cindy's world

I had wanted to be good with food and gymming for these last 2 weeks before this:

Cuz, you know, it involves hanging out around people in a swimsuit. I know fat’s supposed to float and all, and if I fall overboard onto a rock, extra padding would probably save my life. However, right now my vanity screams louder than my survival instincts. So I returned to the gym after being “off” since our early May Tahiti vacation. I beefed up my nutrition (ironically, without consuming beef) with a tablespoon of chia seeds in hot water every morning. I felt energetic and my workouts and runs were pretty decent…until last Wednesday when due to circumstances beyond my control, I missed my first day of exercise because I missed Pilates. And then Friday, our trial ran late into lunch and the attorneys were ordered to return earlier, so I didn’t have enough time to go to the gym. Saturday, I was busy cleaning house (yes, Mr. W was busy, too) in preparation for Eddie & Michelle coming over to talk over some wedding planning stuff, and for a visit from Mr. W’s Rocker Bro, his visiting teenage daughter, and my father-in-law, all driving in from Vegas for the weekend. So no working out over the weekend.

We ate healthily when Eddie and Michelle were here, having grilled salmon, raw broccoli salad, and some light dishes Michelle’s aunt made and had them bring over for us. Sunday was a different story — I got some exercise kayaking at the lake with everyone, and in chasing after the ball in “a volleyball game,” Mr. W and myself versus Rocker Bro and his daughter. But lunch before that was pizza at Oggi’s (I had 2 slices of an “everything” pizza and 1 slice of greasy pepperoni, overstuffed with carbs), and dinner after that was Hooter’s. Turned out I only managed to grab 5 wings before they were all gone, so at least I didn’t eat too much of that bad stuff. HOWEVER, I ate most of the plate of fried pickles we ordered. [Two interesting asides from Hooters — 1) Mr. W used a birthday free entree coupon emailed to him, and because of that, three Hooter’s girls called the restaurant’s attention to him, announced he was having “another 18th birthday,” and sang and danced around him after placing him on a stool away from our table. Happy Birthday song? No! It was an active song to the tune of “Hokey Pokey” but what they were sticking in and shaking all about were not right feet and right hands, they were right wing, left leg, name tag, and finally the entire Hooters girl. Mr. W’s daughter got it all on video, and we got 2 photos which they printed out and gave us in a Hooters border. 2) Some dorky looking, dressed-down white guy in a hat came in and sat at a corner table in the bar by himself, and a dark-suited man with a coiled communications earpiece over his right ear stood at his back, looking suspiciously up and down and around the room and restaurant the whole time. Everyone at our table tried to guess who the man was to warrant this bodyguard, and they were naming possible celebrity statuses. I said he was a foreign ambassador or dignitary. Guess who was right? The bodyguard is foreign royalty CIA. We thought they would’ve been more inconspicuous if the bodyguard didn’t look so freaking paranoid. I started getting scared that this guy, who apparently the guard thinks is always a potential target in danger, was too close to me and I was gonna get caught up in crossfire in this li’l smalltown Hooters. Why he would put his bodyguard through this just to eat some wings at an isolated Hooters location is beyond me.]

I was still hungry after dinner, but I intended to be good. Unfortunately, Mr. W had no such intention. He drove us directly to Yogurtland. My conscience shut off and I made myself a coil of coffee froyo, topped with a coil of cookies and creme froyo, and for the first time ever, topped all of that with Kit Kat bits, Heath Bar bits, carob chips, and I think there was another chocolate bar in there somewhere. I would’ve justified that by telling myself I had such a tiny dinner I earned the calories, but I didn’t have a chance to defend my dessert. The moment I sat down on an outdoors couch to eat this, the container flipped out of my hand and landed face-down on the public cushion, which wasn’t that clean to begin with. All its contents poured out of the cup. I was pissed for the wasted food, but threw it all away and took the hint…

Today at lunch, I went to the gym and worked my chest and triceps till I shook. Thanks, Universe. You’re no fun.

