We're in!

Written last night:

I am leaning against pillows in my own bed in my new and still-messy condo, with Zing not quite at my side. After Clark died, Zing would always snuggle up to me on nights we were together, but tonight he’s at the very edge of the bed, ears cocked, watching the lights of the high-rise office buildings across the way,. He’s not used to this. Neither am I.

Now Zing’s sitting up straighter, alert.

I didn’t want to move in today; There are good reasons not to be here: I am welcome at Patrick and Steph’s; this place is still messy, filled with boxes; I don’t have kitchen appliances — only an ice chest, microwave and coffee maker. But the main reason not to move in, I suspect, is that I am reluctant to begin this new life in Sacramento without Clark. Sleeping in my new home makes it real. I don’t want it to be.  But it is, and here I am, with Zing, thank goodness. (Poor Zing has been at the kennel so long -- I finally showed up to get him 15 minutes before closing time today.)

OOOps! Excuse me! I hear something loud and strange outside, and so does Zing.

... I just stepped onto the narrow balcony outside the bedroom, expecting to see some kind of train or bus rumbling noisily, but no! 

… Fabulously, it is fireworks!

There's a fireworks display over the Sacramento River to welcome us. 

Clark may have staged the show.  The timing is perfect. Even if he did not, I know he would be happy that, persuaded by booming lights in the night sky, I acquiesce. I say yes. OK.  Hello, Sacramento! I am here. Thanks for the flashy welcome!

Earlier today, amid the tedium of unpacking, there were other welcomes. Late this morning I was hauling flattened boxes to the trash room on the first floor. There was enough corrugated cardboard to fill an elevator. (I am not joking.) I had a key that would keep the elevator doors open once I got to the first floor, so I could finish the terrible, tedious job. I was trudging the hall from the trash room to the still-open elevator, thinking of the horrible work before me, when I ran into the HOA manager and the cleaning professional, laughing as they dragged my boxes -- my boxes! -- down the hall, past me, and into the trash room. I was amazed because it is a dirty job dragging those boxes. “Thank you!” I said. “Oh, of course!” they said together, and they laughed again. “You’re welcome!” Together, we finished the chore in a minute.

And this evening, as Zing and I were walking near our building, we ran into a handful of others who live here, including two people who have been here 30+ years. All of them stopped to welcome us and to chat. I liked them. They made me feel welcome.

And then there were fireworks!

Love,

K

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