Be Prepared to Stop

I’m here. I’m here for good, legs stretched on the window seat at the Sheraton Sacramento, looking east at the dusky pink and blue sky. It’s either 11 p.m. or 8 p.m., depending on which part of my brain you ask.  

Patrick and Steph (and their dog Gully, who waited in the car), met me at the airport at 11 p.m. yesterday — less than 24 hours ago. When we got outside, the night air was so cool! They dropped me off at the Sheraton; I checked in; zoomed up 25 floors and flopped into bed. Slept until 3 a.m., which is also 6 — the time I always got up in Florida. I turned over and slept again, until 7, California time. 

Later, Patrick drove me to my new home.  There, everyone was easy, from the woman at the front desk to Bill and Bobby, the contractor and his son. My place looks —  or should I say feels — great. Smooth walls, floors ready for wood. From the balcony Bobby raved about what we could see: the Capitol, the yellow bridge, the new arena. “There aren’t too many sights in Sacramento,” he laughed, “but you can see them all from here.” I like that.

In the car, Patrick coached me, “Take it easy, Mom. Quiet your voice. Lower your intensity. People are more relaxed and friendly here.” How great to be advised by my son to relax and enjoy life!

Of course, my antennae are up, and today I noticed details that will soon escape me: water in the hotel bathroom does not gush into the sink; the faucet emits a light spray. Toilets need to be severely flushed. Buses have signs urging “Don’t forget to recycle your oil filter.” There are more bicycles, more beards, more arms with tattoos shoulder to wrist. Pedestrians don’t jaywalk; they wait for the Walk sign. Some bicyclists seem reckless, cutting corners from the sidewalk to the street right in front of cars. “Ordinary” dinner wine is extraordinary. 

At my new home there’s more to be done: details, details, and a conundrum: I need a new mailbox key. The last owners did not leave one. Mary the realtor had a new key made at the Post Office. To get that key, I have to go to the Post Office and prove I own this place. That would be the closing statement. Just before I left Tallahassee I UPS’d the closing statement and other papers to myself at my new address; so the proof I own this place is in the mailbox that I cannot open until I show proof I own this place. Tomorrow the solution will reveal itself.

An hour ago, as I was eating dinner at the hotel restaurant, in a comfy booth with a window onto J Street, a city workman sauntered onto the street directly outside my window and erected a sign. It said, “Be Prepared to Stop.” I think it was for me. 

Ready to go!

My last day in Tallahassee… I read the news and finished a book (The Nest/ a New York family drama), didn’t leave the hotel, hoping stillness would keep my knee from stiffening up.  I did hop across Gaines Street for coffee this morning (so much better than the hotel’s!) and in the evening for a salad to go from Gaines Street Pies.

There were frustrations: trying to access the bank online, which I did without problem yesterday, yet today I was blocked. Grrrr! Same with Social Security. Stab, Stab! Try, try! Reject, reject! Obviously, I should stop, and eventually I did. At least I know my questions.  I’ll ask them tomorrow.

The woman who cleans my hotel room told me about her 17-year-old daughter, who is mentally ill, who set fire to their house, who loves to draw, who cannot look her in the eye, who sucks all the attention away from her 9-year-old brother.  My problems shrivel before hers. 

And tomorrow: Sacramento, my new home! Trouble has beset me, yes, but I smile in anticipation. Yay!

 Empty house

Hello, normal ones!

Hello, normal ones!

Today was nothing but numbers. My brain is fried, but after many hours (yes, number nerds, it takes me a long time!) I’m beginning to grasp the pensions and the mortgage, the usernames and the passwords, a little better. I have to look at the stuff over and over before I get friendly with these crucial numbers.

I also enjoyed a  lovely goodbye coffee and a lunch with friends. Just now another friend called to say goodbye. “Let’s not think of it as goodbye, but that our worlds are getting bigger!”

I’m going to bed like a baby — early, after a bath, and with crackers and cocoa (well, wine!).