I’m getting a LOT of feedback, opinions, attempts at persuasion, warnings, all attempting to discourage me from my decision to not use an epidural during childbirth. This advice comes from friends who are mothers and a couple are even nurses with delivery room experience, so I believe them and I know they absolutely know what they’re talking about, and the warnings are given in love and concern for me. However, my refusal to consider an epidural is also made in love and concern — for my unborn, as yet nonexistent-on-this-plane kid. Studies show that the IQs of children born without the use of an epidural are higher than those of kids whose mothers used the drug, and the natural newborns are more responsive during the Moro Reflex Test given upon birth, whereas epidural babies act kinda doped up. I don’t know for a fact that these studies are 100% conclusive or that there is a guaranteed correlation or causation relationship, but if there’s a chance I can give my child an edge in life by just suffering through some pain at childbirth, I can not imagine not doing it. My experienced friends tell me that they greatly appreciated their epidurals and didn’t know how people could go through childbirth without it. I had responded that there are mothers through time who worked on the fields or farms until their water broke, they went aside to push out their kid, and they returned to whatever they were doing as soon as the kid was bathed and fed. But that’s not the life I’m subject to, they reason with me, I don’t have to go through that because I’m in a position where modern medicine and painkillers are available to me. I don’t fault their logic, but I’m all the more determined to do this the way I’d intended. I realize I’m the ignorant one here, but if that ignorance and lack of experience is gonna carry me through, I’m gonna hold on to that ignorance until my own experience forces the light of knowledge on me. But here’s what I know…I know I will be fine. I know it will be pain beyond my wildest imagination, but it will be over soon, and I will know for the rest of my life that I did everything within my control to give this child what I could from the moment of birth, no matter the pain to me. What’s some screaming at childbirth compared to the rest of his/her life?

Besides, I could hold this over the kid’s head when (s)he acts up.

THE COMPUTER PROJECT. The desktop computer at home (where we have all our trip photos) is having major issues. The month-old two terrabyte hard drive began loading sluggishly, and audible clicks could be heard as it spun, looking for data. The concensus is that the hard drive is on the verge of crashing. Mr. W backed up the data and we went to a computer store to look into returning the old one and/or buying a new one. Since he didn’t have the receipt, he bought a new hard drive and for the first time, purchased the extended warranty. While there, he discussed the symptoms with a store techie, and learned that his particular motherboard causes problems on high density hard drives (hence clicking), so the only way to cure this is to buy a new updated motherboard ($$), which means he’ll have to update his processor chip to support the new motherboard ($$), and that means his memory should be updated, too ($$). And of course he has to replace the crashing hard drive ($). Meanwhile, he’s installed the new hard drive and is in the process of transferring data from the old to the new, to buy a little time. For me, it means I have to wait a bit until I can finish my French Polynesia vacation posts since I have one more island port, Moorea, to cover and the day we came home from the island of Tahiti.

THE INSANITY PROJECT. The makers of the P90X workout, Beachbody, listened to people complain about not having the pull-up bar or dumbbell equipment to do the intense-but-effective sessions, so they came up with Insanity. Every bit as psychotic and vomit-inducing as P90X, Insanity uses only one’s own body weight and gravity for resistance. Sounds great, but I think Insanity may be even more hardcore than P90X because it’s designed for a 60-day cycle, instead of the 90 of P90X. That both scares and excites me. I have the kit at home and am about to begin. I’m also counting on this to get me prepared for the Marine Corps Obstacle Course Challenge in September.

