GOODBYE SACRAMENTO

In my last entry, On The Road Again, I explained my decision to move to Denver. To avoid repetition, I invite you to read it to understand the back story. It has now been two busy transitional months since I arrived in Denver. All the while, I knew that I have a final chapter to write on this blog.  

I owe a formal, proper good bye to Sacramento. For the past two years, it has offered me a refuge and allowed me the introspection of living and writing.  It was the beginning, the middle, the end.  Quite a noble responsibility for a town that simply carried on while I made sense of it all.

Here is my farewell…

DEAR SACRAMENTO, IT'S NOT YOU, IT WAS ME…

Many years ago, I remember when I sold my house after my divorce, I received such comments as, “Can’t you stay in one place?” and “What are you thinking?”.  And, at the time, I was just moving across the Bay! I am sure the people who said this are still shaking their heads with this recent move. Simpler to dismiss me as a vagabond who is unable to commit. In fairness, I can stay in one place for a lengthy amount of time. Since I left my childhood home of San Francisco for college, I lived in the cocoon of secure suburbia (Lafayette) for almost 15 years, in the excitement and beauty of the Oakland/Berkeley hills for over 20 years. The common links of each of these places? I loved being there. I only moved because glory days do not last forever. I had to survive. 

But I deviate in defensiveness...

The move from the Bay Area to Sacramento was a pivotal departure. As you all know from my writing, I had found myself back in San Francisco and had hoped I could find a familiar, safe haven while I repositioned. It was not naïve to think that, by returning to the childhood city where I learned to dream and hope, I could regroup and find clarity for what came next. Doesn’t everyone, no matter what your age, return to their roots for just that reason? But then…things went haywire.

At this point, I won’t go into a lot of detail as the departure from San Francisco and the time spent in Sacramento has filled the entries of this blog, which I invite you to read.  And, as I feverishly wrote and came to understand, something incredible happened. My tenure in Sacramento became a pivotal transition. I chose to find meaning behind the changing chaos. What was, what is, and what must be. I had to deal. I wanted to claim a happier me.

My last summer walk along the River

As for Sacramento itself…I came to realize that there is nothing really wrong with this town. As my blogs explained, it has its lovely areas, its own culture. And Sacramento is a place for families, old friends, and roots that are unshakeable. If you are happy in Sacramento, you are familiar and comfortably entrenched. As a newcomer seeking acceptance, I was told by a local, “I am not looking for a new friend. I have lived here all my life. I have my family and people I have known for years. My life is full”.  I respect such honesty.  Isn’t that what we all seek? To thrive happily within a secure circle of community where old friends remain constant and the past is always claimed as part of the present?

Yes, I came to understand that the clannish community charm was very difficult to penetrate. So I shifted the focus to my personal assimilation. It was a time of solitary reflection, of acceptance. Sacramento was a catalyst that brought closure and clarity. And for that, I thank Sacramento. 

Capturing the two years in Sacramento

MOVING IS A BITCH!

As the packing began, it was strangely enjoyable. I was in my planning stride and I was good at that. But, most importantly, I truly loved immersing myself in my things. They were, after all, symbols of my life. Carefully wrapping my memories was a wonderful exercise in the nostalgia of what was.  As I have often said, I may be alone but I am surrounded by mementos that chronicle happy times, good friends, proud successes. It was enjoyable to revisit my past as I carefully placed my items in boxes and tellingly marked each “FRAGILE”, “VERY FRAGILE” or “VERY, VERY FRAGILE”. 

In San Francisco, there remained a piece of furniture that I knew could not be left behind. It was, of all things, an old Chinese "larder". In its past, it was used as a storage cabinet for perishable foods. It was not like the fine antiques I collected. It’s charm and value lay in the character of its structure and story. Most importantly, it was a piece my mother had lovingly shipped from China. When I moved to Sacramento, I could not bring it as there was not enough room in my small apartment. I recall turning to my brother and saying, “I will be back for this. Mom promised it to me and it is mine.” And now, it was time to secure my claim.

The view from the hill.

I rented a van and began my trip back to San Francisco. I found myself taking the long drive in. There were final good byes I needed to make. I went by my old home in Lafayette—where my children grew up and which I meticulously remodeled. To my surprise and, yes relief, it looked better than when we lived in it.  I was genuinely happy to see it remained in loving hands.  I also went by the beloved Berkeley home on Domingo Avenue and the house on the hill in Oakland. Each are majestic places—beautiful settings and architecture. Symbols of my life well lived. It was hard to say good bye to both.

But I kept driving West...

