Recovery from Catalina

It was too nice a piano to leave sitting dormant.

Most people travel to Catalina to relax. There is no such thing as relaxing anywhere one might travel with the group accompanying me.

Today was a nice day in that Baby Camille reached a milestone weight of 5 pounds (we had a nice celebretory breakfast) and because  Baby Andrew did not reject me as a result of my having I left him in the care of others for a few days. 

It was also a very good day because once we got through the morning routine, Baby Andrew and I took a nap. Someone must have gotten him up after a reasonable interval -- I have no memory of him trying to wake me up -- but no one disturbed me. I woke up some time after 9:00 p.m. The dinner dishes had been done, the babies had been put to bed -- or Camille had been temporarily put to bed, anyway. It's never long before she'll be up and eating again. 

Someone had saved dinner for me, which was New York strip steak, salad, twice-baked potatoes, garlic bread, grapes, and sherbet. I ate about one-quarter of what was on my plates. The rest will make excellent snacks and side meals for me. I love it when I have a home or restaurant meal (particularly a home meal; home meals that are well-prepared agree with my gastric system much more than do restaurant meals, which contain ingredients to which my body is not accustomed) that I really like that's far to much for me to comsume, and I'm set for the next three days or so.

We did most of what there was to do on Catalina, including parasalining (twice!), jet skiiing, sailing, going out in a small motor boat, driving all over the island in golf carts, miniature golfing on what has to be the second-lousiest putt-putt golf course in the U.S. (the worst, I'm pretty sure, is in Watonga, Oklahoma), humoring the kid entertainment performing nightly on the pavillion (we applauded excessively, asked for their autographs, and did all the things that make little middle-school-aged kids feel great about theselves; their parents were most pleased with us, and we weren't even drunk!), hung out in hotel rooms, and took over the vacant piano bar in the hotel one night. Because of the tips, we went home with almost as much cash as we brought. I didn't have my violin with me as I had no clue that there would be any use for it, but someone had left one behind the bar which the bar tender allowed me to use.  it may have increased our tips a bit. I didn't do the obnoxious behavior of approaching tables and serenading them unsolicited, but if they summoned me over, I played what they wanted. Timmy and Matthew are both more or less good enough to follow along on piano, and both have reasonably good singing voices, as does Meredith. We were only in there for two nights, but still pocketed well over five hundred dollars in tips.

Catalina isn't really known for its outstanding hotels, but Uncle Jerry did the best he could for us. We were in probably what was the nicest hotel on the island. Many of the "hotels" there are rustic old houses which, while charming in their own ways, aren't terribly comfortable. Some, for example, don't have air conditioning. On Catalina, it's nice to have access to air conditioning about two-and-one-half months out of the year. We needed it this time and were fortunate to be in one of the few hotels that has AC in every room. 

It was a nice little diversion. While I was prepared to have spent my summer doing nothing but baby-related tasks, the break was nice, and it was nice to spend time with friends close to my own age. Baby Andrew will probably be my friend for the rest of my life, but at this point there's a limit in the quality of companionship he is able to offer. 

I leave in twenty-one days to return to school. I'm neither dreading nor eagerly anticipating it. I think, or at least I hope, that I'll get excited about it once i'm there. Once the competitive juices begin to flow, I suspect I'll remember why it was that I chose medical school.

Leaving the Island of the Blue Doplhins to Graduate Without Having exposed myself to Pre-Cancerous Skin Conditions

Is it or isn't it the Island of the Blue Dolphins? You make the call.

Our little sojourn to the Island of the Blue Dolphins (Some children's literature experts have theorized that Catalina is the Island of the Blue Dolphins on which Scott o'Dell based his  book of the same name. I haven't read enough of the research to have formed a strong opinion.) is history. 

We spent the better part of four days frolicking  in the fun if not necessarily in the sun. The good news is that I have no sunburn to show for this vacation. The bad news is that there wasn't a whole lot of sun.  As a native Californian, I'm of the opinion that sun is highly overrated. I spent my childhood in the San Joaquin/Sacramento Delta and in the vast Central Valley, where, other than the respite in December and January when we got essentially two months of unadulterated and uninterrupted Tule fog, sunshine was the norm. I now live on the central coast of California, where temperatures are milder in both directions, and I like it that way. Still, the idea of having jeans-and-sweatshirts weather all day long in June  isn't common even where I live, though is far from unappealing to me. 

You can see that at this point, sun cancer isn't pursuing me voraciously.. This, by the way, is my only friend from the trip who would alow her photo to appear, but even she refused to be identified.

I might have liked to have gone go to school in a colder-weather locale -- say Dartmouth -- but my doctor said that while I might think I would enjoy extremely cold temperatures, it would get old really fast, and my under-insulated body is not well suited to sub-zero weather on a regular and continued basis. Once I'm finished with my education and formal training, I can spend as much of my vacation time there as I desire, and I'm satisfied to settle for that.

