ha! What a shock! The bottom shelf of my new bookshelves was all nicked and pocked. The deliverymen put it in place anyway, and will bring a new one next month.  (For a second there, I thought this delivery was going to be hassle-free.)  But this was a pretty small hassle.

Love,

k

My poor shelves, waiting on the sidewalk

The fixed and the broken

Written last night:

The plumber came today and I loved being able to give him a $20 tip. I don’t think I’ll be charged more … because everything worked, once he touched it! A couple of weeks ago I thought I’d have everything that was slow or broken replaced, but then I realized I don’t want to do that. If something can be fixed, let me keep it!
So he told me how to fix the tub drain (with a suction cover), the slow-flushing toilets (make sure the water is pointed in the right direction — it was pointed wrong/ that’s all!), the leaking garbage disposal (get a new one and keep the bucket under the sink until I do.). He told me that newer toilets are less powerful, because of the requirements to conserve water ("You really have to flush twice,” he said.) So it’s better to keep the old ones, he said. 

He gave me respect for people who know their craft. 

Oh, and yesterday my bed collapsed. I’m not going to tell you how! But the wood supports under the king-sized bed splintered and gave way. My mattress and box springs are now on the floor. I am mad.

The thing is, Clark and I were shopping for a new bed probably a year ago, maybe less. We found one we liked at Ashley Furniture in Tallahassee, and were surprised at its $300 or so price (That’s low.) It was just what we wanted, a simple sleigh bed that goes with our dressers and end tables. When we were buying it the clerk asked if we wanted insurance, in case anything happens to the bed. Clark and I looked at each other and agreed without talking that buying such insurance would be a waste. I mean, how can a bed break? Within a year — yesterday — I would find out. A bed can break if it’s cheap. If it isn’t screwed to the sides, but just laid on the edge support. If you rejected the possibility of buying insurance, you almost certainly will see the bed supports break. There is no good time for a bed to fall to the floor!

But Clark and I looked at each other and shrugged: how ridiculous to buy bed insurance! 

Today I headed to Ashley furniture, where we bought the bed (in Tallahassee, not in Sacramento). I just wanted the name of someone who could fix my bed. I don’t want to buy a new bed!! They can help if I have insurance, the young woman told me. So there! I need bed insurance and I don’t have it! How ridiculous! But today I Googled this whole thing and found that if you buy a cheap bed ($300 is cheap.) you will most likely hear it fall to the floor when you don’t want to. Thus, bed insurance.

I hope that tomorrow I’ll find someone who can fix my bed. Because I like it. I thought a bed was the headboard and footboard. I should have known it is really the supports. And mine gave way. 

For part of today — a small part — it felt like I had a household set up. I was driving out I-80 to Home Depot to do some research before I buy a new kitchen sink. As I was turning in, my phone rang (Don’t answer a phone while you’re driving in California!) It was a call about my washer and dryer. They are all confused — the delivery people. So I stopped by Best Buy to see Mui, who sold me the appliances. I like Mui and we’ve gotten to know each other these past couple of weeks. You do remember that the washer and dryer were rejected, and the second set was found to be possibly never about to be made. And the third — well, Mui said the third is having trouble getting off the boat from the east. “The delivery company went bankrupt,” she said. “They can’t unload the boats.” My appliances, along with those of other shoppers, are  for now trapped on a boat. 

Love,
k

Tedious chores with loving interlude

Written last night:

I barely remember the morning. Let me trace my way back.

It’s dark now, the end of the day. Tonight the flickering, changing colored light on the roof of the building across from me is blue, with some pink flashes. Red lights have been retired. Zing is asleep on the purple chair and I am in Clark’s big leather chair. I seem to sit here mostly. It is 9 p.m. (midnight to some of you!) I had a late dinner of roasted sweet potatoes. The dishwasher is making quiet splashes.

I have just turned off the TV because I don’t know how to work it. I watch it for a moment and then the screen goes blank. Steph showed me some steps this afternoon, but I need another lesson! It’s probably just as well — I would have watched the news. 

Now I’m remembering — today was a quiet kind of morning. All I did was re-trace household steps that are becoming familiar to me:

1. Check bank accounts in Tallahassee and California. (I am monitoring pensions and automatic bill-pays to see when they are all transferred to Wells Fargo. Then I can close the Tallahassee account.) 

2. Mail things. 

3. Fill the tub with water because water will be turned off (building repairs) for a few hours midday. 

Tedious stuff. 

