What curtains can do

Written last night:

Dear Friends:

I have lived with bare windows for so long that I find myself scowling at today's civilized addition of shades and drapes. Being on the twelfth floor and across the street from government offices has made me feel private up here, even though anyone with curiosity and a telescope could probably see in. But as of today I have shades, and  now they are closed for the night. They give privacy and coziness. I’ve got to say it feels good — maybe even better than the beautiful black night with squares of gold light from neighboring office buildings. 

This afternoon, while Steve the window treatment installer was drilling holes in my cement walls, I escaped the noise and dust by retreating to the outside stairway overlooking downtown; I sat on the rock-cold landing, where I read awhile and made a few phone calls. With a plate of cheese and bread, I had my own private picnic.

I don’t know why, but today I also cooked more like I used to — polenta and roasted tomatoes and spinach and applesauce — and also for the first time in a while I got lost in reading an actual paper paper — The New York Review of Books, which Rig introduced me to.  There I learned that the father of poet James Merrill had founded Safeway Markets, as well as Merrill Lynch. Then later today, when I stopped in at Safeway, I felt compelled  to share this tidbit with a checkout person. Surely she would want to know that her store had been started by a the father of a great poet!  But I controlled myself and shut up. Until now.

Love,
K

My chilly picnic

Accidentally celebrating

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

The fog this morning was pink, signaling, I supposed, a sunny day. But it turned gloomy and even the happy greeter at Target was low key. Her fluffy hair drooped today, and so did her smile. “It’s the weather!” she said.

Out here we get upset by rain and dampness.

The mood continued as I dealt with finances (I'm becoming an adult!) and discovered that the dishwasher still doesn't work.

But at the end of the day Zing and I decided to go down by the Capitol Building -- it’s a decent trek and bright along the way. (By 5 p.m. it gets dark quick.) We passed a couple holding hands, humming a Christmas carol. Closer to the Capitol we saw the big Christmas tree all lit up, and closer still we could hear a choir. A crowd, a stage, a choir — the Lighting of the Christmas Tree!! Accidentally celebrating, Zing and I stood at the edge. Not to be sappy, but the whole thing made me happy-sad and believing in Santa once again. Surrounded by  people, sound, and light, Zing sat right down in wonder on the sidewalk --  wondering, I suppose, what this could possibly have to do with dogs. As for me, it was perfect. 

Love,
k

Sunday

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

Another lovely, easy Sunday. 

I did clean the three big windows, though; they were speckled with cement dust from when Bill blasted the old floor out. I put this chore off until the very last minute: shades and curtains will be hung Tuesday, thanks largely to Mary’s guiding eye.

Is it odd to love a sink? I have fallen for my new one already — deep and spacious and simple. Oh! and I also love my new garbage disposal, which doesn’t vibrate t when it runs.

It was lovely to go to brunch with Steph and Patrick — I had fun!! After that I had to tell Zing I plan to act like a normal person pretty soon now, and he should be prepared to act like a normal dog and sit quietly on the pillow while I’m gone. Then we went for a walk past the ice rink at Rose of Lima Park. 

Love,
k

Terrible tiny troubles

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today I was filled to the brim with tiny troubles — you know how sometimes you can shoulder the big stuff while the smallest trifles seem too much to bear? 

Zing was coughing a lot, so I called the vet, who referred me to the Doggie ER.(Really, Zing? Must you??? ) So I put the (imaginary) siren and twirling lights on Rosa’s roof and we flashed out to some suburban office space. Of course, the vet staff was ebullient and they adored Zing. How can they be so bubbly? They gave him a cough suppressant and sent us home. To get to know the city, we drove down Folsom Boulevard rather than taking the freeway: warehouses, trailer parks, a “transformation studio,” and apartments — then small plain houses, followed by their fancier cousins, a hospital, and finally midtown. Hey! I’m learning! We passed some promising restaurants, a Trader Joe’s and next to that Cassi’s favorite pet store, where Zing suggested we turn in for treats. 

When we got home I pushed the button to turn off the dishwasher, which I’d turned on at bedtime. The dishes were clean, but the thing wouldn’t turn off.  I called yesterday’s plumber (“24-hour service!”), and told my troubles to the answering machine. Owner’s Manual to the rescue! Except not for this. OK -- Google! which told me “the machine is in flood mode.” These are not easy words to absorb when you are machine-stupid. I think I heard Gabriel’s trumpet. Or was it Noah?

Earlier Mona had suggested I turn off the breaker switch (is that the right term?). I have always stayed far away from that box thing, fearing that if I flip the wrong switch the whole town and maybe the world will go dark. I know — to you it’s probably laughable. Eventually, thanks to YouTube, I did flip the correct switch (#15), and the plumber will be here Monday. 