THE BABY PROJECT. I haven’t talked about this in specifics, yet, so here it is, for the benefit of my obsessive record-keeping and because when I searched for information, I found very little of it, so this may benefit others in our shoes. Some years ago B.C. (Before Cindy), Mr. W lost his mind (or perhaps he was being mind-controlled like a zombie) and had a vasectomy. I didn’t take our relationship very seriously initially because marriage and kids were not part of the equation for him. It wasn’t that I was set on getting married and popping out children, but I wanted the option, as I had explained to many friends that first year Mr. W and I were “hanging out.” On our 1-year anniversary, Mr. W started talking about wanting to give me “a real commitment.” I told him that was unnecessary as I didn’t believe he was any less committed as my boyfriend as he would be as my husband. The man was committed from day 1, more so than I was, except for some computer games but that’s a whole other addiction. Year 2, he started talking about possible children together. My parents were, of course, pushing for some sort of outcome to this relationship because they didn’t want me to die alone (I know, Asian fatalist gene). Mr. W’s thoughts were about artificial insemination by a family member, and one of his brothers seemed amenable to it. That way, he figured, the genetics would still be the same, or similar enough. I was not thrilled about having the conversation later in life when I would have to tell my kid, “Dad is really Uncle W, and Uncle X is really Dad, and Cousin Y is really half-sister Y, but I’m still mom…” It’s hard enough to have to re-assess and re-identify one’s own parent(s) (I think it’ll happen involuntarily), but an entire extended family, too? This kid would go nuts for awhile. Mr. W seemed to understand this and appeared open to an anonymous donor. Around this time I happened to have dinner with two doctor friends, Lily (radiologist) and Arnold (cardiologist). I blubbered about this obstacle, and both just stared back at me across the booth at Claim Jumper. They didn’t see the big deal.
“But he had a vasectomy!” I repeated.
“So?” Arnold said lightly. This is when I found out that he had taught fertility prior to going into cardiology. Apparently (apparent to him, not to me), modern medicine and technology have found a way to just go into the scrotum with a tiny syringe, before the area where the vasectomy had disconnected the vas deferens, and extract some swimmers. What happens after that was unclear to me, but I was hoping they could just use whatever they extract and put it in fluid like a donor sample, and “turkey baster” me (I think that was how Arnold characterized it). He did warn me that a smaller percentage of men, especially if they’ve had the procedure done awhile back, develop antibodies to their own sperm as a way for the body to get rid of free-roaming critters that have nowhere to go. Arnold’s lack of being impressed by our predicament gave me (and Mr. W) hope, Mr. W proposed at the end of Year 2, I accepted, and we were married on our 3rd year anniversary.
I dragged my feet on the baby thing, enjoying my lifestyle too much. Mr. W enjoyed our vacations as well, but time was more pressing for him because of the age difference. He told me a few times that I better figure out whether I want a baby because he’s not getting any younger. So somehow, we figured that we’d take our last two kid-unfriendly vacations this year (the hedonistic Polynesian vacation was #1; high-adventure Australia late fall would be #2) and then have a baby. We would be married a little over 2 years then.
I’m going to get into detail about the fertility process, so if you’re interested, click “more,” below.
(more…)

I haven’t had much computer access this week since my work CPU completely blew over the weekend, but now I have a new computer at work (sweet!) and McAfee is working again (apparently some programming glitch in its automatic updates blitzed a bunch of corporate computers yesterday and today, which includes half the courthouse’s CPUs), so this will be a catchup post of sorts. Oh, and hurray, my mouse now goes left! (The previous mouse had decided that “left” was no longer a direction it needed to go, and when I complained, I was immediately made fun of for even having a trackball mouse.)

This is my current favorite photo of our newest member of the family, baby Elle.

On the baby front, an ultrasound has determined that I’m reproductively healthy with “plenty of eggs,” so that gives me some peace of mind. I’d always wondered whether I was infertile or something since I’d never had a pregnancy accident. Turns out, I’m just not careless. So we’re thinking we’ll hit up a crazy adventure vacation in Australia/New Zealand and dive the Great Barrier Reef in late October, then settle down and make a baby after. Unfortunately, this brings my birthing age to 35, but it’s better than being pregnant IN Australia. =P

I had a great furlough day yesterday hanging with my old buddy Joe and having a seaside brunch in Laguna Beach. He’s one of few people who would walk with me just to walk, so we chatted while we put in a solid 2 hours walking around the shops in Laguna after eating. Secretly, I had wanted to walk off my mimosa before getting back in my car, but turned out he had secretly thought the same thing of me but was too polite to imply I’m a lush. We caught up and shared stories, good laughs, some good scoffs.

