Below is a picture of what I made from Shrinky Dinks last night.

I am not entirely crazy about how the flower came out, but I love the leaves. I might make more since I think those would look awesome as earrings - strung two or three to a small chain? Or as a drop necklace. Yeah, the ideas are brewing.

I used my lovely German colored pencils for vibrancy. They really are the best colored pencils. I got my first set of Staedtler pencils when I was visiting Poland in 1990 or ‘91 (so, uh, when I was 11 or 12?). My grandmother took me to an art/stationery store where I got a set of those pencils and some blank notebooks so I could draw and write. It was just after the fall of communism in Poland and the stores were still running on the “everything is behind the counter -you must ask to see it” model. I remember that that was really weird to me - that I had to ask to see something, and that there was a sense of expectation of long consideration from me. I would just say, “Yeah - I want it” and hand over the money.

That was still something shop clerks and people in general weren’t used to - that sort of throwing around of money. But I was some little kid from America who just knew that her dollar was worth a lot more there and got all excited when she went to exchange money. And the whole time, I was figuring out how much things cost in American money because it was like everything was on sale. I recall that the exchange rate at that time was something like 8 złoty to a dollar, and a few years later it was up (down) to 4 złoty to a dollar.

I should confirm this with a family member since it seems kind of crazy.

My friend Sara was up visiting the NY metro area this weekend, so she came into Manhattan yesterday morning and spent the majority of the day with me. We had tea, walked a bit, did some shopping, walked some more, took the dog I’m sitting for on a super long walk in the park, ate some yummie vegan-friendly foods and had more tea.

Throughout the day, we were both finding it difficult to think of the words we wanted to use - this resulted in made-up words (I’d call them neologisms - but I’m pretty sure they’re not real), saying the wrong words (but knowing what we meant) and just lots of “I know this!” moments/”tip of the tongue” syndrome (lethologica if you can’t remember the right word; anomia is a more severe version of this that comes with aphasia - impairment of speech due to brain damage). In both our cases, this was due to lack of quality restful sleep - and I find that’s the first manifestation of sleep deficit in my world. All this week I’ve been struggling to think of words - words like “attrition” and “tomb”, for example.

Today, I’ve been feeling gross and headachey, so aside from walking the dog, my activities have included watching movies, reading and doing NYT crossword puzzles. Between last night and now, I’ve watched “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” (impressed), “Juno” (underwhelmed), “Hairspray” (surprised), “Bride and Prejudice” (Bollywood version of Pride and Prejudice - Naveen Andrews line-dancing = strangely hot), and, randomly, the E! True Hollywood Story of the Kardashian family (because I thought to myself, “What the hell are they actually famous for? I’m still asking the same question…).

Aside from seeing Sara, these are all just empty diversions and I am aware of it. I spoke with my mother in Poland today; amidst everything else, she had forgotten it was Mother’s Day. The service for my grandfather is tomorrow, and I lost it a little when she told me about picking out the urn (he wanted to be cremated, so that was done on Friday) and going over home renovation plans with my grandmother to make sure that she’s safe now that she’s going to be alone (another hard realization).

She mentioned to me that she’s reminded of my grandfather everywhere she looks… when coming back from a cousin’s house last night, she looked up at the balcony of my grandparents’ home where my grandmother and grandfather would always stand and wait for us when we were arriving from the airport or from being out somewhere anytime we came to visit. We would pull up and they would be standing up there together, waving down at us and smiling. I can see them; it’s an extremely vivid memory. Now, she said, it was just my grandmother standing there waving to them - and I can’t write about that anymore.

And this is probably too personal for the direction I want to be heading here, too much information, and I think I shall end this post now.

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…