Can't write in my sleep

Written last night:

Dear Friends:
I fell asleep as I wrote this first line and woke up at 11:45 — an hour and  a half later. My hands were poised over the keyboard and there was a groove from the mac edge on my wrists. That was a minute ago, so I’ll keep this short.

I had many hours to myself today because Zing was at the gym with Sandra and several dogs — most of them belonging to people who were working out.  It’s Zing’s fault that I fell asleep so soon -- he did too, tired out completely!

So it was an abnormally normal day. Mostly, I straightened up the studio.  

I’m falling asleep again! Tomorrow I’ll tell what I forgot today!

Zing and I did cross the golden Tower Bridge Monday morning
(I walked longer than usual, talking to Mary.)
This is what we saw as we stepped off the bridge, which faces the Capitol Building in the rising sun
My building is one block over and two blocks up on the right

Home is in the details

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I love Sundays because I don’t try to do anything. Except of course I do. Today it was small details that make me feel more at home.

This afternoon Zing and I finally connected with a dog-loving woman I met in the lobby back when I first moved in. 
“Let me know if you ever need someone to watch your dog,” she said then. 
Amazingly, Friday I found her name (Sandra) and her unit number. (Oddly, it was in my contacts. I did not think I had that kind of presence of mind back then. Sandra is an exercise guru who has her own gym. She likes dogs around as she works. Her husband, a fireman named Chad, told me she had a beloved dog that died a year ago. This afternoon Zing and I went to the gym to meet her, and Zing immediately began playing with a little fluffy dog she’s watching. I left Zing there for an hour, and will do the same tomorrow. 

Earlier, Zing and I played “disappearing” games recommended by Karen the vet. I jangle my keys and put on my coat and then don’t leave, but instead walk into the bedroom. Then I come out. It sounds inane, but I was kind of getting into it. The idea is to get Zing accustomed to the sound of keys in a relaxing situation. The literature emphasizes that some dogs take a very long time before this becomes effective. Rushing doesn’t work.

I also made plans for an early dinner with a woman I met at the yoga class, since for the rest of the month at least I can leave Zing at Grateful Dog until 7 p.m. 

Life here is gradually taking a shape. Like Zing’s exercises, I can’t rush it.   

I hope that all of you are well and happy and maybe settling into some part of your own life that just can’t be rushed. Enjoy it!

Love,
k

Just a moment with Juan Felipe Herrera

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Early this morning Zing and I walked to the old Crest Theater, 10 minutes away, on K Street near the Capitol. Juan Felipe Herrera, the U.S. Poet Laureate, would be there tonight. I was planning to attend. I mean, how great to have Herrera a 10-minute walk away??? I had a ticket, but was afraid to go: Afraid Zing would have a trauma attack when I left and proclaim his own spoken word poetry to all my neighbors.

Later this morning, Zing and I headed to Roseville, a city-suburb on the outer reaches of Sacramento, to learn how to hang the pendulum on our old brass and glass  clock, the one that was a wedding gift to Clark's parents. Clark loved it and wound it faithfully for years. I didn’t know how to take over.

Luckily, there’s an antiques mall in Roseville, where Nick Everett stands in a stall, surrounded by clocks. On the phone, Nick said he’d show me how to start the clock ticking again. Nick treated my clock tenderly, and now it’s on the living room shelf ticking and chiming like it’s alive. 

But back to the poet laureate: Sacramento has an active poetry society. They invited Juan Felipe Herrera to read. I love poetry. I couldn’t believe my luck! So last week I bought a ticket. It was unthinkable to miss it, even though Zing was not invited. I decided to give Zing one of his pills, stirred up in meatballs, so he'd relax enough to be left alone. 

So I did it, and then flipped between friendliness and terror as I mingled and ate a chocolate and bought a book from a local poet,  and marveled at the gaudy splendor of the theater, and chatted with a few people I know. I got a photo of Herrera in the lobby, but ended up so nervous about Zing, that I had to leave before Herrera began to read. But we did it, Zing and I, we separated for an hour without freaking out. I heard no barks on my iPad video of Zing when he was alone. 

Juan Felipe Herrera, the U.S. Poet Laureate

Making America

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

This afternoon a speeding red pickup truck cut in front of me and it had a Trump bumper sticker. You know how I felt. I think that describes my whole day in a single moment. I was grumpy.

I woke up late because there were no workday sounds -- there’s usually a clanging of the train (Or what is it, Clark? Light rail, I think. It has a shallow track and the line of cars runs on 7th Street, two blocks from here.) and whooshing of cars on the street below, and the faint rush of running water from the people above me.

It was 7:15, and I usually wake up at 6. The sun was already out. I felt discombobulated. Was it Saturday? Did I skip a day somehow? By the time Zing and I got out to the street it hit me that it’s Veterans Day. Police lights were flashing over on Capitol Mall, warning that the street would be closed for a parade. 

A slight disorientation buzzed in my head all day.

I didn’t go to the parade because all the loud music might alarm Zing. (OK, OK, now I’m boring even myself with my stupid grumbling. I probably wouldn’t have gone to the parade anyway. But you get the idea — every little thing annoyed me. 

Zing and I joined a million others and did some shopping: a stuffed owl for Juliana, wine for me, and those twisty dog treats for Zing, all interspersed with relaxing talks with Patrice and Rachel.  Before going home, Zing and I explored the neighborhood of small quirky houses in East Sacramento near the Pet Department Store and passed this sign:

That made me grumpy too!

Love,

k

Finally home: my purple couch

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

First thing this morning two men arrived with the purple couch. It is as I anticipated — comfortable and welcoming. In less than five minutes they whisked it upstairs and were gone again. As I closed the door behind them I was crying, feeling Clark’s tenderness. Now the couch itself is like his big hug. Tonight Zing and I were asleep there — we had each claimed a side.  

Love,

k

Seems odd to do regular things

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today was a blur. It seemed odd to do regular things, like sweep the floor, measure the windows, make room for the purple couch… (yes, it’s coming tomorrow!) I didn’t even worry much about Zing. Which is good.

When we were out walking at dawn today there was a soft rosy stripe across the blue sky, right behind the Capitol building, and the golden bridge across the Sacramento River was hidden in fog. The moon was kissing the treetops. There is still beauty.

At noon Zing and I were on the sidewalk outside our building, waiting for delivery of a carpet pad, and I was talking to Janie, who lives in the building, when a man walked past us and called, “Hi, Kathleen!” So there is still friendship.

Throughout the day I talked and wrote and wondered with family and friends — every one stunned, like me. A couple were quite uplifting. So we can still lean on each other.  


Love,
k

Ginkgo
for color theory class
9"x12"
This is step 1 -- next is adding color

Bark, Bark! Cough, Cough! Vote, Vote!

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Zing won't let me vote. He got a cough early this afternoon and Grateful Dog called and asked me to take him home. I’ve been in touch with UC Davis. They said cough is not a known reaction to the meds he is taking. We have a 3 p.m. appointment tomorrow with the vet, and can’t take him to Grateful Dog until he gets a clean bill of health,  But I can’t leave him at home while I vote, and I can’t take him with me either.

I have a message in to Cassi; I hope she can help me. Otherwise, I might not get to vote! 

Terrible timing!

However, I have the feeling something will work out.

Written at 7:33 this morning:

 Just in case, I took my voter ID along on our morning walk, and we went past the polling place. 
Yes! They let dogs in.
Zing sat quietly while I marked my choices. We already voted!

Love,
k