I just cleaned out my files. 4 big bags of shredded paper. I feel fantastic.

Yesterday morning I drove up to Freeport to try out some violins for one of my students. Frost Gully Violins has a sun-filled showroom with nice rugs, and before long I was walking around in my socks playing different violins as the very nice and knowledgeable staff (Justin and Kevin, this Saturday) worked at their workbenches.

I chose 2 violins to try for my student out of 6 or so, (turns out I chose the most expensive ones--ack), both French violins. There was a nice Chinese one also, but I didn't think it would suit my student's personality. Funny to think about that, no? But so true.

I would have been done right then and been able to drop off a job at Kinko's in Portland before my rehearsal, but at that moment Justin asked if I'd like to try some of their high-end violins, "just for fun". Well, I couldn't resist. A warm, sunny room, instruments displayed everywhere, lovely acoustics...and violins worth more than cars being delivered to me to play with. Wheeeeee!

I love my violin. But boy, now I have some new loves! I played a very rich-sounding Hungarian violin by Janos Michelberger and was sure I'd found the perfect violin for Tango, until I tried a sweet and powerful Italian violin by Ercule Fodera. These were my 2 favorites of the handful of violins I tried. I also played a newer instrument by Douglas Cox. I had started to play a bit of Bahia Blanca on the Cox while Kevin looked on, and when I hit the first note on the G string I said, "ohh....too bad about the G string". The violin sounds so glorious on the A & E strings that the lower register was a real disappointment. Kevin made a sound post adjustment (a delicate art that totally awes me) and that improved things a bit, but it still needs help.

It was at the moment when I was trying to describe to Justin why I liked one of the Italians over the other that I suddenly understood the language of wine connoisseurs. I had to snort a little at myself for using words like "sweet" and "crisp" and "powerful" and "responsive" and realized that English is sometimes a very poor medium for describing things like sound and taste. From now on, I promise not to roll my eyes when I read the back of a wine bottle.

I finally dragged myself out of there and brought my 2 selections to my student's house so she could play on them this week. She was home by herself and I'm pretty sure she ran up to her room to try them out as soon as I left. :-) I'm not the only one smitten...

Why is it that the English version of the text on my washcloth label says "carefully woven in Egypt", while the rest of the languages just say "made in Egypt"? Do we have a bias against Egypt? Or are some things not made well in Egypt and marketing is trying to counteract that? Or maybe things in English-speaking countries are made shoddily so we have to be told that this product is actually good quality, whereas people in other countries already assume it? Or maybe a translator was bored and decided to have a little fun and sneak it past the boss. Hmmmm. So many options. I'd say it's time for bed.

Two words: endless entertainment.

Right now I'm watching Bonita rear up and then try to pounce on her own shadow. Priceless.

In December 2000, I was standing on an Oahu beach with Lori, J., and S. Two of us were wearing bikinis and the discussion turned towards finding comfortable bras. S., the only male of the bunch, paused for a moment and then said, "Whoa...I've just entered the Girl Zone."

Well, guys, you're about to enter the Girl Zone right here, but if you're living with a member of the opposite sex (or planning to at some point in your life), I'd suggest you read on. And then tell your female friends. I'll try to keep my language tasteful so you don't freak out. ;-P Today's topic is: menstrual cups.

A menstrual cup is a little rubber or silicone cup that is worn internally and catches menstrual flow. It forms a seal when properly used, so there's no need for pads or pantiliners (ladies, what do you think of the word "pantiliners"? I've always hated it). There's no risk of toxic shock, it can be worn overnight, and many women have fewer cramps when using one as compared to using tampons. I found out about it in 2002, when E. was visiting me in San Francisco. I immediately got on the Web to check it out.

Interestingly, a bunch of the testimonials I read online about The Keeper (the cup I use) were written by men living in the middle of the woods in Canada, where "feminine hygiene products" are not only really expensive, but also hard to dispose of. These guys were psyched that they could pay $30 once every 10 years or more and not have any monthly garbage to deal with. Most of them had bought them as gifts for their wives! Picture that!

I love my menstrual cup is because there's no waste, it's very discreet, and it's easy to travel with. And it's cheap! I often forget I'm wearing it (though so far no disastahs! Whew!) It did take me 3 months to figure out how to get it to seal right, but from then on I knew I would never go back. I actually look forward to using it every month because it is so cool. Can you imagine that?