In San Francisco, I met with childhood friends. We laughed and promised to keep in touch. It was very special. And then…I arrived at my parents' home. It is a simple, stuccoed row house purchased long after my brothers and I were in our adult years. Now, my Mother had passed and, in the prior month, my Father was finally receiving the professional care he required in an assisted living home. So what  remained was a dark and delapidated structure; lifeless as it struggled to stand within the barren concrete of the treeless neighborhood. As I approached, I felt an empty detachment. There was no doubt that this would be my last visit.

 My brother was there to help me load the old cabinet into the van.

“What else do you want?" He asked."Take it now.” It was his way of telling me that he understood that this was the final good bye.

“I don’t think there is much here I want” was my immediate reply. But he wanted me to leave with more pieces of my past. He started to walk through the tiny rooms and open the dank closets. To my surprise, I spotted a beautiful antique vase that was Mom’s, hand painted clay pots, and, of all things, the wind chimes I gave my parents many years ago. While foraging through old trunks, my brother found a bag of dresses that I wore as a little girl. A woolen skirt, a plaid jumper, a crocheted sweater.  I was speechless. I instantly matched each with old photographs.  The little girl wearing that very summer dress, with the smile of promise and joy, holding her Mother’s hand. I had no idea what I would do with all those clothes but I knew I could not leave them behind. Each were part of the museum of my life.

“If you want, I can come to Sacramento to help you move. You know, Mom would be happy that you have these things.”

“I know she would. Thank you for helping me.” 

I do love my brother. No matter how separate our lives have become, we sustain. He is a special keeper of my childhood, all I have left of family. It is our unbreakable bond. 

And with that, against a familiar sunset over the Golden Gate, I left the San Francisco Bay Area. I drove back to the remaining days I had left in California; to my momentary apartment in Sacramento that was filled with moving boxes of change…and now, a cabinet that “traveled” continents and centuries.

The countdown to my ultimate departure continued…

I have friends who have made interstate moves. I remember how they simply walked out the door and left the responsibilities to the movers; the costs to corporations or inheritances.  But, soon, it became increasingly clear that I was on my own and the challenges of the logistics escalated.

I had to price moving companies. I researched the basic, cheap pods. They proved to be too small.  I would need so many, it was not logistically feasible for my apartment surroundings (no place to store them while loading).  High end moving companies were too expensive. I gasped at the $30k quotes and started to wonder if the move was going to happen. Finally. I “found” a company that could load and deliver for $4,000.00. I actually was able to negotiate that price down to $2500. The move was on again!! For a brief moment, I was proud at my tenacity and diligence.

Two weeks before the move date, I got a call from the company asking for a more precise inventory. They charged by the box and the initial estimate doubled with the reality of the actual count. I bit the bullet, signed an addendum, and gave them my credit card. I had no choice. Also, to my concern, they instructed that, aside from large furniture, everything I owned would have to be boxed. EVERYTHING. No throwing a large bag or small chair into the back of the truck. I found that a strange requisite but I dutifully made more trips to Home Depot for more packing materials. I resorted to overstuffing each box to maximize capacity. I started to give away clothes, paintings, etc. I had to make some hard choices. Suddenly, I was no longer the sentimentalist. I turned into the efficient, packing Nazi.

One week before the move, I got another call…the delivery date in Colorado would be within a 10 day time frame. They could not be more specific. WHAT?!?!  I learned that one truck/company would pick up in Sacramento. Then everything would be unloaded at a staging area and stored until another subcontractor came along (hence the lengthy delivery window).  My things would then be reloaded into a different truck and driven to Colorado! And—no surprise-- the price went up another $1,000. The red flags abounded but I could not turn back.

I did not sleep well the night before the first phase of movers were scheduled to arrive at my Sacramento apartment. I was told to expect the truck between 7-10 AM the next morning. Such ambiguity left me with a foreboding fear but I kept telling myself to remain positive. At 6 AM, I got the call. They were not coming as promised and would let me know when the next pick up would be scheduled. Understandably furious, what followed was not a pretty conversation. Finally, by that afternoon, I got a commitment that a moving truck would arrive the next morning.

And, yes, they did show up. My brother was there to help supervise. There were last-minute disagreements but, after three hours, it was done. And…as they drove off with my possessions of a lifetime, the trophies of my life, my dearest heirlooms… I knew I had to brace myself for the possibility that I might never see any of these items again. But there was truly nothing further I could do. So I said a silent good bye and walked back into my now empty apartment as the truck drove away into uncertainty.  And that, my friends, was a very brave thing to do!

The next morning, I said good bye to Sacramento and I began my drive to Colorado. 

Postscript: The moving van did arrive in Denver but earlier than promised/expected/hoped. I was still on the road when I got the call. Knowing I was in transit, I asked the driver to stage until my arrival. He simply replied, “Fuck you. I have other deliveries to make and I ain’t waiting for no one. I need to get to New Jersey. If you ain’t there lady, I will just dump everything on your lawn”.

