Water is for fighting

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

I’m here with a glass of wine and there’s the smell of ginger and cinnamon on the stove, and Zing! is asleep under the bed. It sounds peaceful … but it follows a busy day. Zing! went to daycare, which always tires him out, and I am also tired because I went to Sausalito with a group in a van. Anyone who has sailed on a small boat knows to avoid being trapped in a vessel with others … unless you love them! But I saw this “field trip” sponsored by the community center where I take ukulele … it said “lunch under the bridge.” I signed up. 

I will keep it short, but it is complex. Water is a big issue in California, as as it is in Florida and in many other states. The area where we live -- the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta -- is rich in water, while some of the state is drier. They want/need what we have. Two-thirds of California residents and farms and businesses get their water from the Delta, so  water flow isn’t exactly natural anymore. All kinds of things are done to get water where it is needed/wanted; I was surprised to learn that the first and most devastating was hydraulic mining during the Gold Rush. Now there are also canals, levees, and in the future there may be water tunnels. 

Today we saw a model of the Delta — kind of like models you made in school, but this was built to help The Army Corps of Engineers learn what to expect when changes are made to the Delta system. The Corps tried things out on the model before they did it to the actual Delta. This is no science project — the model is the size of a giant warehouse, and it’s normally covered with water, but today a computer glitch made it dry. Never mind — we got to see the locks and dams. 

The model is just for education now. The Corps uses computer models, which are more exact and cost less.. 

One sign at the model quoted Mark Twain: “Whiskey is for drinking and water is for fighting.” (However, it seems Twain never actually said it. Politicians just like to attribute it to him.)

And we did have lunch at The Dead Fish restaurant under the Carquinez Bridge.

Love,

k

Carquinez Bridge -- that's smoke, not fog

view from The Dead Fish restaurant

Part of the model, which most days is covered with water
OK-- it looks boring, but it was a useful tool 

Sailing across a bridge

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Yesterday  Kate and I drove to the Sundial Bridge in Redding, CA — it was on my must-see/must-cross list. Redding is 2+ hours north of here, where the mountains begin, and it was a beautiful drive. On the way I kept asking Kate, “What’s that?” and she kept saying, “Huh?” because she has often made this trip to visit family, and everything looks normal to her. But we passed the Sutter Buttes, a heap of rocks that used to be a volcano; here, she said, a community of Sikhs, among others, has settled. And up ahead, just beyond Redding, is Lassen Peak  a volcano.(You might remember its sister (brother?) volcano, Mount Shasta, which is a bit farther north.)

Oh, and the bridge! It’s in a park, and it’s for pedestrians and bikes, across the Sacramento River, which is blue here. The architect Santiago Calatrava designed it with a glass floor, and a cantilevered, cable-stay form — although it's a real sundial, to me it resembles a sailboat, which makes me love it already. To see it is to sail it. Unlike a boat, the bridge is landlocked, stable. But it soars, and I love every inch of it. 

Then, beyond, there’s a simple little wooden bridge crossing a creek. And I love it too.

Love,

k

Sacramento River from the Sundial Bridge

That snowy white peak is the volcano

Bridge bonanza

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today was a bridge bonanza. This morning Zing and I were walking across the gold bridge, when a siren shrieked, terrifying us -- we realized it was a warning that the center of the bridge (where we were) would soon rise.  Zing did not need persuasion. We both raced to the city side and the gates clanged down behind us.  The center of the bridge creaked skyward, not at an angle, like a drawbridge, but straight up --  who knows how many feet -- to make room for big boats. None passed through; it was a routine test, but thrilling anyway. 

Then the street descended and the bridge was whole again. We crossed over, normally,  and strolled along the Sacramento River toward the I-Street Bridge. A woman we met along the way said when she was a kid they called it “The Black Bridge." It is a metal-truss swing bridge, which means a piece of it can angle out to leave space for passing big boats.

This drawing shows the I Street Bridge on the west bank. Cars and pedestrians go on top, and trains pass on the bottom level. The river is to the right.

Love,

k

Drawing a bridge

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

You know I love bridges, so I decided to draw them this week; our class is supposed to be drawing things we see outside. For my first (clumsy, I realize!) attempt, Zing and I stood on the sidewalk of the yellow bridge near our home. The Tower Bridge, as it's known here, is the color of California gold; it crosses the Sacramento River and has become a symbol for the city. It’s a vertical lift bridge, meaning the center rises mechanically, thanks to machinery in its two towers, so high boats  can pass under. From the bridge it's a straight view across a grassy mall to the Capitol building a dozen blocks away.