Toward evening Zing and I walked around Freeport Boulevard, home of the pink-box bakery and the donut shop. One was closed, one was open, so there will be sweet rolls for breakfast, and they’ll make my tiny troubles go away.


I hope yours do too!

Love,
k

Made by hand -- made my day

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I spent the day in the studio, going over finances, while outside my door young men installed sinks in the kitchen and baths. Unfortunately, their schedules were awry. They came late. Their measurements were off. The work that was supposed to finish yesterday may be completed next Thursday. They’ll be back. (Except for the man who has a curl right up the center of his crown. His mother in the Philippines fell and he has to fly over to help her out. His partner will be here next week to install the backsplash.

They worked hard, grunting as they lugged the sinks. They knew their wrenches. Nothing leaks, that I can tell, anyway. 

I also talked to Jennifer, and Patrice, and Mona — thanking Mona for her gift of a purple-inspired Courthouse Steps quilt. I had planned to hang it on the wall behind the purple couch. But one moment of sitting with Mona’s gift around me on this cold afternoon persuaded otherwise. There’s nothing like hand-quilting by a friend, thrown over your shoulders, fingered and appreciated stitch-by-stitch. Zing loved it too. I had to drag him off it. It’s impossible to explain how a piece hand-made by a friend signifies so much.

Love,

k

Mona's quilt

Expecting the unexpected

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

Remember how at the beginning of renovation I was shocked when each project came apart before it came together? Now, near the end of the project, I expect a glitch at every step. And of course the unanticipated evil happened again today, while installing new countertops and sinks. I will spare the details (and the part where everyone explains how it wasn’t their fault) — but let’s just say that tonight I brushed my teeth with a bottle of Pellegrino, and a blue soup bowl was my sink.

Luckily I didn’t have to cook dinner; I’d made plans to meet Janie, who lives in this building, at the little restaurant next door. We’d shared some laughs when we met at the gentle yoga class held Wednesdays in our community room. (I’ve since  dropped out of yoga.) Janie is in a wheelchair, and she was having a glass of wine with a blind man when I arrived. He’s an intern and she’s his mentor in a counseling program. They are two pretty courageous souls. Janie said that about 20 years ago, while she was studying at the Sorbonne in Paris, she had an aneurism (or something sudden and devastating like that) while skiing in Switzerland. Because she was young, the medical personnel thought she’d overdosed on drugs. Then because her eyes went dark, they thought she’d died. She stubbornly kept showing signs of life, so, finally, they “rushed” her to a hospital. We spent the evening mostly laughing. 

Earlier today I met another neighbor who simply followed one of the workers carrying my countertop up from the truck. He wanted to get renovation inspiration (Don’t come to me!!) He and his wife just bought a place here. He said his wife conducts interviews every morning on public radio … got to listen … but not tomorrow … he said it’s a special on the end of life. 

Love,

k

Wreath and candles

Magic -- morning and night

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I knew Clark would give me a special gift today, and it started with the dawn sky being beautiful. 

Later, Zing and I were heading to Grateful Dog; as soon as we stepped into the hallway outside our door Zing started coughing. OH, NO! 

I heard Clark (as I actually have heard him many times) say, “Don’t worry!” His words were with me all day long.

Don’t worry. The neighbors won’t stick their heads into the hallway and shake their fingers at us for disturbing their morning. 

Don’t worry. Zing is not sick. Remember that the veterinarian assured you of this?? He’s allergic or anxious or unused to dry weather. 

Don’t worry. So what if the bulletin board you just installed in the studio is a tiny bit crooked? 

Don’t worry. So what if the pizza  is not crisp as you like it?

Don’t worry. Just go to the chamber music concert at noon. Let oboe and piano and violin soothe away worries.

Don’t worry. You won’t look stupid that tiny things threatened your peace today.

It worked pretty well until about an hour ago  when Zing and I were waiting at our twelfth floor elevator headed for our last walk. The elevator stopped and the door opened.  A woman stepped out, wearing a crown (Yes!) and carrying a plastic drink glass — empty.  Zing looked down and coughed. Darius (that’s the woman's name) looked tenderly at him. “What’s the trouble, baby?” Zing coughed again, louder. “Oh, my! You poor thing!” 

What I love is that right then Darius knelt beside Zing on the carpet in front of the elevator; she looked him eye to eye and pulled Zing toward her, with a hand under his chin. She stroked him and said tender words until Zing fell under her spell and shut his mouth. Darius kept talking sweetly to him and when finally it seemed that Zing, tail wagging,  was promising to be good forever, Darius gingerly stood back up, took her glass and her purse from the floor, and said good night.

I believe Clark may have sent her.

Love,

k

The sky outside my window