My summer dreams are daydreams...dreams of getting up at the crack of dawn to bicycle next to the ocean, or watching my perennial herbs and cover crops come up, or going into school to work on curriculum whenever I want, or going hiking, or dancing, or any number of things that I probably won't have time for. :-) Today it's easy to dream because it's warm outside!

Since starting my "Radiant Recovery", I've been enjoying having vivid dreams that I remember when I wake up. Most of my dreams are at the very least, entertaining, but last night was a weird one. I was exhausted yesterday evening and went to bed at 6 p.m. instead of going to Tango practice (which was too bad, since I'll only have a couple more times to dance with M. before we have to teach together in June). I dreamed that I was in a wheelchair, except for when I had to stand up to lift it over things like barricades (???), and except when I was dancing the Tango with a man who had one leg and a plastic bag for a body, whose wife didn't love him anymore. Perhaps my upcoming 5-year MS anniversary has something to do with this stream of [un]consciousness?

In other Potato News, I'm still falling off the wagon once a week, but becoming more annoyed by it because I notice how much better I feel when I'm on track. I'm really resisting starting the journaling part of the plan, so that's the next hurdle. I can verify that the nighttime potato does not work when eaten with protein. I tried it once because I hadn't eaten for a long time (bad scheduling). Would have been better just going with the potato.

That was my mother's reaction to an e-mail she received this morning from K.'s mother, telling her to "save the date" for Ryan and K.'s wedding. On June 30th, 2006. My mom looked a little stressed/depressed over it. I reminded her that Ryan hadn't even gone to his own high school graduation, but yes, it would have been nice if he'd told his family that he'd decided to get married next month.

My challenge will be figuring out how I can simultaneously be in Massachusetts teaching Tango with M. and in Maine at the wedding. Ack.

In answer to the sometimes-asked question, "If you don't eat sugar, why do you have a 5-pound bag of it in your cupboard?", I give you sugar waxing for hair removal. It's far cheaper than waxing, and the excess sugar washes off with water, unlike wax. Cleanup is a cinch.

Sugar "Wax"

2 cups sugar
¼ cup lemon juice
¼ cup water

Cook until mixture reaches 250° F on candy thermometer.
Wait until cool enough to put on skin (test carefully...).

Tear a cotton bedsheet into strips 3 inches wide or so, and about the length of your leg.
Realize that you really needed that bedsheet for something else. :-)
Spread sugar very thinly (back of a flat butter knife works well) in a stripe down your leg.
Press a fabric strip firmly over the sugar, down your leg. I run my hands down it a few more times.
Pull fabric off, from bottom to top of leg.

Note: make a batch of sugar ahead, store in fridge, and reheat when needed. Fabric strips are washable and reusable, of course.
I find sugaring my legs kind of relaxing; no doubt I'm getting a beta-endorphin rush every time I pull hair out.

I've been playing with the Rosetta Stone language software online (free with a Portland Public Library card, another reason why Portland rocks). It's fun and easy. I had to laugh at their selection of warning signs: "no u turn", "no left turn", "no parking", "pedestrians", and..."kangaroos"???

I can't wait for the moment when it will be extremely useful to know how to say "Watch out: kangaroos!" in Spanish. No doubt it will be quite an adventure.

Now I can fly JetBlue from Portland to JFK without breaking the bank and without spending 8 hours on the bus. Yay! Though I totally disapprove of the United States -- I should be taking a high-speed train for that kind of a jaunt. Oh well.

Dear [ ],

I realized today that I have never misjudged anyone as badly as I misjudged you. I'm ashamed of myself. You speak simply and profoundly. You speak from your heart. You've taught me to do the same. Thank you for being my friend when you should have stopped speaking to me long ago. I'm a better person because of you.

Up in Bangor for the second installment of the required Special Ed course, I found myself in a slightly scary-looking motel room with not enough to do. I created a T shirt design for this year's "Sebago Chamber Music for Teens" camp, our first annual sponsored by the Maine Suzuki Association, while cooking some oatmeal in the cofeemaker (shhhh...I've also made a grilled cheese sandwich in a hotel coffeemaker, back in the day, but that's another story). The T shirt design went together quickly, perhaps spurred on by the free Army National Guard pencil I was using? Teachers always need free pencils. Wished I had brought my laptop, so I could have been composing violin parts to the pop songs my students have been giving me (for summer fun and as a further incentive to practice, for kids I won't see much during the summer).

The alarm clock next to the bed gained 10 minutes every hour, so I did some math and set it for an hour and 45 minutes later than I needed to wake up the next morning. Between the weirdness of that and the weirdness of the room, I didn't sleep a whole lot--not that I needed to be awake for the class. What a complete waste of time. Not that the material isn't important, but I learned so much more from reading about ADD/ADHD on my own than I did by sitting in that class. Ack.

It's the eve of my fifth MS anniversary and I'm ready. J. called and tried to get me to take the bus to Providence tomorrow to dance, but I told him it's unlikely. This year my anniversary will be a day to myself. I was hoping to start with a pre-dawn bike ride, but tomorrow looks like it will be crappy weather. I may be at the Public Market and at the library reading Threads and Cooks' Illustrated instead. :-) Maybe I'll head over to my parents' and use the radial arm saw. So many options.

Five years. When I was in the hospital, the statistic I heard over and over was "50% of MS patients are in a wheelchair in 5 to 10 years." And playing the violin again? Being paralyzed didn't mean I lost ALL of my brain cells--the therapists at Davies were saying "go for it!" with their voices but "umm...we don't really think you can" with their body language. Yikes. Fortunately, I'm stubborn. I thought, "I don't care if it takes me 5 years, I'm going to play the violin again." Surprise--it's going to take more than 5 years. I'll be a better violinist than before, though, which seems incredible and impossible. Back then I figured if I had to learn to play again, I might as well fix all of my old technique problems. When I look back to 2001, I kind of can't believe myself. What kind of a crazy idea was that?

I think of a violin student I taught this afternoon. He came into my living room 9 months ago looking like a disaster, and today I caught myself thinking, "wow, he really looks...relaxed." Tonight I'm thanking MS for making me think about playing the violin in a different way. I would never have had the skills to transform this student if I hadn't had to transform myself. It has taken my violin teaching in a direction I would never have gone, and I am so excited.

So, on the eve of year number five, a big "thank you!" to MS. Thank you for showing me which things in life are truly important, which things don't matter, and for giving me new direction. If you give me another five great years, I promise I will not waste them.

The cover crops were planted, the lumber for the wall bed was cut, the party food was cooked and eaten, the solo for church was played, much schmoozing with the parents and the friends was done, many rounds of the quoits were tossed, and on the way back home from the parents' party, the spontaneous walk (including the little snooze next to the ocean while trying to watch the struggling windsurfer) was taken on the East End. Now the hair has been taken down and is looking impossibly curly, the toenails are still covered with glittery polish, but the T shirt and holey jeans are on and the cat is in the lap. Time for the bed to be investigated.