My daughter, who lives in Denver, left work and met the truck. By the time I arrived, the boxes and furniture were piled up to the ceiling. It was a chaotic mountain of cardboard. There was no way to inspect or count. So I signed the papers, paid the final balance, and sent them on their way. It was done. I was done.

As I unpacked, it became increasingly clear that, in all the transfers from truck to interim storage to another truck, a lot of damage resulted. All the effort I spent meticulously packing and writing “FRAGILE” had proved futile. Boxes were ripped and the contents within broken. My antique Imari dishes, my fine China, my crystal wine glasses…shattered. The list went on and on. My furniture was banged and scratched. My lamps, broken. And the box with my Mother’s vase and clay pots, the box that I packed on my final day in San Francisco…missing and probably now sitting in somone's living room in New Jersey!

It was overwhelming. Yet, In the midst of all the chaos, stood my Mother’s Chinese larder. Perhaps, because it was already so old and scarred, it suddenly seemed unscathed and rose amongst the ruins as a solid survivor.

“Let’s take pictures Mom and file a damage report.” proclaimed my daughter. I appreciated her concern but I knew it was futile. Would the moving companies really reimburse me for the cost of a shattered 17^th century Imari plate? They would probably deflect responsibility to the first movers or the staging workers or that final, rude deliverer. Would they find my Mother’s lost vase? Bottom line, no one cared.  So I simply told my daughter, “No need. It’s done. It’s over.” I could see the surprise on her face. This was not the Mother she knew. But I knew that I needed to let go…and move forward.

I thanked my daughter for helping, supporting her Mother. For the first time in a long time, I felt I was coming to a place of love and caring. She asked me to come to Colorado and wanted me to be happy. And, no matter what, I will not let her or myself down.

 “It’s Ok. I will just throw out the broken pieces. And look, a lot of things did make it. Let’s just start unpacking what we can salvage and move forward. I cannot wait to decorate.” And, just like that, it was time to re-focus. I was no longer solo in Sacramento. 

THE DENOUEMENT

Closing thoughts and updates on the following entries from my earlier, older Sacramento blog entries…

A TALE OF A CITY: SAN FRANCISCO AND ITS “LOST”CHILD

I have said my good-byes to my childhood home of San Francisco. I will always remember my magic beginnings in the city. I was inspired to dream big, to appreciate what is fine and good and to dare. But we have both changed and the city is no longer the place I choose to be. There is truth, on so many levels, to the saying that you can never go home again. It is a sad but necessary good bye.

A LEGACY TO HONOR

The estate of my Aunty Jacinta has been settled. It was an excruciating process of greed, bickering, and tragedy. I did receive the wedding rings of both Jacinta and her husband. It was a poignant acknowledgement of our bond and I am appreciative. In my move, I hand carried them with the rest of my jewelry. Something told me not to box them and turn them over to the movers. That was a good decision. I will never forget my aunt and will always honor her memory.

I REMEMBER YOU

I accept more than ever now that the past is over, gone. It does not haunt or hinder any longer but it will always be special to me. Anyone who has lived a long, full life deserves to cherish and remember. I have, through this blog series, captured the people and places that mattered so much. I hope my grandchildren will one day read this and see their old grandmother as an “interesting” person who had so many stories to tell and lived so fully.

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL

We all age. The challenge is to accept it with grace. It is not easy to take such a high road. Especially if you still “feel” young and, in the words of Marlon Brando's character in "On The Waterfront", see yourself as “a contender”.  I still color my hair, diet and exercise (or try to do so), and find it surprising when younger people speak to me as if I am out of touch. (There seems to be an epidemic of eye rolling passing through the younger generation).

But I have experienced so much loss and struggle that my wrinkles seem less important by the day. I wonder if there will come a time, when I will simply not care at all. 

I know my days are numbered--I am in the twilight of my years. The significance of lost opportunities and last chances have never been more important. Perhaps, just perhaps, what remains might be best spent not worrying but rather loving one self and the blessings and possibilities around me. I know that sounds corny. And I know there will always be an "edge" to even the good. 

the girl at the window

I will always love New York and this blog explained why. The city compels my soul with love and adventure. It brings out the best in me with unquestioned joy. 

New York is similar to that one love that you know is the truest of all. Yet you can never be together.  I cannot afford to permanently live there but I will return. Again and again. Perhaps as soon as this coming Spring.

And...I will always keep it in my heart. Always.