What I feel is not loneliness

Last night I couldn’t sleep (I know — hardly ever happens!), so I took a bath at 4 a.m. It worked.

Zing touched down in Sacramento late last night and is in good hands. Just got notice from Steph that the vet there finds Zing healthy. Thanks, Patrick and Steph!

I hate the word grief. 

The bright zinnias are still alive on my hotel table. 

I had to be gruff to the 2 men cleaning out the garage and shed. They wanted to dump everything by the edge of the drive for garbage pickup. I said No, in the same tone I use with Zing. No, plus treats (tips) worked. All is cleaned out. I never saw the house without furniture before today. It’s got character. I don’t know if I’ll go back.

I ate lunch at Hopkins Eatery, studying literature that came with my new Wells Fargo checking account. But the banker forgot our appointment. I ate dinner waiting for a city of Tallahassee phone to answer so I could cancel utilities. Never happened. In between, I returned all the black boxes to Comcast. Met with realtor. Laughed with Gretchen.

I decided to take it slow, realize things take time, not leave details unfinished here, head to Sacramento Monday. I’d have to stay in a hotel there anyway. And I keep limping a bit. I don’t like it. Going slower here will heal the knee.  

What I feel is not loneliness.

Can dogs fly?

All day I’ve been trying to get Zing in the air. It might not happen. There are restrictions — size of dog, temperature of tarmac in each city touched. If you get the size of the carrying case wrong you will be rejected. You must freeze the water he will drink. Screws must be metal, not plastic, but metal covered with plastic is OK. Everything is listed on the websites, but there is too much to absorb. Surprisingly, every person I talked to on the phone was relaxed and helpful. But no answers yet. Zing and I will be at the Tallahassee Airport Monday morning, and they might take him to Sacramento. But they might not. If he does land, Patrick and Steph will pick him up at 11 p.m. and take him home, and then Tuesday check him in to a dog boarding home until I come.

Needless to say, I haven’t made my own reservations yet. (I began today by making reservations for myself, with Zing under the seat as a carry-on, but it turns out he’s too big to fit under a seat.) We might end up driving across the country. Or Patrick might drive Zing to Sacramento. Really, if Zing hadn’t been by my side this time of crisis without Clark, I'd be tempted to leave him in Tallahassee with my student who loves him and begged for him. But Zing is now mine, completely. We’ll see on Monday what that entails. 

BTW, Amtrak takes dogs, but only recently (late 2015),  and with many area and time restrictions. Zing need not apply. And no dogs on buses. Yet. 

Zing hasn’t been eating much at the hotel. Same food, different place. Tonight I’m too tired for a dinner search, so I heated some spinach and cracked two eggs into it. With crackers and wine it was fine!

After a day or two you get the workaround that is Residence Inn.

Series: Gluing down paint the way my hero Beatriz Milhazes does it

Forgive me, friends, for friending Facebook and forgetting to blog.
Forgive me also for returning, in a faltering way.
You see, I am a child of traditional media, and I don't know where I belong.

I know there are many of us! Even children love the rough touch of paper and that inky smell.  Some of us remember being paid a living wage to write words on paper. Now we feel unloved. But I still want to do it: write on paper. So I've returned to an actual notebook for the pleasure it gives as it helps clarify my thoughts. I have begun writing notes and some of them will appear here. Don't worry -- I'll interpret that small writing!

Trying Beatriz Milhazes' technique: steps 1-6

With this experiment I am ending my series inspired by Brazilian artist Beatriz Milhazes. I realize I love her colors most of all; they remind me of South Florida's brilliance.  I also love her layering of colors and designs, and her lack of focal point -- her pieces jump and dance, with no resting spot. But Friday I threw my final (16" x 20" Kona cotton on duck) experiment into the trash. I used her basic technique: cut shapes from plastic, paint that with acrylic, let it dry, then glue it down. At first I couldn't get the paint to stick to the surface, but I discovered a video that shows Milhazes actually holding the plastic. It looks like dropcloth, so I bought one at Home Depot. With the help of Elmer's Glue-All, it worked! (I can't show you; it's in the trash.) I hated the results! It looked like plastic tape, so shiny and fake! Milhazes doesn't like the mark of the brush or hand, but I do.