Love,

k

San Francisco with my cousins

Written Friday:

Dear Friends,

There's still tonight in San Francisco, and we're (my cousin Judy and her daughter Christy-- both from LA) going to dinner soon at a restaurant near the Bay Bridge. I haven't been with them long, but they already know about me and bridges, and they selected this spot for me. Not only that, they had a fuzzy owl perched (do owls perch?) on my pillow when I arrived at the Fisherman's Wharf Hyatt Wednesday. Plus, we've been laughing at the same things. 

Here are notes, in case you visit SF, and also for me to remember on my next trip:

Hyatt Fisherman's Wharf. Comfortable and soul-less. Dreary gray nautical theme. I arrived early and tired --  longing for a cozy lobby where I could wait for Judy and Christy: not this one!  Seems like a conference hotel, and indeed Christy is here for a conference. 
Fisherman's Wharf itself. We skipped it. Tourist trap.
Cable car rides -- right around the corner, but didn't have time. I remember loving the ride on a trip here with Clark. 
There's a Starbucks, Trader Joe's, Cost Plus World Market, Safeway Mkt., and Walgreen's a block or so away. Other neighborhood-type services (dry-cleaners, etc.) are nearby. 
Walking just a bit farther:
Pat's Cafe, Mason Street.  Bright and welcoming breakfast and lunch place.  I had a tuna salad sandwich and good cup of coffee for late lunch the day I arrived.  Steady stream of customers.
Cafe Capriccio, Mason Street -- loved having breakfast here 2 days -- simple little place with sidewalk tables too. I had French press coffee and fruit-yogurt-granola, just like at home. Tempting pastries, cheesecake and quiche on display. Wifi. 
Fior d'Italia, Mason Street. We had a delicious, Italian dinner in this restaurant in what is billed as the oldest hotel in SF.  I would definitely return. 
We got a 2-day San Francisco Go-Card for $99.  This let us in museums and on the 21-stop on-off Big Bus tour
California Academy of Sciences. Made me love all flora, fauna, rocks, and rain. There's a fabulous video (no, that's too tame a word!) you can enjoy from reclining seats and focusing on the dome above. Lots more. 
DeYoung Legion of Honor Museum. Stunning building and park location, loads of art. 
San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Can't rave enough. We missed the Matisse/Diebenkorn show because it was sold out. Should have gotten tickets ahead of time. There's a "chapel" devoted to my favorite artist, Agnes Martin.  Don't ask me why i love her -- she's pared down and has a limited palette, while I'm normally drawn to the messy and the bright. Lots, lots more art, and the biggest museum shop ever.
We made dinner reservations at the museum's In Situ restaurant. But the menu did not tempt us. Seemed pretentious, but that would have been OK if it also sounded delicious. So we decided to eat dessert first because that menu sounded better, but it was not. We finally had dinner at Joe's Crab Shack. Call us plain folks if you must, and judge the place for yourself. In Situ was crowded, so lots must love it. 

Written last night (Saturday):

I’m not afraid of San Francisco anymore! I know I’ll go back soon. 

Judy and Christy were so sweet — I wouldn’t have gone without them. They invited me to join them while they were in the city, where Christy was attending a conference. She’s a doctor in LA, and what I learned from her is to wash my hands. Hot tip! And don’t touch the sink handles after you’ve washed your hands (in a public place, especially). Put a paper towel between you and the handle. Christy didn’t exactly tell me this; I just cunningly observed. Also, use hand sanitizer. 

Having fun in SF with them gave me confidence that I can get around the city, maybe even on my own. As you know, I’ve been kind of frozen and “big girl” stuff has eluded me for awhile. I feel my sea legs, or life legs, returning. 

This time I took Amtrak to Emeryville, and then a bus into SF, and reversed the trip home. It was easy, because the bus and the train act as a unit, so the bus is right there when you get off the train. The whole trip is a couple of hours. The Sacramento Amtrak station is so close to my condo that today I just walked the few blocks, pulling my purple suitcase. It felt good to be back home.

When I walked in and saw Clark’s photo I burst into tears. He would have loved the train. 

Zing and I are going to take it easy tomorrow.

Love,

k

Once you start going up a hill you can't turn back.

That's how I got up here. Turns out it's the top of Russian Hill.