THE ARTISTA IN ME

The decision to start my own business was pivotal. It opened doors, allowed me to follow passionate interests, introduced me to unique people, and gave me two magical summers in New York. For a while, I thought I would re-open ARTISTA. In many ways the timing is perfect. Finally, the world is ready for an on-line, fine art repository as I envisioned 6 years ago. 

But I have decided the timing is not right for me. Nor will it ever be. I am proud of the courage, artistry, and diligence it took.  I loved and lost. And it is time to refocus and move on.

FOR MOM

I have written often of my Mother. She was larger than life and, despite the confusion it presented, Ultimately, I choose to hold onto the glory of it all. 

Ours was a complex Mother/Daughter exchange. But, for both of us, no matter what, there was always unconditional love. And this dynamic is often worthy of great story telling. Neither of us were/are destined to live a simple life. What sustains is, that through it all,we are true to our souls.

In understanding and writinig about her journey, I have found a clearer understanding of who I am. In many ways, I have inherited her joy, her honestly, her unabashed way of looking at life. I surprise myself when I hear her voice speaking through me. And, yes, there are days I wish I could have simply just inherited her beauty. I did not. I live in its shadow. But as I proceed, I accept and yes honor that beauty that defined her. She would change a room by simply entering. People still talk about it. I now smile and remember what they saw and realize how that beauty defined her.

As well, after the struggles and loss of these past years, I have come to accept death. I see its inevitability and accept, no welcome, its ultimate release. I thank my Mother for leaving us with quiet dignity. I cannot erase my last image of her. Her sharp and unique mind was gone and what remained was a childlike smiling face that defied her age and illness. As she faded, I told her I loved her--more than I ever did when she was in her glory days. For me, it was the ultimate truth.

FAREWELL SWEET FRIEND

This was one of many stories I wrote about my beloved dog, Baci. He was born in Sacramento and there, after a valiant fight, he passed. To this day, the sorrow remains. He was my best friend. I will never get another dog. Those final months were so painful and difficult. I never want to relive such sadness. But mostly because Baci is irreplaceable. He was my companion, my fellow adventurer, my constant for 14 years. I am deeply grateful that he touched and filled my life. He taught me so much about love and loyalty. I love you sweet friend!

EPILOGUE:

A few weeks ago it was Halloween. I had been in Colorado for a month.  My daughter invited me to her son’s nursery school party and, without question, I happily went. Other than trips to the grocery and hardware store, this was my first social outing—filled with toddlers, crying babies, and dutiful parents. It was great fun. The husband of one of my daughter’s friends approached and kindly asked me how I was doing since my move. And then added,

“It’s tough to move. When I arrived in Denver, I did not go out for 6 months.”

I thanked him for this most insightful and caring share. He understood.

I know I need to "get out" more but I also know it will come with time. I have old friends living here and I look forward to getting together. For now, I am settling in and staying positive.

I am adapting to the elements. I battled altitude adjustment for the longest time. I find the cold is tolerable but the snow is daunting.  But I have a new winter coat (genuine down) and waterproof boots. And after my first frost bite, I bought gloves.  

I have created a lovely living environment, surrounded by remaining mementoes. I feel comfortably settled and that is a good start. I am even envisioning the Spring garden that will plant! Maybe build a white picket fence. 

Of course, I love my adorable grandchildren. My daughter and her husband have been so generous and supportive.  Life has become comfortable and loving.  I am looking forward to the Holidays with family and friends. It's been a long time since I got to say that.  

My daughter is taking me to the Nutcracker. That is sweetly huge. For you see, I used to take her sister and her when they were children. It was a tradition of celebration and love. She is now carrying on the legacy. Everything is very fine indeed!!

My new Denver home

And, with the present unfolding…I knew it was time to write my this final entry for SOLO IN SACRAMENTO.

As I close, I want to thank each of you for reading and supporting my blog. I am so grateful to those who expressed that my words personally resonated and emotionally inspired. WOW~As I strive to be a better person and writer, I am truly honored that I can reach and touch so many.  It is humbling and exhilarating.

What next? As my closest friends know, as I have written each blog, I have also written dialogue and conversation for each. I also have more stories which I have put aside. These stories go deeper into complex subjects and I was just "waiting" to see if I should publish them now or later.

This blog is step 1 as I prepare to ultimately turn all of my writing into a play.  I have designed a stage set, characters are being developed, and production elements (that include using the bounty of old photographs that I own) are envisioned. I even have selected music. My goal is to pull all of this together in a final script, cast the actors, and to perform before an audience. The theater has always been my passion. I am excited and hopeful.

And, yes, privately, I have written my acceptance speech for my TONY award for best original play!!! I will ALWAYS be an incurable dreamer!! 

In the interim, this blog will remain live on this website and I invite you read the evoluion. I truly hope to announce an opening theater date in the future. Wish me luck!