Tag Archives: Sacramento

05.14.20
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“J” Leaves a Love Note

I went to the door for a delivery tonight, and saw 2 homeless folks waiting on the sidewalk to talk to me or come to the door, etc…I’m walking this weird line between being super suspicious and getting ready to be “man of the house” or run upstairs to get left overs to feed hungry bellies.

I can’t figure out the balance and I’m terrible at both extremes. I’d already battled a parade of homeless folks today and decided to just shut the door and lock it instead of engaging.

Hours later, I check the front, watch the cameras, and safely decide to walk down the sidewalk to get today’s mail. I step outside the door to a handwritten note from “J” (see below) but he essentially thanks me for allowing him to use our patio outlet to charge his phone and left me $5 to cover his part.

J's letter

And of course, because I can never manage the balance of being a bad ass equipt for the city or the soft-hearted country girl, I started crying ugly crocodile tears… (Because even though I joke about having “badass Betty” as my alter ego, I still have a really soft heart).

I thought about how it might have been to actually talk to him, and offer more help than an outdoor outlet, and felt terrible for closing the door in a moment that could have mattered to him (and me).

But it’s an impossible mission. I know this. I’m aware that engaging is dangerous, but every now and then I encounter a soul that’s not too different from me. They’ve just had a little bad luck and a few curve balls to put them in a different scenario than mine.

So “J” –I’m sure you’re not surfing FaceBook right now, but if we ever meet again, I’d really love to chat with you and apologize for shutting the door in your face when you were trying to be nice, and thank me for something I’d never have even noticed or been charged extra for. (I know that’s not proper grammar)

Sometimes the balance between safety and humanity is super gray. I don’t think I’ll ever master it. But I’m thankful to have a sense of goodness in the form of a handwritten note on my front door, from a random stranger who thought he should compensate us for charging his phone on our patio.

“J” I certainly hope our paths cross again. XOXO

04.18.20
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Crazy During Covid: Patio Toast and The Flower Thief

Since moving to Sacramento just over a year ago, we’ve seen some pretty wild shenanigans outside our town house on 20th street.  Homeless folks eating ice cream on our front porch like they own the place, double car break ins (and there was nothing to steal but vitamins), a New Year’s Eve brawl behind our garage that ended in pepper spray and police, freshly planted flowers clipped off at the base…the incidents are endless.

One night last fall we were waiting for Uber when two folks walked up to our patio, plugged in some kind of torch, and started trying to warm up a plastic to-go of mac and cheese. We didn’t even engage and left them work their magic. We have to keep the water spicket under lock and key, and after 3 hoses disappeared in one week, I had to start taking the hose inside after each time I water what’s left of my ravaged flower beds.

But then there’s “Pooch” the mayor of our neighborhood who calls every time we leave the garage door open or have a package in the front. Gina down the street brought me eggs a few weeks ago when I was sure every chicken within 50 miles of Sacramento was on strike. Zoe knows I can barely walk a few blocks until I get my knee fixed again, but still checks in on me and asks me to go on a walk with her and her sweet pooch– and doesn’t mind when I throw in the towel after a few blocks to turn around. Mike next door “installed” a soaker hose in my flower beds last week, and Marco, a few blocks down let us “borrow” the crane he rented to get our grill onto the roof. There’s a lot of goodness in between the madness.

This is all to say, it all balances out.

But this week? Sigh. I find not one, but two toasters, plugged into my patio outlet one morning. Now what homeless person is walking around with toasters and a loaf of bread? They broke the lock and case on my outlet, but left me the toasters to sell on E-bay. I guess that’s still generous.  And I guess I’m glad that there are some inventive folks out there who still have proper standards for toast.

And then yesterday, our next-door neighbor caught the same woman on camera (2 nights in a row) digging up his freshly planted Impatiens. Seriously? So, because I’m just crazy enough, I busted out my 1920s floor length fur coat and oversized sunglasses at 10pm last night to watch over their flower bed.

I’m happy to report that there was no theft last night…and just enough folks walked past the patio where I was staked out to know that a crazy person lives at 1700 and shouldn’t be messed with.

If anyone needs a toaster, let me know. I’ve got two extras. And if you live in Sacramento and need a late night watch-woman, I’ve got you covered.

And don’t judge my really bad dye job in this video; those Goldilocks roots are for another post.

06.21.19
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De-cluttering & Enemas: a real ‘clean out’ story

My husband, Nicholas, is a bit of a neat freak. He scrubs the counter tops obsessively to make sure there are no streaks, and if I leave a pair of heels on the stairs he breaks into a full body rash. Before I purged for the big move, he would regularly peruse the house for anything he thought he could discard, in spite of the fact that I constantly had a designated “Goodwill” box in the garage to assist in regular clean out.  Last summer, I was couch-bound for 3 months with a shattered knee, and he knew I wouldn’t scoot down multiple stairs on my hiney to check any recent additions to said donation box. And thus, about a quarter of my “treasures” mysteriously disappeared into the abyss of the local Value Village.

In his defense, he’s been (mostly) a good sport about my constant stream of family inheritances (I don’t mean one expensive vase….I mean, boxes and boxes of things from my grandparents, my parents’ farm, childhood things…the list is admittedly excessive.) In the last 4 years, we lost two of my grandparents, Grandma Hodel moved into the local nursing home, and my parents moved off the farm.  All of these changes and transitions were emotional and tricky for me living out of town, and I found myself claiming boxes of country and gospel records, candy dishes, floral china, toothpick holders…I even saved the “1-2-3 Enema!” recipe card from my Great Aunt Edna. I mean, what if Google implodes and I need a little GI assistance to the rescue?  I like to be prepared.

The pending move to Sacramento sent me spinning, and I called in my parents for de-clutter reinforcement. They drove 12 hours South from Central Illinois in their work clothes and tennis shoes with game faces on. I was terrified to leave to-do lists and disappear for work, but I knew that I didn’t really want to know what all they were purging.  I just knew I had to get rid of about 1/3 of our goods, as California real estate thinks everyone made big in the Gold Rush and a square foot costs 2 new borns and a pair of this season’s Frye boots.

Everyone survived the chaos…I mean, some of my things suffered a home displacement, but I couldn’t tell you what’s missing. I look around our Sacramento digs and grin at my little mighty mouse toothpick holder, the pearly white chicken candy dish, and the fancy decanter and shot glasses from Great Aunt Wilma, (who I can only assume had for decor and not functional use).

I appreciate a good de-cluttering session, as it actually has an emotionally cleansing power as well.  I’m thankful for the bits of our families that surround us in a modern

space that hasn’t been lived in before us.  The Pacific Railway runs right behind our patio, and as I type, it rattles my mom’s old metal picnic trays and the lid on the penguin ice bucket from Nicholas’ mom. For a fleeting moment, I forget I’m in the middle of the city and not one of the box car children on a rural adventure from my childhood story books.

I do think I should get a free pass for a year or so on any other clutter commentary from the peanut gallery…and in exchange? I’ll share the family enema recipe.