4. Sort electrical wires that Clark collected.

5. Stop myself from throwing them all away without thought. 

6. Clean the little scraps off the studio floor. 

7. Get a haircut  — 

-- followed by a generous visit from Patrick and Steph, who are in town for just a day. They brought Chicago Fire pizza. Chicago does pizza right! We talked and relaxed, with the windows open to the balcony and street sounds wafting up.

Oh, I almost forgot — when they left I:

 

8. went to a meeting of the HOA (homeowners) in the library on the ground floor of the condo. This is the kind of thing Clark would have done with relish; I think someone should know what’s going on, and I planned to let him do it. Since he’s not here I went. I got there when the meeting was well underway, and, wouldn’t you know,  the only seat left was front and center? But my long-ago reporter skills kicked in. I just sat down and started scribbling in a little notebook. No one needed to know I was drawing the faces of the people (all men) on the board. Don’t worry — I do NOT plan to be the woman to crash their monopoly! Meetings give me a rash. I am glad I went, though, because I want to know how things work and who makes the decisions where I live. So now I can tell you about the many layers of cement in the upper level of our parking lot; that some people (maybe most) hate Comcast service and resent paying for it; that we’re hiring a guard and a towing service for the two days Paul McCartney will be appearing at the new arena  which is just two blocks from the condo. It’s very likely that interlopers will try to use our parking lot, so tonight the board arranged to have their cars towed away while they’re enjoying the Beatle in song.

Now I hear splashing sounds under the sink and I see the bucket I have placed there is a quarter full. Things are coming together, but my new home — and new dishwasher -- still need attention that I am poorly prepared to offer. For tonight, though, the bucket is good enough.

Love,

k

Last week the art light was red
You can see the edge of my balcony, lower right

Tears and cookies

Written last night:

All day today I’ve been sad and sometimes crying. I’m telling you this because maybe it has happened to you. Maybe not. It’s normal, though, I guess. Everyone responds differently to death and other traumas, they say. (I kind of thought I was over this part.)

So tonight I’m baking cookies. Biscotti. They smell delicious. If you need it, here’s the recipe: David Liebovitz’ Cornmeal Biscotti. Cornmeal makes them crunchy rather than hard, as most biscotti are. I substituted California almonds for the walnuts, and I smashed whole nuts with a meat mallet. Nothing is as satisfying as smashing something with a mallet. 

I should never have called Capital City Bank in Tallahassee this morning. For some reason, I cry every time I hang up from them. (The last time I saw my favorite teller at the North Monroe Street branch, he had placed a box of Kleenex on the ledge in front of his window.) But it was essential — clearing up automatic bill-pays in Tallahassee. 

The thing is, you can’t know when the sadness is going to hit; it just does. I think what’s happening is I was acting normal in a kind of numb way and now the numbness is fading and I’m actually feeling loss. I miss Clark. Today it hit me hard that I’ll be living without him. 

But  it was a busy day: The A/C guy was here at about 7 a.m. Now the place cools down right. Oddly, today it was cool enough to go without A/C. You walk along N Street and see a lot of open windows. I also dealt with Wells-Fargo Bank, the plumber (toilets!), found a new dentist (thanks to Mary Kaye), arranged a haircut (I sketched the shop front a few months ago, so I feel connected to it.), updated magazine subscriptions, scheduled a bookshelf delivery, had a massage (I was just 15 minutes late!), went to the grocery…   

If you’ve dealt with online service, you know how long and complex some of these “simple” chores can be. As I was waiting for a magazine response (to change address), I realized that we, the customers, are doing the work. An automated “nice person / maybe with music/ maybe with ads” directs us. How many times have you clicked the wrong button accidentally and had to start a tedious process all over? I love it when an actual human being comes on the phone! This morning an actual banker in Tallahassee spent precious minutes helping me solve a problem. When I thanked him, he said he enjoyed the challenge.

On a food note: I was wondering how good the fish here could be. In Florida — both in Miami and then in Tallahassee  (Love you, Southern Seafood!) we had superb fresh fish. I didn’t expect California to compete. But Saturday I bought fresh sea trout at the farmers market. It’s red, like salmon, but milder and not as fatty. It tastes like fish, not salmon. Yesterday I rubbed it with olive oil and salt and baked it at 425 F for 10 minutes/inch of thickness. It was delicious! Today I had the leftovers with salad. I’ll be checking more varieties of fish, but this first trial is a winner! I don’t remember sea trout in Florida or the Midwest, but if you see one, give it a try!

Ooops! the timer said the cookies are done!

Love,

k

I made an appointment for a haircut with Marisa at Spanish Fly hair garage on J Street

Leland and Mary Stanford home

Written last night:

Sundays are best when they’re slow, I think. At the beginning of today I wondered how I’d fill the time. No worries! Now it’s bedtime and every minute I was worrying about has passed.

