I ran today. Not a crazily impressive distance or speed, but it was good for me. I was proud. And sweaty.

I climbed today. Again, not crazily impressive difficulty or anything, but I did better than last time and that was important to me.

Now I am tired, but feeling good about what I accomplished. Yay, physical activity!

I’ve always been very good about keeping my brain from turning to mush: getting new (purely intellectual) hobbies, learning new things, reading books, watching films, etc. But I haven’t been at all concerned with keeping the other physical aspects of me from turning to mush until fairly recently. It’s exciting and new… like The Love Boat theme song (RIP, Aaron Spelling - you gave us that, too).

In the “no pudding-brain” category, though, I have excitement brewing as well. My friend Sara gave me a guitar and I’m going to pick up where I left off in September and learn to play more than the two chords I still sort of remember. I have some books, I have a few friends who play (and will help me tune the guitar) and a spiffy new chord chart I printed off last night at the suggestion of my friend LJ, who proceeded to share chord progressions. I will figure them out and be able to appreciate them eventually, but I had to give a little “whoa” and mention that my brain doesn’t think in music - or at least not yet.

My history with music is spotty. I took piano lessons with my brother when I was younger, and the teacher was kind of a bastard who criticized my short fingers and inability to play scales properly. So that sucked. Then I played the flute in late elementary and middle school. The music teacher there was also an ass who told me that I shouldn’t be playing the flute since my fingers were too short to reach the keys at the end. So I joined the choir and that was fine - was in the madrigal group, sang a duet once or twice, was in the school musical, but nothing extraordinary. It kept me musically active, but without the crap.

However, those two summabitches gave me the biggest insecurity issue about my short fingers. My fingers are short (like the rest of me) but not unnaturally so; I certainly don’t have strange puppet fingers or anything. Standard size guitars have proved a bit rough for me to play between short fingers and bum wrist, so I’m really encouraged by the fact that the guitar I got from Sara is a bit smaller than a standard guitar (just not a baby version).

It’s getting late and I have been needing copious amounts of sleep lately. I don’t know what’s up. Maybe it’s the change in the weather - the warm 80+ degree days are not something I’m used to. Neither is the sun. And it was different in California… it was that much-lauded “dry heat.”

Here, in the mid-Atlantic, we have wet heat. And it’s certainly not as sexy as it sounds in other contexts.

I had my wrist surgery a year and a half ago. I went to occupational therapy for almost five months. I’ve been doing well, I think. I’ve been rock-climbing since September and my wrist has gotten a lot stronger from that; I’m able to grab onto holds with strength I most certainly did NOT have even three months ago, much less last September.

Despite all those advancements, it’s still something that impacts my day-to-day activities. When I was shopping in Princeton yesterday, I had a bag of about eight CDs. After carrying that for about 45 minutes, my left wrist was experiencing sharp pains shooting up into my forearm - I thought about asking one of my friends to carry them for me, but I would’ve felt like a helpless weakling (definitely NOT a feeling I enjoy). So I switched carrying hands for a bit, but I’m right-handed so I needed my right hand to reach into my purse, open doors, get money out of my wallet, sign my name, and other such things.

Yes, I can feel changes in barometric pressure in that wrist; the weather will affect it for the rest of my life, according to my surgeon.

Today, though, it’s really bringing me down. I did some light cleaning and then took a break to do my new Pilates DVD so I would have some kind of exercise today. Since my friend LJ is out in California, responsive and regular climbing buddies are a rare treat (commodity?). I’ve been able to go climbing once every two weeks, basically, down from twice or three times a week. Last time I went (Tuesday night), I sucked. Before getting back from vacation, I’d been climbing 5.9s (not easily, but I was finishing them) and trying 5.10s, but I was struggling with a 5.7 on Tuesday. Maybe it was just a bad night or I was tired from a long day of work; those happen - but it was pretty demoralizing. I didn’t cry, but it was close.

However, in a change from the Eva of Olde, I’m not going to give it up or give up on it. I’m trying to enlist my brother since he has the gear but just hasn’t been climbing in several years. I’ll keep contacting friends at the rock gym to latch onto their climbing nights. This has been such a good thing for me in so many ways, it would be stupid to toss it without trying every possible method for retaining its presence in my life. I can hope that my steadfast friend returns soon and brings with him the promise of regular intensive climbing, but I can’t count on that. In the meantime, even once a week is something.