If you want to give it a try (or give it as a gift):
The Keeper (made of gum rubber)
The DivaCup (made of silicone)

Our tango trio has now had 2 rehearsals, and our first real performance will be at the Downeast Country Dance Festival in March. The question of a name for the group came up today over e-mail and I sat down to ponder it a bit this afternoon. First I hit upon "labia", (which means "eloquence" in Spanish), and was thinking "Tango Labia" would be a great (albeit slightly risqué) name for an all-girl group who loves to talk during rehearsals. It finally came together when I was lying around at L.'s and mentioned to her that I wanted to use "labia" because "tengo mucha labia" means "I have the gift of gab". It took her only a second to realize that we needed one more word to make this an incredibly painful pun (the best kind!)

Tango Mucha Labia.

After that, there wasn't really any discussion of other names. It works on so many levels.

A mild, sunny Saturday found me on a homemade tandem bicycle with M., touring Willard Square and Fort Williams, followed by lunch, a couple hours of arranging, and an energetic contradance in Bowdoinham. If every Winter month has a day or two like that, I can handle Winter here.

On the other hand, I'm dreaming of lots of snow so I can try out my new snowshoes.

I've been trying a lot of new things lately, violin-wise. Playing Tango, playing fiddle tunes, and learning to improvise. Tonight I rehearsed some Tango tunes with T. and was thinking I sounded pretty good, until she popped in a CD of Conjunto Berretin and I heard a really good violinist. But after the initial moment of "I suck", I reminded myself that:

- anything worth doing is worth doing badly at first
- you might as well just do what you want, because no one is going to hand it to you and you are in charge of your life.

Sherry has a post on just this subject tonight. Very timely.

All of the teachers look exhausted. Most students are listless and crabby. We probably all have Seasonal Affective Disorder. Bring on February Vacation.

Yesterday I discovered that some teachers at my school think I don't work so much. One of them asked me whether I could teach an after-school computer class for the staff and I said I'd be happy to, if I could figure out when to schedule it. He found out about the 12 violin students I teach "on the side". He discovered that I actually have "plenty to do" and I'm not just leaving at 3:30 to go eat bonbons on the couch. I suppose I should have been horrified, but I actually thought his expression was sort of funny. It's never occurred to me to notice how much time everyone else spends at school (particularly since half of my work gets done at home anyway), but it seems that other people are used to keeping tabs on it.

I wrote to E. about it, answering some of her e-mail about assumptions people make about her. Told her that most people are going to assume things, and probably the best thing to do is to go along and let them assume things for as long as possible because then the moment of truth will be so much funnier. Then again, I'm weird.

Yesterday I woke up feeling horrible, wondered if I was getting sick, decided I was just dehydrated, drank lots of tea, and went off to school. During they day I realized I was getting sick, and immediately berated myself for doing too much, for not sleeping enough, for consistently forgetting to take cod liver oil, etc.

And then after school I was working on the display case outside my classroom (time to take down the cutesy signs about "Microsoft Office" and "Typing Tutor" and replace them with the things I'm actually teaching). I was doing a lot of getting up and down to put glue on things and then stick them up and I started realizing that my left leg felt tired. And then I went to get the stapler and thought, oh, crap, I'm having trouble walking. There's nothing like a cold to get the ol' immune system all hot and bothered.

Fortunately, I already had a chiropractic appointment scheduled, and after 45 minutes on the table out at Lifeworks, I was feeling a lot better. Today I'm home with a yucky cold/flu -- not even taking violin students tonight. Time to listen to my body and give it some TLC.

This is why my alarm clock is often completely wrong.

Yesterday evening, two young men from the Church of Latter Day Saints rang my bell. "Why do you think there are so many different sects of Christianity?" they asked me. "Well," I said, "I think it's because a lot of people can't agree on the details." Yes, yes, that's exactly it! they agreed...and then proceeded to tell me why their details were the only right ones.

This is what irks me about most religions, the constant effort to convince everyone that there's one real God and one correct set of details, and that everybody else has it wrong. What a thought! I confess that to me it smacks of a hunger for power that contradicts spirituality. I prefer my God without a church and without a bevy of followers to tell me that my way is "right". When I'm lying on my back in the tall grass, with the earth beating under me and the wind kissing my cheeks, that's when God sings to me. That's enough.