The best thing today was a long talk with Mary. 
Then going to the grocery store.
Oh — and also best is the general leaning toward neatness that’s happening in my studio: My goal is to keep it full of ordinary things with lots of space in between. I worked there for hours today, sorting stuff.  

On our walk today Zing  and I explored the garden outside the Leland Stanford home, which is just three blocks away. Sacramento is peppered with these grotesque (to today's eyes) Victorian mansions, and I'm sure each one has a story. 

Stanford is a big name around here -- not just a university, as I used to think. A welcome sign at the house explains it was home to three California governors, including Stanford, during the 1860s. Stanford got rich as president of the Central Pacific Railroad (and he was also governor -- a powerful mix!) at the creation of the transcontinental railroad, which made him and his wife Mary able to afford to add on to the house. Later, Mary gave it to the Archdiocese of Sacramento, as a home for needy children. Thankfully (It looks like a scary place for children to live) the state bought the house back a few years ago. Now it's a public museum and the state's official reception center, so I guess important visitors may get a handshake on the porch, or maybe it's a kind of official hotel, or party room. Soon I'll go on a tour inside and find out. 

Love, 
k

Side view of the Leland Stanford Mansion on N Street, Sacramento

Ordinary miracles

Written last night:

Today I didn’t do much — at least not much out of the ordinary: Shopped the farmers market and an Italian food  store nearby. Picked up Zing from the kennel. Cleaned the studio ferociously. (It's still a mess!) Did laundry. Relaxed on the balcony before dinner. Exercised. 

I love the Saturday farmers market even more than the Thursday lunchtime one. There’s a relaxed vibe, with kids and dogs and musicians. I am even beginning to recognize some of the vendors. The organic strawberries I bought today are as juicy and as delicious as the tiny wild ones I remember we kids sometimes found hiding under leaves by the creek in the woods. They say Grandpa Krumm used to sell strawberries from a stand by the road on Main Street in Columbus. I hope his were this sweet.

I also bought a couple of tomatoes so misshapen that they must be delicious. I bought the big one because it needed love, and the farmer told me she’d been watching that tomato all morning. She gave me a smaller (green striped) one for a bonus.

I’ve stopped at The Bread Store on J Street the last three Saturdays, looking for sweet rolls. They’ve always been sold out — so today I went earlier, with success. Clark and I had sweet rolls and coffee for a special Sunday breakfast, so at last I’ll be able to continue that delicious tradition. I practically swooned when the clerk offered me a raspberry-cream cheese pastry — “Is that OK?” she asked. “Of course — yes!” I said. The man behind me bought one too — the last one. “You made it sound so good that I couldn't resist,” he said.

Today I discovered that exercise seems more effective if I grunt. A few weeks ago, at the hotel gym, there was a man who grunted with every move he made. It seemed intrusive at the time, but afterward we talked, and he told me he’d been in a bad accident and unable to get out of bed for several months. Now he needs to exercise, and he puts his heart into it because he’s happy to be able to move again. So I forgave him the animal sounds he made. And today, at home where nobody but Zing can hear (and you better not complain, Zing!) I made them too. To tell the truth, I’ve been doing my leg lifts rather half-heartedly. I mean, they are so boring! But all at once the spirit of that man came to me and gave me the idea that if I would really, really concentrate it might be more effective. So I tightened my thigh muscles all the way to  the crest of my knee and focused my attention and, yes, my voice. I grunted my leg up, tightened the muscles, and grunted the leg down — over and over. My living room echoed like a boxing gym. Strangely satisfying. Like him, I definitely want to move my knee without stiffness or pain again soon.  Grunt! Really, I can get into this! 

When Zing and I went for our evening walk we passed a Craft Beer Festival on Capitol Mall. It looked like you had to pay to get in. (Be sure to drink your money’s worth.) Too bad I’m not a beer fan…  They seemed prepared for a crowd: I counted 25 Port-a-Potties in a line across the street from Wells Fargo Bank, and one was a double-wide.

Then, this evening, I was having a glass of wine (local!) on the balcony. I looked up and, right out there by my twelfth-floor roof,  against the setting sun I saw silhouetted a hummingbird.

Hope you are having a similarly happy weekend!

Love,

k

Man selling honey at Saturday midtown farmers market

Finally! a train!