I went home and made a Mediterranean pie for dinner that made Mr. W’s eyes roll into his skull upon eating it. I love that my husband isn’t a picky eater and always loves everything I put together.

Mr. W and I had just spent a whirlwind weekend in Vegas. My father-in-law had hip replacement surgery last Wednesday, so Mr. W and I drove to see him on Saturday morning. My stepkidlet rearranged her work shifts so that she could come with us. My father-in-law is a trooper; he did everything he was supposed to, got up and walked around a couple of days post-surgery, and was discharged earlier than anticipated. Everyone was comfortable enough with his recovery that when Mr. W’s Gamer Bro scored 5 free tickets to see a singing act at the Las Vegas Hilton, the three of us went with Gamer Bro and his wife.

I’m now on Week 5 of the cold-turned-sinus-infection. Most of the symptoms are gone now, but I still get coughing fits (probably due to post-nasal drip). Tuesday, I hacked so hard at the gym that I threw up into my workout towel. Good thing I hadn’t eaten all day so it wasn’t a painful sort of vomiting. =P The antibiotics are all finished, so I should probably be replenishing my probiotics now. It also means I can drink, so I had a little something in the past few days; nigori sake with sushi on Monday, margarita on Taco Tuesday at Sharkees in Huntington Beach (we met up with a couple of Mr. W’s friends there since we had to go pick up our Tahiti travel docs in HB), and of course my mimosa with brunch on Wednesday in Laguna Beach. (Yeah, life’s good.) This morning I was stupid enough to go chew on some peanut taffy when visiting in another courtroom. The syrupy sweetness rolled down my already raw throat and I started coughing, gagging, convulsing. One bailiff offered to Heimlich me. I finally had some water and spit out the mouthful of candy. Okay, thanks up there; I’ll take the hint. I have no business eating candy when bikini days are just over a week away.

I was chatting with a friend the other day via text. She’s in a bad-timing rut, where it seems like everything that could go wrong are all hitting at the same time. I told her to grit her teeth and bear thru the storm, and gave her a happiness challenge. I suggested that she write a list of small easy things that make her happy, such as a hot mug of Starbucks coffee on a rainy lunchtime (it’s been raining off and on for a few weeks now, with lots of sunlight in-between; things are lovely and green!), and to do one of those items each day. She agreed, and I offered to join her in this challenge. Things I’ve thought of so far that make me happy are
* a cocktail with someone whose company I enjoy
* driving and exploring a new local area
* trying out a new restaurant
* spa-day!
* sushi
* listening to 90s R&B and hip-hop while dancing along in my car
* spooning Dodo
I remember when I was having a really bad time some years ago, and my cousin Jennifer advised me to not think about the other person or give him any consideration, and instead go do something that purely makes me happy. Sounded good, but I came up with nothing. I decided then to take better notice of things that made me happy — things that don’t involve a significant other, or even another person, necessarily. Everyone should have a simple hedonistic pleasure once in a while, just as a fluffer to life. …Or something less tasteless.

Marine Corps Boot Camp Challenge. Saturday, September 25, 2010. Who’s with me?

Yeah, I know, my last time was such that I never thought I’d do it again. But let’s not leave the Boot Camp experience on that note.
Read about my 2007 experience here.

