Scents of lime and coconut, the former from a candle, the latter from a bottle of bubble bath, swirl together to create a heady, steamy cloak that wraps itself around me, warming my skin, and tickling all my senses. The water is nicely hot, the tub brim-full, the book on the edge waiting to be cracked opened and explored.

But I leave the book alone.

I lean back against the bath pillow, sip from the bottle of cool water, and contemplate what it would be like to swim through the ocean at shark-speed, breaching the surface with the joy of a leaping dolphin. I can swim, of course, but as with all humans, it’s a choppy kind of swimming.

Sometimes I dream of floating in a cradle of seaweed, letting the ocean waves rock me to sleep and then stir me softly into wakefulness, hours later, safely back at home. On windy nights, the sound of the trees turns into the sound of the surf in my over-imaginative brain, and almost – ALMOST – I can feel the water rising and receding.

I soak until the water begins to cool, until my fingers are wrinkled and my skin is pink, and then, as in the famous picture of Aphrodite, I rise from the foam, though my foam is leftover coconut bubbles, and not sea spray, and wrap myself, not in pearls, but a soft cotton towel and white cotton chenille slippers. I rinse the tub. I put on fresh pajamas. I go into the kitchen to make orange juice and raisin toast with melted cheddar.

Later, looking for an image to use in a project, I see a vector illustration entitled “bathtub mermaid,” and I think, “That’s me!”

Today I learned that exercise can totally be a popup blocker for the soul. How so? In the middle of a day where I felt tired, icky, stuck, and stale, I went upstairs and worked out with my new weight machine for an hour (I’ve noticed that there are some exercises I can totally feel in my abs, even when they’re ostensibly targeting other parts of the body, but that’s for another time.)

I love this machine. Granted, it’s still new, still a toy and not a chore, but I love that I can be in my library, with the huge wall of windows, and watch the trees and life on the street, and be inside my own head, and enjoy sweating.

I never thought I’d find myself typing those two words.

I know, intellectually, that my funk was broken, at least for a bit, because exercise releases endorphins. I know that two workouts is just a baby step (the first was Monday), but I’m really proud of myself for doing two more reps on every exercise today than I could on Monday, and I’m even prouder of myself (more proud? Whatever.) for going up there today when what I really wanted to do was turn on the heating bad and eat brownies in bed.

The year will keep turning. My funk will eventually dissipate completely.
I have hope now.

Jeremy beat me to it, but I’ve just watched the trailer for the new Star Trek movie that opens at the end of this year.

It may be only January, but suddenly I’m anticipating Christmas ’08.

Yay, Trek!

No, it’s not a can crusher, although the way Fuzzy goes through warm Sunkist, we could certainly use one.

I bought a home gym. Specifically, I bought this home gym, because while I initially wanted an elliptical, I realized I do I lot of walking already, either in the living room with the dvd, or outside with the dogs (except that the weather’s been awful lately), and I desperately need to work on upper body strength and tone.

We went and looked at the various machines on Thursday, after I’d looked online for several days, and on Friday, Fuzzy picked it up after work. Today, of course, I spent the afternoon at Aveda (my toenails match my hair now), and then we went to David’s Seafood Grill, which used to be Rockfish, but hasn’t been for over a year now, and I had poblano chili soup, and seafood enchiladas and a glass of shiraz, and Fuzzy had what he always has: cedar plank salmon and a house salad with blue cheese dressing, and if he’s ever done in the bathroom, we’re going to put the thing together.

And I can cancel my Curves membership, which is fabulous because they’re only open at funky hours, and I’m really sick of the Christian workout music they play…there’s something really wrong with any version of Amazing Grace that involves synthetic drums and a disco beat, you know?

(But maybe we should re-think the notion of a can crusher.)

Cartons and boxes piled high
Former homes for routers and towers
used cisco servers
Liberated from the powers
that be

Tools hung haphazardly on the wall
A snow shovel kept just in case
(It never actually snows enough
to need such a thing in the place
we live)

Endless bits of cat-5 cable
In many different hues
Connectors and phone cords
USB dongles in boxes marked “shoes”
taped shut

Escaping leftover styrofoam
A jungle of bubble wrap
A bike unused since 2004
A dusty baseball cap
From Gateway

Missing it’s base,
The old Christmas tree
Meant to be left on the curb
I wanted to mark it “Free”
Last November

He said we couldn’t
Set it out
While still missing parts
Might be lying about
I gave up.

Next sunny day
The plan is to clean
And flatten the boxes
And sweep til things gleam.
One can dream.

Thanksgiving, 2005.
We’re in Branson Missouri for a week of hanging out with Fuzzy’s family. Part reunion, part vacation, much togetherness and frighteningly unhealthy food.