There's a plaque in the little park at the top 

to honor Ina Donna Coolbrith, California's first poet laureate 

If you squint you can see the Golden Gate Bridge

 Above is the old hotel that houses the restaurant Fior d'Italia

I had breakfast here every morning

Bay Bridge view at Epic Steak

Crossing the Bay Bridge, I say goodbye from the bus

Happy Graffiti

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

It took three irregular nights, but this morning I finally shook off the jet lag and woke up California time. As usual, I  showered and dressed and then Zing stretched, jumped to the floor, and joined me for a quick walk in the dark city. Only this morning, when we got on the elevator and the door closed and I sleepily pushed the down button, there was a 2” blue sign taped above: BE NICE. I stared at it as we went down. On the first floor the elevator door opened to another sign: IT’S NOT HARD TO BE NICE … SAY HI!! and then another BE NICE on the lobby door.

I just had to thank the universe for that note writer. Our building is kind of stodgy, so I knew the signs would be down soon, and they were. Still, I hope more pop up. (Yes, I thought of joining in with a sign of my own, but this little happy graffiti campaign belongs to someone else.) It was a great way to begin the day.

Other than that, we enjoyed a mostly gray and quiet Sunday. Zing and I did walk over the yellow bridge later on, to inspect the current after the rains. The Sacramento River was rushing faster than ever, this time carrying large trees that must have fallen in the wind. Like the ocean, rivers are not to be messed with. 

I’m going to sleep now so I can wake up early and see if there is another encouraging note in the elevator. 

Love,

k

Airport as bridge

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

It is relaxing to have your plane be an hour late — no rush! The young woman  next to me ( she’s a Princeton economics student.) is knitting and just modeled a Scandinavian-style ear-muffed hat for the truck driver on her other side. The driver is impressed. He is thinking of learning to knit, because he has lots of hours (“Sometimes six or more”) just sitting in the cab, waiting for his truck to be unloaded.

Over to my left is a river on the floor — an artwork of blue and green going down the middle of the hallway. I wish there was a description of the artist and the art — I wonder if this is modeled on a real river, like maybe the Sacramento or the American from around here. Without that information, it's just a squiggly shape to walk on. (It's not this river -- a carpet depicting 50 miles of the Sacramento River by Sayed Alavi on the airport bridge. )


One and a half hours to take-off … the woman at the American Airlines counter said things are screwed up because of weather; for one thing, there are 14 inches of snow in Portland, where her son lives, she said. “They don’t know how deal with snow there,” she said.

Really, I mean it, it’s fun. 

Love,
k

Sleeping under the moon

Dear Friends,

I am trying a new thing — to live as I would like, here in Sacramento. To live as if I am not constrained — not by Zing or by grief or by fear. 

• What would I do if I didn’t worry about Zing?
• What would I do if I didn’t feel sad, missing Clark, but rather felt elated by his confidence in me (which he repeated like a love song) and his satisfaction with life? 
• What would I do if I weren’t afraid I’d screw up new challenges (finances, hardware… ) that face me these days?

I aim to find out. As Clark would say, "It's just another part of the adventure."

This morning  I took Zing to Grateful Dog, then tackled business details. I don't like this. Even though it's everyday stuff, it really scares me. So I am starting where I believe knowledge begins -- with the words. I am going to gradually assimilate the vocabulary: Asset, liability, etc.  ... simple terms that you probably say with ease, and one day I will say them easily too.

In the early evening Zing and I took a long walk across the gold Tower Bridge. When we got to the far side, a bicyclist was pedaling toward us; at the the bridge she looked down and gasped. A few steps ahead, we could see what had startled her:  a woman was crouched on the path, spreading out a tarp and a tent, claiming a spot for the night on the bridge. Tower Bridge: bicycle path ... walking trail ... bedroom. At that point Zing and I turned around. Once on the city side I glanced at the sky, and the full moon took my breath away. A little later we passed through the park by Crocker Art Museum, where a high school band was marching, practicing under the trees. I love city life.

Love,

k

What's up at the noodle factory?

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Just now I lost Zing's Pickle Pocket. 

Pickle Pocket? you say? Until last week I had no idea either. It is a green plastic thing shaped like you know what, with tracks into which you can squirt cheese. It’s Zing’s supreme treat. If I give it to him he forgets his troubles. I was going to give him his Pickle Pocket tonight when I went to the building’s holiday party,  but I couldn't find it. I put it somewhere special when the guy came this morning to install the backsplash. You know how it is when you put stuff somewhere special.

Then this evening I met a woman (She lives in this building.) who had a dog with anxiety so bad she had to … you don’t want to know. The dog was old  and so tense he couldn’t fly, and this woman had to move to New Zealand. I’m glad Zing was 12 stories upstairs when she told me this story at the party by the Christmas tree in the lobby.