The weather was a bit iffy for parasailing, but I found someone willing to take me up on Wednesday and Thursday. Once again, I lack the words to describe the ways in which one's senses are totally engaged beyond what I would have considered even possible before having parasailed  for myself. Parasailing is to me what the Rocky Mountains were to John Denver. I was born in that late autumn of my sixteenth year, coming home to a place I'dnever been before, when i first took to the skies in parasailing apparati. 

If I could find a way to be paid -- even minimum wage - to climb in a boat and be propelled into the sky every day of my life , I'd crumple and throw all hopes and dreams relating to  medical school out a twelve-story window in a heartbeat.  Unfortunately, no one is extending any offers of bankrolling my parasailing habit, so it looks like the second love of my life -- medicine -- will have to suffice, along with frequent parasailing excursions.

an incomparable experience

The video I'm attaching here has not all that much to do with parasailing except that it has the word "sail" in its title and it uses the word repeatedly in the song. It's by Lionel Richie, and performed by Richie with the Commodores. It's one of his greatest songs out of an expansive catalog of great songs. My dad and I like to sing it together because we both love it so much, and it has quaint harmonies.

The next video I'm attaching is in reference to a friendly debate I had with a fellow boat passenger, a man of perhaps forty years of age, on the return trip. He was listening to Bocelli's version of Nessun Dorma on his ipod. When he took the ipod out of his ear briefly, I heard, and he noted my interest. We got began a very civil and non-heated discussion on the merits of Bocelli versus Pavarotti with regard to the particular aria of Nessun Dorma. 

My personal opinion is that Bocelli has talent oozing from every pore, and that I would trade everything I own, everything I know,  and everything I can do to be able to sing the female counterpart version to the way he sings. My respect for him is immense.

On the other hand, Luciano Pavarotti owns "Nessun Dorma." It's as though Puccini wrote the aria maybe a hundred years ago (it sounds much older) with the inexplicable knowledge that one day someone would come along and would transform this already perfect aria into something greater than anyone ever knew it could be. Sometimes the sum of two parts is greater than the whole it should equal, and such is the case when Luciano Pavarotti sings "Nessun Dorma."  I can't express it. Just listen to the song; maybe you'll hear what I'm trying to say. If I didn't believe in God, I probably would after hearing Pavarotti's rendition of this magnificent aria. Even if you don't like operatic music, you may still find something there if you listen with open ears and an open heart.

I don't think I changed the opinion of the gentleman with whom I was debating, and I know he didn't change my opinion, but I appreciated the discussion, and I believe he did as well.

Incidentally, I graduate this weekend. My biochemistry commencement ceremony is Saturday afternoon (today), and my music graduation is Sunday afternoon. They're both still combined with other similar disciplines and so are large enough to be impersonal even though they're somewhat departmental, but my parents really want me to go through both. I'm participating in the humanities graduation  with one violin piece,a short piano selection, and an ensemble number with my cellist friend,my pseudouncle (they wanted him based on a couple of recitals even though he has nothing to do with the university; I suspect  they're trying to get him to join their adjunct faculty)and the tenor I just accompanied for his recital. That ceremony will be short on speeches and long on musical performances, so it should be less boring to me than the other one.

It's a tough call: does a  university have a mega-ceremony, or break it down by departments? If it's broken down small enough, each graduate can be recognized. On the other hand, a reasonably prestigious university,if it holds a single commencement exercise,  can usually attract and/or afford a big-ticket speaker. I think if I had my druthers, I'd forego having my name read in order to hear Colin Powell or Bill Clinton speak.  It's out of my hands, though, so I'll go with the flow and be happy I'm graduating.

Going to Catalina!

The first thing tomorrow I'm driving south just a bit with a rather  large entourage to harbor where we can catch a boat to Sana Catalina Island, which is approximately twenty-six miles into the Pacific, according to a song from the dark ages. I bought ginger snaps to take on the boat in order to combat motion sickness. I'd rather not take ondansetron, as I don't want to waste time being sleepy, and my help will be needed with taking care of small children on the boat  That same song purports that Catalina is "the island of romance." but my intentions are anything but romantic. I'm going there mainly to parasail. The chance even of grabbing a beer is extremely slim as most of the people traveling with me are Mormon, but I'll keep my eyes open and grab any possibility as it presents itself. I'm not a heavy boozer, but I like to plug my nose and drink a half-bottle of beer on occasion.


My temp was still in the low-grade fever range when I woke up this morning, but went down to normal before noon. It may go back up tonight, but should be gone entirely by tomorrow. If it doesn't it will be my secret.