A Beautiful, Balmy, Beach Wedding

I was thrilled to hear that my dear friend Courtney was getting married for lots of reasons. Her fiancee is a wonderful man, and she'd been hoping that this would be their outcome for a long time. They're a great match, and I was pleased, for her sake, for her good fortune. But I was pleased for my sake, too, because Courtney is a native of Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and she planned to get married on her home turf. So on Thursday afternoon, I left behind ill climes

and savage wildlife

 and headed south, where I woke up on Friday morning to greet this view:

Ed and I spent the first day there doing little by lying on the beach. After slathering on lots of sunscreen (and not missing too many spots, even though we were out of practice), we set about working off the vitamin D deficit we'd incurred after months of a New York winter. The forecast threatened rain for several days while we were there, but the strong ocean breeze blew away any threatening clouds, leaving nothing but blue skies behind. The days were warm, but not too hot, and the evenings were pleasant. Ed spent more time in the water than I did, but even I, usually loathe to swim in chilly water, had to admit that the ocean felt refreshing and wonderful once Ed dragged me in. 

We did not manage to leave all unfriendly wildlife behind in New York, however. Ed stepped on what we assume was a ray, which was startling but nothing worse than that. More worrying were the Man 'o War jellyfish that we saw washed up on the beach. We kept an eye out while swimming, however, and didn't see a single one in the water. Apparently they float and are fairly easy to see bobbing around if one keeps an eye out (or so Ed claimed). No one was stung during the two days we spent on the beach, so there really couldn't have been that many of them.

After a truly delectable seafood dinner at a local restaurant on Friday night, we went to a drinks and dessert reception at Courtney's parents' house where we mingled with other out-of-town guests and sampled homemade cookies, cupcakes, and cakes supplied by Courtney's friends and neighbors. Her sister served as bartender. I really enjoy Courtney's family, and it was wonderful to be able to spend a bit of time with them before the big day.

On Saturday, after an aborted run (I'd forgotten how much I loathe running in humidity), Ed and I did a bit more lounging on the beach, then dressed for the wedding, which was on the property of our hotel. I'd never attended a wedding on the beach, and Courtney's was simple and lovely. Her father built a bamboo trellis under which she and Aaron were married by their friend Steve. The ceremony was short and poignant. I didn't take any pictures because I was so absorbed I didn't want to miss a second, so you'll have to take my word for it that Courtney looked absolutely stunning. Afterward, we enjoyed cocktails, snacks, and lawn games on the sand until we were ushered back toward the hotel for dinner and dancing in the open air. The centerpieces, striking arrangements of calla lilies and orchids immersed in rectangular glass vases and anchored in place with sea glass, were her mother's handiwork.

Most of the guests at the wedding were friends from college, graduate school, and medical school, and were therefore around my age. Just about everyone danced enthusiastically despite the heat, which persisted even as it got dark, and many of the men developed large, sweaty splotches on their shirts. I was honored to have been chosen to give a speech, for which I prepared by writing notes on a few cards and holding off on drinks until after it was over. It went well (I think), and several of Aaron's college roommates spoke, too. I was having so much fun that I was mightily disappointed when the party ended, but I found after several minutes of catching my breath from all the dancing that I was exhausted. Ed and I retired to our room and went almost immediately to sleep.

Our flight home the following day was scheduled to take off at 8:30 P.M. After offering to help with things about 400 times and being turned down, Ed and I decided to go to nearby Miami to keep ourselves entertained and out of the way. We didn't have much time and Miami is a big city, so we decided to do an automotive tour. Our first stop was South Beach, a famous road that runs right along the ocean. It is lined with restaurants and nightclubs, and people were walking around in various states of undress or drinking massive cocktails under awnings. I was surprised by how attractive the buildings were in this part of town. I had thought it would be seedy and rundown, but I loved the careful landscaping and art deco designs.

After driving away from South Beach via a causeway bordered by the most unbelievable turquoise water, we headed to Coconut Grove, the oldest continuously inhabited neighborhood in Miami. I knew little about it, but Courtney's parents had recommended that we drive through, and I was thrilled we did. The streets are narrow and choked with tropical plants, including massive, vine-covered banyan trees. The lush green on all sides of us, punctuated by bursts of color from merry flowers, was breathtaking. After the bustle of South Beach, it seemed we'd entered a true oasis. Ed remarked that he felt as though we were driving through a tunnel, and I had to agree. The foliage overhead and on all sides of us seemed to seal us off from the outside world. The houses themselves were tough to make out between the leaves, but what we saw was impressive and lovely.