On a nicer note, Zing and I took a half-mile walk to Beers Books this morning. We couldn’t go in, of course. I know some bookstores do welcome dogs, but we just walked past and spied in the window. I have been completely spoiled by Mitch Kaplan’s Books & Books in Miami and hope this place is a fraction so solid. I’ve lately become partial again to books on paper. They say Beers is a Sacramento institution. 

On the way back we passed a hole-in-the wall noodle kitchen, just off R Street. It has a tantalizing cardboard sign by the sidewalk, and a  closed door and an open door. I peered inside and saw a woman in an apron at a stainless steel table. I don’t know what she was doing. I’ve got to find out.

It’s warmer here now. At just about sunset Zing and I crossed the Sacramento River on the gold Tower Bridge. The sky was lustrous.

Then when we got home I realized the fastest way to find the Pickle Pocket is to order another one. So I did.

Love, 

k

Late afternoon
 Tower Bridge over the Sacramento River

Wind by the river

Written last night:
I have a thing for bridges, as you know. Brooklyn Bridge, Golden Gate Bridge, southern Indiana covered bridge — all are thrilling, but the best for me is the Rickenbacker in Miami. I love the way it feels at the rise near the center. There is always a breeze, always a broad view, and sometimes even a bit of drama from the passers-by or the mementos left on the railing. Everyone says there’s so much gorgeous nature for me to experience around Sacramento — but secretly, to me, it will have to measure up to that wild feeling at the middle of the Rickenbacker. Today I got a little taste of it. 

About 5 p.m. Zing and I walked the few blocks to the Crocker Art Museum. (Part of the way I balance-walked on the curb.) Just beyond the museum there’s a short, unassuming bridge over the freeway. For the first time, we crossed over it. Ho-hum. We found ourselves on the River Walk, a broad cement path overlooking the Sacramento River. I was unimpressed. Rivers remind me of work and places you go when you can’t get to the ocean. I sat on a bench, gazed at the water, with the freeway buzz close behind me. Then I stood up and began to walk the path with Zing, and right then the wind picked up and swirled my hair; for just a few seconds it  felt like that strong Rickenbacker breeze. (To me, the wind is magic and God and maybe even Clark all rolled up in a gust.) It felt great, and I thought maybe I’ll give this river a chance.

Earlier this afternoon I talked with Florida friends Jennifer, an artist from Tallahassee, and Pam, whose career at Carrollton kind of echoed mine.  I am delighted that friendship stretches this far! 

As for work — it was the usual: screwing chairs together, driving to Michael’s to get art framed, digging down deep into the automatic bill pay function of the bank … answering stupid questions like what was the make and model of your first car? Fiat 500, of course. Don’t tell! 

Tomorrow is the first day of Fall. Wherever you are, enjoy the change!

Love,
k

Bridge: Arc in Air

Bridge
20 1/4" x 16 1/2"

This is Bridge, my piece in the Florida in Fabric II exhibit at the Ruth Funk Center for Textile Arts in Melbourne. If you get to Melbourne you can see it through August 23. It won a Director's Choice mention.

I love to run across bridges, and in this piece I'm trying -- through flying words, shiny fish, and translucent color -- to convey what it feels like to be in the middle of a bridge on a gorgeous day. The arc reminds me of the William Powell Bridge in Miami, and the words are the first stanza of a poem I wrote about the marvelous people I have encountered on that bridge over the years -- including a one-legged woman who ran across on crutches, a man who always ran backward, and the faithful who on some Sundays were baptized in the shallow water on the far side.

 I sewed the introductory first stanza using free-motion stitches:

Arc in air

blue air

blue air shining

shining like bait fish

fish in a silver net

caught in the sky

Fabric collage/ paper collage

I am loving collage, and I want to see how the paper techniques stretch to fabric. Here are the first steps of two separate collages -- a paper and paint piece with a Christmas theme, and a work that is mostly fabric continuing my interest in salt water.

Base

I have a base and cotton fabrics to cover it with.

Here are swaths of fabric, instead of paint. 

Words

For the paper collage I used black ink and a calligraphy pen. I wrote random Christmas words, including Peace, Cheer, Holiday...

For the fabric collage I wrote with black thread.  I've written the first stanza of a poem about the Rickenbacker Causeway Bridge. It begins, "Arc in air…"

Below, I've masked some of the paper in preparation for painting. In the next post I'll show the final, fun steps of the pair.

Key Biscayne beauty

It was Jan. 1 (and I can't remember the year) when I first ran across the Rickenbacker Causeway bridge from Miami to Key Biscayne. I was lucky to run across again last week. Mmmm! I love the light and the color and the bright spirit. Above is the view of Miami from the beach on the Key side. Below, an ad on a public bus shelter.

And below is a remembrance.