So my substitution is more Pilates; both Pilates and climbing work your core muscles, so they dovetail nicely (some of my best climbing has been after doing a Pilates work-out beforehand). On this new DVD, I got through the first 17 minutes; broke a sweat, felt good about doing a more challenging workout… but then it got to the portion where the mat exercises required me to rest my entire weight on my hands (a la downward dog) while lifting my legs or stretching. It also called for me to rest my weight on my hands and wrists behind me while I balace on my tailbone and lift my legs into the air.

I couldn’t bend my left wrist enough in either direction to complete the exercises. The range of motion (ROM) in my left wrist is limited and while I can increase strength with exercise, my ROM is as good as its going to get because my anatomy is different; it’s not a matter of stretching or exercising. I have missing bones. Bones that aren’t supposed to be located in the active portion of my wrist have moved into that space; that’s how I was supposed to heal. It’s never going to be the same.

There are other things it will impact as well, but as a currently single gal, I have the luxury of waiting to cross that bridge.

For a variety of reasons, I don’t have the energy or time to write a full summary (perhaps this weekend) here is one story from Coachella I shall share since I told it to two friends over lunch today and feel like telling it again. Telling stories is a useful distraction and my grandfather was a man who loved to tell stories - of (his perceived) glories of Communist-era Poland, sneaking kielbasa across country lines, going fishing with a bottle of vodka, bread and some lard for sustenance… and man, could he make some good pickle soup. Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.

Coachella story:

My friends and I arrived at the festival grounds (Empire Polo Club/Field in Indio, California) late on Thursday night. Friday morning, I was up at 7:30 to hit the shower mobile and feel clean again. Shortly after returning to my tent (around 8:30 in the morning) I heard some loud talking in the not-so-distant-distance. The voice was that of a young woman - perhaps 19 or 20 years old. It was a sitcom voice; what you would think of as a “Valley Girl” voice from an 80’s movie. A voice not dissimilar from the “Oh. My. God, Becky. Look at her butt…” chick in the beginning of Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” video, except a lot higher in pitch. The voice yelled:

HAPPY COACHELLA, EVERYONE!
THIS IS MY FIRST MUSIC FESTIVAL EH-VAR!
THIS IS MY FIRST COACHELLA!
I’M A COACHELLA VIRGIN!!!

Followed by about a minute of silence. Then we would all hear, yet again:

HAPPY COACHELLA, EVERYONE!
THIS IS MY FIRST MUSIC FESTIVAL EH-VAR!
THIS IS MY FIRST COACHELLA!
I’M A COACHELLA VIRGIN!!!

She was working the campground, walking up and down the rows, making sure that EVERYONE knew it was her first Coachella. I can only assume she was trying to make friends/attract attention. This was also my first Coachella and my first proper music festival, but something (common sense? pride? old age? East coast cynicism??) prevented me from engaging in this behavior.

(A shot of the campground and mountains nearby.)

After about 30 minutes, she was far enough away to stop assaulting my ears. But the next morning, around the same time, she was back. This time, a Brit (from Manchester, actually) staying in one of the tents near me replied, “Cheers, mate - you said the same thing yesterday.” (Yes, from Manchester, and yes, he did say “mate.”) The girl was all flustered and embarrassed and Mancunian Man just said, “No worries - have a great festival.”

When back on the festival grounds, I noticed a LOT of people greeting each other (these deep new-found Coachella friendships) by saying, “Happy Coachella!” I guess it was “a thing.” It didn’t catch on with me. It’s that East coast attitude, I suppose. I think we were making sure to represent Cynicism at this event and balance out the effects of all the hippies in attendance.

Case in point: we totally and completely avoided Jack Johnson.

Anytime someone mentioned that they’d come to Coachella to see him, it was understood in our group that any additional words falling from this person’s lips would be heavily discounted and their taste in other things was highly suspect and questionable.

This morning, my grandfather died. All of my extended family lives in Poland, so some of us here are flying out tonight and Thursday to be there. I won’t be going since I have previous commitments I can’t get out of (especially after having been away for 10 days) and while I’m sad about that, I’m glad that some of us will be able to be there for my grandmother. It was a freak sort of situation in that he was supposed to be released from the hospital post-appendectomy tomorrow, but my grandmother noticed that his extremities were icy and saw splotches or lesions on his legs and called for the nurses. Then he started coughing, couldn’t stop, and declined from there. We haven’t gotten the official word on anything; it’s late in the evening there now, and we’ve been busy planning how to get out there (everyone on a computer, trying to coordinate flights from their respective desks/offices) so the answers will come in time.

Also, I realize that I didn’t really get a chance to acclimate to home quickly enough to say much about my time in California, but I will say (in short) that I had a wonderful time, enjoyed time with my friends, and that coming home wasn’t easy both because of what I was returning to and the things I started to miss almost immediately. So, a mildly bittersweet ending for me, but a good time overall.