As my scratchy throat became coughing fits and a severely runny nose over the past 2 weeks, I ran my hilly 4-miler with Kleenex in my pocket (which I ran out of and had to ration, telling myself, “I’m not going to use the next one until the 2 mile point; I’m not gonna use the last one until I only have less than 1.5 miles left to go”), hit the gym every lunchtime carrying a portable Kleenex pack with my workout towel, and on Wednesday (Cesar Chavez holiday), went with Claudio to the boxing gym. My mom and Mr. W diagnosed me with allergies and it seems like everyone around is complaining of allergies right now, thanks to SoCal’s infamous Santa Ana Winds and extra pollen due to recent rainfalls. Mr. W insisted I take some of his Clarinex, which is supposed to be side-effect-free. It painfully dried my sinuses up while oddly not clearing my running nose and post-nasal drip (which causes me to cough), and it gave me medicine-head, so the next day, I tried something different that other allergy victim friends suggested, Zyrtec-D. Zyrtec-D was much better in that it did reduce the amount of mucus production (hence coughing) with virtually no side-effects, and I took it for 2 days in a row, altho it didn’t ever stop all the symptoms. I took nothing Thursday (yesterday), and the hacking and nose-blowing was not only severe, but I noticed the mucus was not blowing out well and was thick and sticky, which is what it was like the time I had a severe sinus infection. With the pushing of a coworker, I made an appointment at Kaiser for that evening.

It quickly became apparent to my doctor that I do not have seasonal allergies (which makes sense because I don’t normally get allergies).
“Are you experiencing itchy nose?”
“No.”
“Are you sneezing a lot?”
“I think I’ve sneezed like twice since this whole thing started 2 weeks ago.”
“Do you have watery eyes?”
“No.”
He checked my inner ears, up my nose, down my throat (he said I have post-nasal drip while looking in my throat. What does post-nasal drip look like, anyway?) Apparently I had a cold that developed into a sinus infection. He told me to stop taking allergy meds right away, and take no antihistamines. Apparently, when my snot is full of germs (as opposed to harmless pollen), and I take an antihistamine to dehydrate me, it makes the mucus thicker so that it can’t be easily purged out of my system. So all the bad stuff sits around in my sinuses and creates a complication, i.e. the sinus infection. Damn. I probably could’ve kicked the cold sooner if I hadn’t taken Clarinex and Zyrtec-D.

I took the day off work today. When I called in, my supervisor said there must be some virus or bacteria or something going around because I’m the sixth person out with a sinus infection. I wonder if whomever gave me my sickness thought that he/she was only having non-contagious allergies, too. I’m now on a 10-day course of antibiotics and pretty strong cough medication that my doctor advised me to only take before bedtime, as it would make me drowsy. The pharmacist told me while he dispensed my prescriptions that I should stay out of the sun because it could make me sun-sensitive, and I shouldn’t take multi-vitamins or drink alcohol. Good thing I’ve got a month before vacation. I’m not gonna refrain from sun or alcohol in Tahiti. The multi-vitamin is trickier. I need to take it because it helps me recover from muscle soreness faster and I am SO INCREDIBLY SORE from gymming and boxing. The pharmacist thought it’d be okay if I took the vitamin 3 hours apart from the antibiotics, so I’m gonna have vitamins with my lunch. I’m 3 pounds from goal!

From the time I booked the vacation cruise (the day I decided on a 10lb weight loss goal) till a week after, I dropped 5 lbs. Most of that was likely water weight, it was just how timing worked out with my usual hormonal fluxes. Now the second week has gone by, and I’d lost…1. 🙁 That’s pretty discouraging, but I tell myself I still have 32 days from today to lose the final 4. (Now I sound like the Bruins the last time we made it to NCAA. =P)

I’ve been doing some pretty clean eating and stepping up the frequency of exercise. This weekend, I stopped by the mall just for something to do after I visited the dealership to get my car’s navigation system updated (hooray, I see streets again!), since Mr. W was off mountain biking in some local terrain. I tried on two pairs of nice work-friendly trousers in what I figured my size was, size 4. They both fit comfortably, and one was a little TOO comfortable. When I leaned forward, I could see straight down my butt. So I swapped it out for a size 2, which was still comfortable, and this time not so baggy. I went home elated, thinking I dropped down a size. 😀

