Rubber ducky, you're the one.

(This is not me or my bathroom for the record;))

Cinematic Moment:  Splish Splash from yesterday.

Those closest to me know the bathtub has been one of my life long vices.    There's something about a body of water, no matter how small to stop the spin of the Earth for a few minutes. For me there's a very childlike element to the tub, unlike the shower which signifies the always hurried adult, rinsing off on the way to work.  A bath, on the other hand, is leisurely and begs you to stop and stay a while. 

 My childhood memories are admittedly a little blurry, but for some reason, I remember every minute detail about baths in those days from the color schemes of the tiled walls to the subtle chlorine smell of different family members water:  The aunt who always had jars of Noxema on the cappuccino colored ledge of her fiberglass tub, another who had a custom made soaking tub about 4 feet deep that I am still in awe of,  my best friend's windowless bathroom with her mother's matching pink daisy razors and Avon products.  Looking back, I suppose my obsession has increased to mildly fetishistic levels, but I digress. 

In my old age, I'm very serious about the process.  I typically customize my bath time to the season...Eucalyptus salts for aching winter bones, a pumpkin pie scented candle to match the changing Fall leaves, maybe some rich coconut bubble bath for a summer soak after a day of sun.  But nothing is better than the first bath of Spring, which I just had the pleasure of floating around in for a good 45 minutes.  

We returned home from the city late this afternoon with swollen feet from a 5 hour long walk, tanned shoulders and a hankering for some reasonable take out.  The sun, having shone all day, left the grass warm enough to smell the new life in it.  As it sighed back behind the horizon, the winds picked up, allowing a cool breeze to pour through the open window.  I dipped my feet into the water, a handmade waterfall pouring heavily into the basin tub and inhaled it all.  If the world feels a little light in the winter, with the snow feeling like a sprinkling of baby powder, Spring embodies a grounded, much heavier feeling.  The air sits at nose level and the scent reminds me of what it must feel like to grow from the soil.  

I started a book called "The History of Love."  I draped a hot washcloth over my face, dunked my head under the water and pretended I was a mermaid with my hair floating around me, watched the flicker of the scentless candle on the counter top.  It was a glorious first bath of Spring and something you should really consider...

The road less traveled (because it sucks.)

Cinematic Moment:  Finding your way.

"If you're successful at the wrong thing, the mix of praise and money and opportunity can lock you in forever."  Starbucks cup

I had a long conversation with a friend of mine from college this morning.  We got to chatting about common friends and where they are in their lives, marveling at the slow and calculated ways of Father Time, who, in this economy, seems like he's been struck by random lightning. 

I don't think it's a coincidence that success at something doesn't necessarily mean you are meant to spend life doing it,  just as failure to make a living at what you enjoy is no reason to cut it from your world.  The universe doesn't need to explain its rationale and the majority of the time, won't even drop a hint as to why it works the way it does.  So what can we do then?  Should we simply wait around for it to point us in the right direction?  Is existence more or less meaningful if your passion goes unnoticed?

The common thread for a lot of the happy people I know is they all have the same answer to the question:  Not to sit and watch the clock, but to persevere.  While the world churns your experiences, composting them into something bigger, you have to keep pushing through and making your own personal progress.  The tricky part is ensuring you don't get strapped into something you don't love for the reasons on that Starbucks cup above.  (I know, wisdom from Starbucks...it's truly mindblowing.)  It's easy to go for the comfortable...for what pays the bills. But accepting mediocrity is a waste if it isn't what you crave.  You'll always have the itch for something else.  

I say take both roads.  Do what you have to do for the time being to make ends meet, but never stop pushing towards what moves you and you really can have it all.

Just a little random life therapy for a Friday.  Now go get a beer and your dance on;)  We meet back here on Monday to discuss the chaos of wedding planning, the pros of aging and why my handbag is my life coach.  LOCM Class dismissed.

Order!!

Cinematic Moment:  Traffic court.

I'd love to apologize for being absent from CM for a couple weeks but frankly, I had what I thought was a great excuse:  I was preparing my case for traffic court.  Allow me to paint the picture appropriately...

Over Thanksgiving weekend, I was pulled over for speeding on a country road.  The speed limit had changed abruptly from 55 to 30, with the 30 mph sign located at the bottom of a hill.  I was doing 46.  Not sure how many of you have attempted to simultaneously slow down and accelerate up a hill---but it's no easy feat.  Needless to say, I pleaded not guilty to the citation and decided to take advantage of this country's wonderful justice system.  I've never actually been to court, but I have watched my share of Judge Mathis.  I could pick the sound effects of Law & Order out of a sound effect audio line up.  I also loved trial thrillers like "A Time To Kill" and "Fracture."  I don't like to brag, but you could say I'm an expert on courtroom proceedings.  

Knowing the preparation is half the battle, I spent a great deal of time preparing my case.  I didn't want to get in there and get yelled at for wasting anyone's time, like Judge Judy always does.  I consulted every attorney friend I have, took photos, put together a cross-examination for the police officer should I need to prove the location was indeed a speed trap and practiced my closing argument with the frianceband over and over.  The day of court, I put on my suit jacket, some Mary Janes and threw my hair into what I consider a professional looking low pony tail.  Black portfolio in hand, I walked into the town hall with my head held high, ready to plead my case.

All the preparation didn't prepare me for the nightmare that is traffic court.  A 4:00 court appearance meant not that I would have a hearing at 4, but that EVERYONE in the county would have a hearing at that time.  I was also one of the only people to read the fine print about "proper dress" being "required."  Unless, John Deere hoodies and flip flops are considered proper dress in some cultures.  I was also one of maybe 10 without dozens of unpaid citations and whose pockets weren't surely filled with meth.  I was more out of place than a high heeled sore thumb.  And where the hell were all the lawyers and gavels?

 I didn't get a word in edge wise when it came down to it.  I agreed to a plea deal before any sort of trial happened--I never even opened my black portfolio to show my evidence.  It's all for the best I'm sure.  Lord knows I probably would have caved under pressure.  I just wish I'd gotten in one "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury..."