It might be a day or two…

I am on a bit of a downhill slide right now, post-vacation (which was great). Here are some photos until I’m ready to write:

And the sun shines quite brightly in Southern California. Eva’s got herself some pink shoulders. And a tube of suncreen.

Yes - here at Coachella. Day 2 is just beginning. Quick update:

Yesterday, I saw the following: DJ Mehdi, Porter, Midnight Juggernauts, Rogue Wave (meh), Luckyiam, Les Savy Fav, Battles (yay), Dan Deacon (awesome audience interaction during his set), Jens Lekman (yay!), Cut Copy (yay), Sandra Collins (i kinda danced a little), Vampire Weekend (lackluster live), The Breeders, Goldfrapp, Aphex Twin (woo-hoo!), a bit of the Raconteurs (good live, meh on album - oh, Jack White), Serj Tankian and Professor Murder (yay!!). I heard Fatboy Slim from afar since he was in the large tent they’re using for electronic artists just a tent away from Professor Murder (who were pure energy live).

Tonight’s big draws are Prince and Portishead. The sound check for Portishead was my “getting dressed” music this morning across the tent-covered field. The view of the mountains here is unbelievable - just striking and amazing to wake up to. I’ll have my camera today so I’ll be able to take pictures and post them when I return.

Yay for adventure!

Objective: Prepare for a trip which will involve “camping” (at a music festival), rock-climbing and walking around a lot in a much warmer climate than I’m used to (the average temperature in late April in the Indio Valley is a high of ~90°F, low of about ~60°F).

Item 1: Comfortable walking shoes.
Method: Shopping.

My 6 year-old Sauconies just aren’t cutting it in the all-day comfort department anymore, but they are seriously the most comfortable just-kicking-around shoes I’ve ever owned. After much research into available color combinations in my size, the pictured sneakers were ordered and will be arriving on Tuesday. That color combination is called Bayou/Black.

Item 2: Single-person tent and lightweight sleeping bag.
Method: Excavation?

I am assured that someone in my family owns both of these already - but that they’re either in the basement or the attic. I have a week and a half to put on my miner’s helmet and gas mask and see what I can find… and if they cannot be found or are found to be in an unacceptable condition, I think I can borrow a tent from a friend at work, and might just have to pony up the ~$40 for a sleeping bag. Perhaps the Columbia Double Whammy Fleece Sleeping Bag and Pillow.

Item 3: TSA-approved luggage lock
Method: Damn, a trip to Target.

My big “trans-Atlantic” suitcase is equipped with a TSA-approved lock. But the suitcase I’m taking to California is not quite as fancy or huge or heavy, so I’ll have to buy a lock. I don’t want to find the contents of my suitcase strewn about the luggage carriage because they decided to randomly inspect MY suitcase and then just zipped it up halfway (it’s happened to more than a few people I know). Chances are that if there’s a lock, it will be second nature (while running through their robot-like procedures) to replace it after closing the suitcase.

There’s more (shorts! a hat!) but I’ll deal with those later.

Today is my brother’s 29th birthday. I’ve already welcomed him to Old. There will be family dinner tonight. There may be blood (or just verbal aggression). I should do some mental preparation - maybe even go running so I’m feeling relaxed before we embark upon the excitement of the evening.

While driving back from doing some shopping with my friend Theresa (Nordstrom’s and Sephora - a girl’s gotta treat herself sometimes. I behaved myself and got some Sephora brand eyeshadow as well as my free birthday gift since I am part of their “insider’s” club thingie) we were listening to the oldies station.

Radio these days plays nothing I want to hear, so I’m all about NPR, the oldies station and my iPod. With those three, I’m guaranteed to have something interesting to listen to ALL the time.

The song that was just beginning to play was Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” We both let out a sort of squeak which apparently meant (in our personal friend language) that we were going to be singing along, ‘Wayne’s World’ style.

And we did. Boy, did we. I know it’s nothing new, but it’s been quite a while since that was the hotness (if ever it really was) and we still know all the words - like, really. We were not approximating sounds. I was impressed with us - all girlie shopping and then all spazzy like that. These are the moments that make life worth living.

Now, I must away to bed. I have to be in the office early tomorrow morning and I need to go running before that, so the only way to accomplish that is to get up at least 45 minutes earlier than usual. It’s not going to be fun.

Then again, I’m going to have plenty of fun later this month when I go out to California for Coachella and spend some time “up north” in San Francisco. More on that later…