When I hung up these new pants in the closet later, I casually checked the size tags of some other pairs of similar pants I had purchased years ago from this same clothing store. Those were all size 2! Did I then go UP a size to be comfortable in a pair of size 4?! 🙁

I wish I’d taken fat percentage measurements two weeks ago so I can tell progress for sure. I’m okay not losing 10 lbs on the scale if I’ve carved out 10 lbs of fat. It’s supposed to rain again Wednesday and Thursday, and Wednesday is one of my usual running days (M, W, F). Now I’ll have to run today, Tuesday and Friday to make up for the loss of Wednesday and Thursday, in addition to the gym at lunchtime. Another wrench in the gears right now is that I appear to be going through my third allergy attack, ever. My throat’s itchy and scratchy, I’m hacking out a lung, I’m dehydrated from the loss of fluid out my nose. Thank you, Santa Ana Winds and all the rain this year that has fed weeds and created pollen to be lifted from all the plants out there straight into my nostrils.

This creates a challenge, but this challenge will not be a blockade! I WILL run! I WILL strive! I will lose to win! *raising both fists triumphantly in the air* 😀
…I think I’m a little high from Claritin.

Thanks to the generosity of fiscal circumstance last year, Mr. W and I are getting a tax refund that will not only finance a pregnancy, but will afford a hedonistic vacation this spring. Maybe even a second one (we’re thinking Australia & New Zealand) this fall. I’m only going to address one item in this post.

TAHITI, HERE WE COME!
We have discovered Paul Gauguin Cruises. Seven sparkling nights and eight turquoise days cruising on a luxury five-star ship in and around the lagoons and islands of Papeete, Raiatea, Taha’a (more specifically, the private islet of Motu Mohana), Bora Bora, and Moorea! It truly is a dream vacation, something I’d looked into for a honeymoon (which we never took, opting instead to pay for the wedding and house) but crossed off the affordability list. We’re getting a great deal; 2 for 1 round-trip flight fares, a huge discount off brochure price for the cruise. I decided on this over Europe, Asia and Australia because I figure those are places we can go in the future and even take our kid to, and we’re probably hitting Australia for a high-adventure vacation later in the year anyway (our spring is their winter). But I know I won’t be able to justify spending this much money on Tahiti if we have a kid to pay for, plus I don’t figure I’d want to be seen in a swimsuit after pregnancy. Which brings me to something else I’m targeting right now.

I’m giving myself till May to get in bikini shape for this Tahitian vacation of a lifetime. It’s probably the last time I’ll be able to romp about in a bikini (unless it turns out that I’m not able to get pregnant, in which case I’m gonna buy myself a wardrobe of bikinis to make myself feel better) on an extended vacation, so this one matters. I’m not too badly off…I figure I can drop 10 lbs of fat and be happy. I’ve been primarily vegan since booking this trip last week, and I’m getting off my lazy butt where exercise is concerned. I try to do SOMETHING every day. I took last week off and spent the second half of it in Vegas with Mr. W visiting his relatives, and we even hit the gym twice while we were there, as well as eating well, buying groceries for salads and low-carb meals to prepare ourselves while staying at his parents’ (his parents prefer not to eat our “health foods” so we supply our own). College roommie Diana and her boyfriend Eric happened to be there at the same time for March Madness, so we met up. Diana’s a hardcore gymrat, so I felt OBESE next to her.

