Sacramento streets

Written last night:

At 7 a.m. Rosa Parks and I set out to cruise the narrow streets of Sacramento, hoping for uncrowded streets. Rosa is famous for her quiet and ready courage; — not me! I was scared as a school child leaving its Mommy, as lacking in confidence as a 16-year-old learning to drive. I couldn’t even get out of the parking garage without help — why don’t those computer things work for me? I suspect machines sense my nervousness, take me for a weakling. Luckily, an attendant made the thing work and the arm went up. But then I hit the streets! Trees along the way made them seem narrower. Cars parked right up to the corner (different from Florida), made me nervous to make turns. I had no idea where I was going. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t going anywhere, although I did have a basic California checklist: Safeway supermarket (open 24 hours and crawling with early-morning shoppers), Peet’s coffee shop (I like it), the kennel where Zing is vacationing. I moved slowly past fancy little painted houses, trains like sectioned caterpillars, everyone driving slow as a 70-year-old grandma (me), which made me feel right at home. Tomorrow I will venture further. 

Later I cleared up a few things at Wells Fargo Bank, which is around the corner from my new home. The place has a friendly vibe — a young man in a fine suit greeted me like a maitre-d. Until recently I’ve stuck to the ATM and checked accounts online; banks intimidate me. But now that Clark isn’t here to share the responsibility, I’m determined to get confident with money. So after the basics were finished, I asked Diane, the banker, if she has any advice. She didn’t seem to think I was as stupid as I felt, thank goodness. “Check your account online every three days,” she said, “just to keep track of things. And come in once a month to review activity with me.” 

Go to the bank again? I thought today would be kind of final. “Yes,” she insisted, “we’ll just go over the month’s activity, and I’ll answer any question that might come up." She could feel my reluctance. "Some people do it every day,” she assured me.

I would just as soon squeeze my eyes shut as I pass the bank, kind of like whistling past a graveyard: If I don’t look, nothing bad will happen. But now I’ve got to open my eyes. I’m going to do it.

On the way out I noticed a Peet’s Coffee Shop across the street. I think I’ll make that my post-banking treat.

From the bank I walked to my new home to pick up mail and the garage remote. At the condo, a young painter, Vitale, was cleaning up for lunchtime. We took the elevator down together and ran into Bill the contractor, who was on his way up. He insisted I return with him so he could show me progress in detail. “See this bathroom door?” he pointed, “It opens the wrong way. See how it covers the light switch? Careless! I’m taking it off its hinges and putting it on the proper side. Same with the other bathroom.” I love Bill’s pride and precision, and feel lucky Stephanie led me to such a craftsman. Bill said painting would be done and I can sleep in the condo Wednesday night, although he’ll probably have to finish up details on Thursday and Friday. Yay!!! The POD may not be available yet, but I’ll be moving in with a bedroll and an ice chest. 

And a dog. I’ve been missing Zing, and today I called to see if I could take him for walks. “It won’t upset our schedule,” the woman on the phone said, “but it might traumatize Zing to leave and then have to return to the kennel.” That’s the last thing I want to do, so I’ve got to wait to pat my dog.