Thank you, Beatriz, for your guidance! I may return to our technique some day.
(I'll gladly go into more detail about the steps. Just ask me!)

I was working with these colors.

Put more social in your media

"Get over it!" That's what Randi Atwood, the platform editor of the Tallahassee Democrat, told about 20 of us gathered around a table at COCA (Council on Culture and Arts) headquarters on Gaines Street last Tuesday night.  It was a workshop for the art community on Developing your social media voice. .

I need to get over being kind of backward when it comes to social media.
Did your mother admonish "Don't be pushy!"? Mine did.
Today Pushy is good, says Randi. Push your ideas, your merchandise, your art. Shy people lose!
Accept anyone who wants to be your Facebook friend. Like. Comment. Share. Video your technique. Dare your friends. Ask audacious questions. Climb onto today's bandwagon. Don't hold back.

I have some friends and cousins who refuse to do Facebook. They're afraid of people snooping on them. Or they say it feels like work, and they've had enough of That! OK for them. Peace be to them.

I love communicating, and want to use what's available. But I do remember a nice clackety-clack typewriter. Love that sound!

Straddling two worlds, I went to Randi's workshop hoping to learn why (after seven or eight years doing it) I don't write my blog more often. Should I? What good is it? Also, I wanted to know if I should post the same pictures of my art on Instagram and Facebook. Isn't that overkill? How do Facebook and Instagram differ?

I found out that social media is good for selling: myself, my pictures, my ideas.
I'm kind of programmed to step back, not forward. So this is a stretch. But I'm doing it. Thanks, Randi!

Randi is the future. The future is now. Here are some highlights:

1. "Blogs are not social media," OK, Randi! I get it -- My blog doesn't offer the immediate give-and-take that defines social media. So I should say how a blog can help me, and then decide whether to keep it up or not. (I'm keeping it, obviously.) And really, one reason I don't write my blog more is that I love my iPad, but the blog works best if I create on my Mac. Got to keep the Mac handy. I'm not really selling anything, which is a big reason for blogs. However, I like to assimilate my thoughts in writing. I like to record my techniques: which paint did I use?  ... details that make it easier next time. Also, recipes I love! Maybe album-style family events. I love to make things, and not just for me. Mostly, I love to share: my thrills, creations, food.  I'll let the blog work for me.
2. Don't use all the venues -- Concentrate on a couple-- say Instagram and Facebook -- and get really good. You shouldn't be on everything. bye-bye, Twitter! 
3. Don't be boring. social media is a conversation, not an annual report. (Or maybe not a news story either, which is what I seem to write. Or poems.) Write like you talk. Chat. 
4. Social media is all about give and take. It's a conversation, remember? Someone says something, someone else responds. I thought writing was to read. Wrong! Your thoughts will live! Maybe come back to haunt you.
5.  Randi says don't use exclamation marks in excess. Or maybe never, if you want to look really grown up. 
6. Facebook loves algorithms (Didn't I get A's in college math? Then why am I so blank about this? Oh, years have passed, you say?). Anyway, algorithms determine who gets to see your posts. Algorithms like videos best. They eat up videos and spit them out everywhere. Next, the Algorithm Monster likes pictures and comments. And Shares, of course. If you get lots of Shares, Facebook loves you. In other words, the farther you make your posts spread, the farther Facebook makes them spread. So make an effort. Respond to people. Ask them to respond to you. Beg them even.
7. And if you're marketing something -- the Orchid Show say -- you should know about Boosting. My techno-friend Randi recommends it. Strongly. Look into Boosting. It means you pay a little -- say, $20 -- and get to tell Facebook where to go. Literally. Facebook will send your post to whoever you say. It takes a little work. Look it up. Google it: Boosting.

There's more, but that'll do for now."At'll do" ... as Grandma Frey used to say when we'd had just enough of this for now.