Although I don’t expect to ever have such a low bodyfat percentage or pop out washboard abs like Diana’s, it did inspire me to push a little harder to reach my 10 pound goal.
While at swanky new Vdara Hotel & Spa’s rooftop poolside hanging with Diana and Eric (where they were staying), I overheard a portion of a conversation between some 20-something guys that made the top-10 list of turnoffs for me.
Guy 1: (walking back to his male friends from the poolside bar) This one chick was checking me out, but I couldn’t see her face. She had a good body, tho.
[Some conversation ensued that I didn’t pay attention to.]
Guy 2: The difference between you and me is that I actually have game.
[More conversation of this ilk while I rolled my eyes]
Guy 1: No, that’s bullshit. Blue eyes are totally better than your stupid brown eyes!
[Were they actually putting down each others’ eye color?!]
Guy 2: You have a really high opinion of yourself.
Guy 1: Well of course! —
Guy 2: I’m not saying it’s irrationally high, I’m just saying it doesn’t work when you walk into a room and chicks can tell you think so highly of yourself.
Guy 1: No, you’re wrong. Chicks dig confidence —
Guy 2: But you’re like an old, fat black guy who still thinks he has game.
Guy 1: No I’m not, cuz I’m not old, I’m not fat, and I’m not black!
Guy 2: I’m not saying you ARE an old fat black guy…

I finally turned around. WOW, these guys need a non-warped, non-circus mirror.

It’s funny where inspiration comes from. Dwaine met a girl on Valentine’s Day and decided to go old-school wooing style and was going to make her a mixed tape. An actual mixed cassette tape, reminiscent of the 80s and 90s when we grew up and would make mixed tapes on the regular, for ourselves and to show our love for the lucky recipient(s). So I brought him my compact boombox which played CD, radio and cassettes. He’d have to convert his mp3s into an audio format, burn his song selections onto a CD, then play that CD on the boombox while pushing “record” on the cassette. That’s how you get backwards-compatible technology. While I was there on furlough Wednesday working on this project with him (among other stuff), he showed me online photos of this girl. Yesterday, I took a peek online at this girl’s photo album. And then I texted him.
“[Girl]’s profile isn’t private, so I took a peek at her old pix. She is sooooo your type!”
He responded, “LOL…yeah, she seems fun and silly.”
I wrote, “& she looks like she works out. Sorry, I gotta ask…are her boobs real?!”
He responded, “YES! She enjoys working out and they are real! :-D”
I wrote, “omg. omg. U ARE SO LUCKY!!!” and then quickly texted again, “I mean, SHE is so lucky. Yeah.”

Yesterday, I thought about this pretty girl who “ENJOYS WORKING OUT.” I used to enjoy working out. Now I’m a slob at it. I’ve been to the gym like twice in the past 2 months. So I went to the gym at lunch and pushed and pushed and pushed and had a painful but complete workout which left me shaking afterwards for hours. I’m in pain today, but I’m going back to the gym again…RIGHT NOW.

This arrived on Wednesday afternoon, in “dark rosewood.” I immediately went MIA for the next 10 hours and reacquainted myself with Bach, Clementi, Mozart, Debussy, Richard Clayderman, Lionel Richie…
I can tell you that the capabilities of this instrument far, far exceeds what I’m able to do, invent, take advantage of, but the store that sold this has unlimited free “button-pushing” classes. I just might soon be able to bring some of those melodies (and occasional full-orchestral pieces) that write themselves in my head to life.
In the last couple of days, Mr. W’s daughter brought a new song she’d written and asked me to come up with a piano riff and/or accompaniment, and what I have so far, she loves. Mr. W downloaded and purchased programs for teaching piano to beginners, and has plugged the digitial piano to his computer and monitor and has been learning simple pieces on black keys. Mr. W’s son was over the day the piano was delivered and listened to me mess around with the various instrument voices available, making some popular love songs’ melody parts into saxophone or violin parts, while keeping piano accompaniment, and he said that if Mr. W’s learning programs work, he’d like to learn to play as well. So it’s a little something for everyone in the family!
Oh, wait…I do have one complaint…in that 1st day of 10-hour piano playing for me, I already wore the gold off the top of one of the pedals. Come on, Yamaha, I know you can use better paint than that!! I wasn’t even wearing shoes!