Today my condo feels kind of like home. Actually it is home, just not complete. I put the ukulele that Patrick painted for Clark and the clock that was a wedding gift to Clark’s grandparents on the new shelves, and maybe tomorrow I’ll add the books that are now heaped on the floor. Clock and ukulele and books too are signs of life. Each reverberates in its own way. There’s Rig’s Asian art leaning against the woodwork, and Clark’s Tallahassee barn photograph and his photo of gorgeous graffiti (whose, Patrick?) nearby, waiting for my final OK.
OK!
Not to mention flowers from the farmers market in a red vase, over by the window so you can see them reflected too. Oh, and the TV, front and center. And the stained glass lamp Dad made for me is on the heavy trestle table that was Clark’s parents’.
The place is warming up.
When I was describing my decor to Maria last night it sounded bleak: white and empty. But today I see my condo is full of warmth and memories, just not quite “put together” yet. I am beginning to feel at home.
Zing and I walked a lot today: over to T Street, where we came upon a small music festival in a park, with a young man riding his bicycle in backward circles in time to the music. The park is across the street from Our Lady of Guadalupe national shrine; up past the California Park Department office (which is in one of those old Victorian houses); and in the morning we went up to the Capitol, where we saw young people in fancy dress posing for photographs.
This morning I went to the Saturday farmers market, where the woman who pressed a free tomato on me last week gave me a bunch of grapes today. I’m eating them now; they’re smaller than grocery store fruit -- sweeter, tastier.
This afternoon I found my way to a giant shopping area, with Walmart, Ikea, Home Depot and other big box stores. I only ran in to Walmart and out again (although Ikea called to me)). When I left the condo, I kind of knew it was very close to Zing’s walk time. “Wait for me!” I told him, and he seemed to nod OK. But when I got back an hour later, there was an anonymous note on my door that said, “Your dog barks a lot.”
I had a talking to with Zing, and he told me I should respect his pee needs.
I was feeling like a bad neighbor, but then we went for a walk and Zing was loved by everyone: a woman in a wheelchair; a retired minister walking his growling black dog; a young man who said his girlfriend loves dogs like Zing, and finally the woman who cuddled him on the elevator. When she got off she said to me, “Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t even looked you in the eye! I love your dog!”
“Yes,” I said. “So does everybody.”
Love,
k
2 comments:
Love zing, especially his bark!
Yes, he uses it only when he has something to say!
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