brilliance

you may have noticed the change in my profile. That's because I did, actually, clean my viola with cough syrup last night. We got back from Masada and the Dead Sea in the afternoon, collapsed for a long nap, I woke up, took out the axe, and saw it needed cleaning. Reaching for the rubbing alcohol bottle, I grabbed another of similar size. And that's the story. I scrubbed away at the fingerboard and strings, thinking the alcohol must have aged and that's why it had changed color. The fingerboard was very shiny, but the rosin at the end by the bridge wasn't coming off. Turns out I was caking it on even more.
Kids, don't clean your viola with sugar-based substances!!!
Luckily, the alcohol got it all off. But there's still a faint smell.
So, that's my news. We went to Petra, Aqaba, MAsada and the Dead Sea since I last wrote, but that's what I felt needed to be shared.
Oh yeah, and that I fell off a skateboard the other day. Christopher was teaching me the basics of going downhill, and when I finally felt I'd mastered them I started for a long run from the top of a very, very shallow hill to go the length of a parking lot. C videoed me on our little camera- I wish I could post video here, because I have to say it's pretty funny. I go by him all smiles then almost at the bottom I "start to go all squirrelly" (C's words) and fall on my face. Or my knee, to be more precise. It hurt. I was worried we couldn't go ahead with our whirlwind Masada trip. But it was fine, and by the time we were climbing I was barely aware of it.
We left Tel Aviv at 3 AM and were at the base of the fortress at 5, the sun just starting to come up. I felt like a true ISraeli, climbing Masada for my third time. My first time, with Birthright, we met a bunch of high school kids at the youth hostel, some of whom were climbing it for their 9th time! We got up quicker than the other two times I'd gone. My second time was with my friend Sara and we took our time, chatting and resting to enjoy the view. Climbing with Christopher, I strangely remembered all the stories Sara had told me on our trip. One was about a documentary she'd seen about a WW2 ghetto in which the women all wore the same dress to get married in. And the dress is still around apparently.
So, random interjection here: Christopher and I were married last March. We had done it for practical as well as emotional reasons. And had been quiet about it because we didn't want any confusion with the "big" wedding.
Figured I needed to write that here sometime.
We will still have a big celebration. More a renewal of vows. But something so I can wear the amazing dress from MY past: my grandmother's dress from the 30's, which my aunt Susan also wore, and preserved so perfectly, you'd think it was just made. So beautiful.
Also, getting back to my "story," had to write that news now so you'd understand when I wrote that I've married a mountain goat. I knew of C's climbing tendencies on the vertical wall. But he left me scrambling behind him going up Masada. It was great to be so challenged- quoting my yoga CD "we often give up before fulfilling our true potential." I definitely didn't think I could get up there that fast, but it was fun. I found the only way I could do it was talking. If I let him get too far away from me so that he couldn't hear my ramble anymore, I would just start focusing on how weak I felt. So I'd chase after him to keep the steady stream of nonsense carrying me.
After we explored the top, yelled into the echo canyon, ate sandwiched and drank bug juice just like a good school group, descended- by the end we had "Elvis leg" from the stress of straight-down on the knees- we went to check out the Ein Gedi Spa, where Sara and I had gone on my last trip. Massages, mud dips, hot springs. All perfect after a crazy early-morning mountain climb and no sleep. But, instead, we slept. In the spa parking lot. And then went to swim in the Dead Sea for free at the local public beach. The water was the most beautiful emerald green. It didn't sting at all on my skateboard scrapes, but hurt like hell on my many scars from Spinoza. He's a beast to us. On our way back, we stopped for Moroccan "harira" soup and salads at this bedouin-tent-style restaurant. MAde it back home in less than 12 hours.
just enough time to clean my instrument.