On the way to boarding platform:  Amtrak station, Chinese center, and offices beyond

Written last night:

The trip was more about the train than about the town where I was going -- or "the city," as they/we call San Francisco. I didn't expect it to be that way, for San Francisco is like Mecca to me. But early in the morning when I sat down on the bench by the tracks to wait for boarding, and I looked over at the train man as he knelt near a giant  wheel and then grunted and kicked it hard, and then finally went and got a big wrench and pounded something and grunted again as he leaned back on his heels, I just began to cry. Clark was with me; that's what he would have loved to see: someone who made the trains run right. So it was the ride that I savored. 

 I left home (!) for the Amtrak station about 8 a.m. and got back at 5:15 p.m. Four of those hours were on trains, and and I spent an hour walking to and from the station, so that means I was in San Francisco 4 1/4 hours. I got back to Sacramento about an hour earlier than planned, because I accidentally got an earlier BART connection. Nothing was particularly strenuous, but it was all new, exciting and tiring. When I got home I was exhausted. I loved every minute.

For someone from Tallahassee, this was big-city stuff. Tallahassee has a train station but no passenger service anymore. So I was fretting, nervous about losing my ticket, getting on the wrong train, missing my stop. After a couple of runs, this will be old hat to me. I probably won’t even gaze at the countryside clipping by. But today I feasted my eyes on the changing landscape and the hints of life I could see on the doorsteps that we passed. And, yes, I had a problem, but no, the world did not end. The problem was that in Richmond the machine wouldn’t accept my BART ticket. EEEk! the train won’t accept me! The turnstile hates me! 

“Never mind,” said the woman at the information island. “This happens all the time. Maybe you have a magnet in your purse.” Yes, maybe. She scribbled something on my ticket and told me to ask for help in San Francisco. I did. That transit system did not crash because of me, either.

I’m a nosy person, and trains give time to look around. I could have driven to Richmond and then got the BART train. That would have afforded a bit more flexibility. I mean, I would have had my car. And I would have had to drive that car (Sorry, Rosa —  nothing personal!) But the train was perfect: I loved watching the landscape change from flat to rolling hills to steeper slopes to foggy waterside. I could study the bridges that we passed and crossed (Steel truss bridges, mostly). Near the track at Davis there was a worn-looking red tent strung up between two trees -- a homeless haven, no doubt -- and closer to San Francisco I saw those houses we read about that are so expensive. They weren’t big or even fancy on the outside. And as we neared the city the conversations (Did I tell you I like to listen to the talk around me?) got nerdier and nerdier. Everybody wore kind of boring clothes (me too —  black, except for my owl socks). Then a woman got on, wearing a dazzling green wrap and black head covering, bold makeup and large hoop earrings. Two stops later she disembarked. People brought their bikes and leaned them against a special wall. A blind man tapped his cane over to the seats for the handicapped and a young woman scampered away to give him space. Lots of men wore backpacks and business suits. I literally heard several conversations that sounded like news stories I have read: How costly it is to live in San Francisco, how people are being woo-ed away from one start-up to work at another, how solar panels save money and the environment, how convenient it is to work from home and commute to the city only two days a week … also, good places to eat barbecue and fried pickles. For a while I sat next to a middle school girl who stared at her phone and chuckled as each click she put a different head treatment onto her own face: wild pink hair, round black glasses, odd hats … In between she talked to her best friend (That’s what she called her), and her mother, assuring her she’d do her homework as soon as she got home. She got off at Berkeley.

Why have I written all this and never even got to San Francisco? Well, I loved the ride. 

San Francisco too I love. And I bless the serendipity that led me to Mary Kaye! The city is dazzling and busy and could easily overwhelm me, but not with Mary Kaye as a guide. She led me to her special favorite spots, and to places she thought I’d favor. All along, in the planning stages, she texted me: “Would you like this? … Since you’re new, maybe this would give you an overview … 

“Just take me where you want to go,” I said. We browsed in some stores at Union Square, where we Uber-ed from the Embarcadero -- most notably the Britex fabric store, four stories of personally selected silks and cottons, feathers and sequins, that is a haven for quilters and home-sewers,  Not far away is the new Apple Store, a kind of clubby atmosphere with a giant open door and iPads on tables for everyone to try and maybe buy. (Mary Kaye demonstrated the one that has a pencil and can layer all kinds of creations.

We ate lunch at Tadich, which takes no reservations, but had a table for us when we arrived, and every table full when we left. Tadich is everybody’s favorite restaurant, Mary Kaye said: dark, intimate, noisy, delicious. We shared a crab Louis.

I think San Francisco might be a place to spend more than four hours. Today was a taste.

Love.
k

First stop: Davis, CA

Closer to city it gets foggy

Stairs at Apple store