On the way home, I realize we were just a short drive away from where Laura Ingalls Wilder lived the bulk of her married life with Almanzo and Rose. Sadly, it was too late to turn back. We settled for pausing for a couple hours in a place called Artist’s Point, where I bought homemade sorghum molasses and watched the sun set in a valley worthy of being on a thousand postcards.

But it was Laura who followed me home.

Ever since then, I’ve had this idea, one that was expanded by an October, 2006 trip to South Dakota, of doing a modern story juxtaposed with Laura’s journey, of showing the contrast between DeSmet when it was young and Charles Ingalls worried that there wasn’t enough breathing room because the town was growing up so fast, and the sadness of witnessing the death throes of towns like the one where Fuzzy grew up, where family farms are being sucked up by corporations, and kids are fleeing to the big cities.

There’s sadness, but there’s beauty, too.
But I’m a city girl, and I worry that I couldn’t tell the tale properly.

Please go here for a mid-month question.

Thank you.

Appetizer
What is your favorite beverage?
I don’t really have favorites, but I always come back to cranberry juice mixed with lime Perrier, chai lattes made with soy milk, and classic cosmopolitans, as well as black tea and unflavored coffee with milk and sugar.

Soup
Name 3 things that are on your computer desk at home or work.
A rubber duckie
A metal sculpture of a woman playing a cello
A locked box of foreign coins from WWII that belonged to my grandfather

Salad
On a scale of 1-10 (with 10 being highest), how honest do you think you are?
I’m more honest with others than with myself. Average? About a seven. I understand the need for diplomacy to outweigh total candor at times.

Main Course
If you could change the name of one city in the world, what would you rename it and why?
Los Banos, CA desperately needs a new name, but I can’t think of anything fitting. Maybe something optimistic like Golden Hills.

Dessert
What stresses you out? What calms you down?
Deadlines that are impossible to meet, when my dogs are sick, and stupid people stress me out.
Good books, good sex, bubble baths, and spa treatments all calm me. (Those are not listed in order of preference.)

During the holidays, there are people of all political, religious, and cultural backgrounds who volunteer to write cards to deployed soldiers serving in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, men and women who are doing a job most of us are unwilling or unable to do, and risking their lives to do it.

Whether or not you support the war, whomever you plan to vote for, those soldiers don’t just stop needing contact once the holidays are over. Many of them are mere babies – 18-22 year olds who have never been away from home before. Others joined the military to escape bad home lives, to earn money for college, to see the world, or because they really are idealistic.

Some of them have families who simply don’t write. Some have families who write them off because their own political beliefs are so strong they can’t embrace the notion of supporting a family member without supporting the war itself.

If you know me, you know that I’m usually on the left side of the political spectrum, and can probably assume that I fall into the category of “Love the solider, not the war.” Nevertheless, I’ve got two adopted soldiers (my previous three all made it home safely), and am on a team of people who write weekly letters to new soldiers each week as well.

If the idea of providing a piece of home, in the form of a weekly note or card is something you can get behind, if you can afford $20 or so a month to send a care package of cookies and personal items (you can even order them online if you don’t have time to hit dollar stores and stand in line at the post office), please consider joining Soldiers’ Angels, and adopting a soldier.

This organization works with individual soldiers, whole units, chaplains, medics, and k-9 divisions (you can even adopt a solider/dog team in some cases). Personal politics are checked at the door, but members support each other through personal challenges as much as possible.

And the soldiers are incredibly grateful for undemanding contact from home.

http://soldiersangels.org/

So it’s been three months since we ditched comcast and our DSL line in favor of AT&T’s Uverse, the fiber cable– based internet/television connection bundle. Mostly it’s been good.

The good:
Lots more channels than we had with ComCast, a DVR that records 4 channels at once (or 2 HD channels, but since we don’t yet own an HD TV this isn’t crucial). Two other cable boxes bundled in the main price. A fourth for $5/month. And TiVo mostly works with the non-DVR boxes. Of course, when we do have one, all we have to do is call them and tell them to enable those channels. No additional installations. Also, we didn’t bother, but had we thought about it, the boxes could run on Cat 5 inside the house, instead of Co-Ax.

The not so good:
About once a month we have to manually re-sync the television boxes or they lock. And AT&T kind of sucks at telling people when there will be a planned outage (as there was around one this morning, when, granted, most people aren’t awake, but we don’t keep “normal” hours.).

The tricky:
Fuzzy found this out on day one. If you want upload/download speeds to scream, you set up an On Demand movie. Since it all uses the same lines and capacity has to be opened wide to download digital content, you reap the benefit of a faster-than-you’re-paying for connection at those times.

And the channels? I kind of like the Sleuth and Chill channels when I’m in the mood for mysteries or horror.