All that driving was thirsty work, so we stopped for margaritas before heading back to Ft. Lauderdale, where we ate dinner with Courtney's family and then very reluctantly boarded a plane back to New York. I was wearing flip-flops and was dismayed beyond measure to see icy chunks of grayish slush on the runway when we landed. But I'm looking forward to going for a run that doesn't leave me red in the face and sweating for an hour afterward, and the cold air does feel pleasantly crisp. No matter how fabulous the trip, it's always good to come home, and our brief tropical respite came at just the right time to get me through the rest of this winter. 

Tuesdays with Vlad

After lots of big talk, I've finally pulled the trigger and begun taking piano lessons again. I was in fourth or fifth grade when I first began to learn to play the piano, and I think I continued through middle school. But daily after-school sports practices in high school meant the end of lessons, and for some time now I have wanted to resume playing. On a whim about a year ago I bought a keyboard I found on Craigslist for $80 (allegedly brand new - it was still in the box). I tinkered around on my own for a while, but progress was slow. I found that I kept putting off practicing in favor of other things until I stopped altogether. Also, I was sure I was making mistakes even though the notes sounded right. So once I had healed sufficiently from my wrist surgery I went back to Craigslist in search of a teacher, both for instruction and motivation.

My "studio"

There were a number to choose from. Based on location and price, I narrowed it down and eventually found Vlad. From his name and the tone of his emails, I imagined him to be a slightly balding, kindly Russian man who probably wore spectacles and lots of button-up sweater vests. Instead I was greeted at my first lesson by a spritely, blue-eyed young man with a very subtle accent and a thatch of dark, unkempt hair. Vlad is probably no more than 22. He's a student at the Mannes School, the New School's music program. (Check out this video of him playing Liszt. His hair is more neatly combed than usual for the occasion.) We have our lessons in the Mannes building, where I can hear phenomenally talented trumpet players and opera singers rehearsing through the walls on all sides. Vlad is friendly, charming, and above all, very patient. I can still remember how to read the music fairly well, but I'm terribly rusty.

I have learned more during my two sessions with him (and practicing what he's taught me in between) than in a year of playing on my own. I'd been trying to learn a dumbed-down Bach piece. It sounded OK when I played it on my own, but it turned out that I was right about doing something wrong. My instinct had been to simply reach randomly for the right keys however I could get to them. Vlad has been helping me to focus on my fingering, which is irksome in the beginning but a lifesaver once I've got it down. Hitting the right key is only part of the game; you must also think constantly about setting yourself up to play the measures that follow as efficiently as possible. On top of the Bach piece, I work on scales as well; this is less exciting, but very important and I make time for it accordingly.

I would certainly not go as far as to say that I'm a natural, but I will say that my muscle memory doesn't seem to take too long to develop. I find that after I practice a section a number of times and then walk away from it, my fingers instinctively know where to go when I come back to it later. Although this happens again and again, it gives me a little thrill every time. I've been getting up a bit earlier than usual in order to put in 30 to 45 minutes at the ivories plastics before getting ready for work, and I've recently started keeping a tally of the number of minutes I put in so that I am under no illusions about how much I'm actually practicing.

My Craigslist keyboard leaves something to be desired. It's supposed to be able to teach you the piano, and so the keys light up every time they're pressed. This is so you can watch it play songs and then follow the keystrokes, though of course I'm not using it for this, so it's a little strange to watch the keys turn red every time I hit them. They also feel much lighter than the keys of a real piano, and I get the same volume whether I strike them hard or softly. In addition, I lack a pedal, though Vlad says I can buy a plug-in one, and because there are only 66 keys I sometimes run out of space when I go into very low or very high octaves. But one thing the keyboard does have going for it is the headphone jack. I can practice early in the morning or play the same scale 25 times in a row and Ed does not want to throw me out a window, which is a decidedly positive thing. It's certainly not an ideal situation, but it's working out just fine, and I was loath to spend a lot of money on a top-of-the-line instrument before I knew whether this something I really wanted to get into again. Perhaps someday I'll have a real piano, but for now the keyboard is working out just fine.

So far I have really enjoyed taking the piano back up. My goal is to be able to sit down and play well just because it's fun. I'm certainly a long way from there; each practice session feels like a lot of work. But it's pleasant work.