Spa Time

’m at the car dealership, waiting for scheduled maintenance on my car.  No kids, no dog, no housework… feels like a vacation!  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to stop for a coffee on the way, so I’m going to have to make do without this morning– but don’t feel too sorry for me, I did have a cup at home earlier.

It occurs to me that women should come with “Scheduled Maintenance” requirements– and I’m not talkin’ about the OB/GYN here!.  Similar to the every 7500 miles thing… maybe every 7500 chores?  Or 7500 dishes washed, or toys picked up, or tables/countertops wiped, or 7500 drop-offs/pick-ups accomplished?  And what would this scheduled maintenance look like?  Like I said, if it’s just like going to the doctor, then I’m not interested.  But if it looks more like spa time, then we need to flesh out this idea… I guess a manicure/pedicure would be like having the tires scrubbed, right?  The oil change would have to be some healthy juice drink or smoothie.  Don’t forget the detailing– facial, massage, etc.  Who wants to help me put together the manual??

Speaking of getaways (were we? that’s where MY mind went!), I have to mention the out-of-body experience I had the other day.  Anyone who loves downhill skiing might appreciate it.  Monday morning it snowed again: big wet flakes, clinging to the trees and accumulating quickly, but not enough to cause any school delays.  I went to the Y to work out, and Quinn went to the babysitting room.  The fabulous new facility sits atop a steep, tree-covered hill, and the fitness room has a wall of glass looking down on a ravine into which a tidal river ebbs and flows.  I claimed a machine directly in the window– making it feel more like I was part of the outdoor scene than all the indoor exercising going on behind me.  As I bounced along to my playlist of songs I used to listen to while working out way back in the day in Los Alamos, I let my mind drift.  Suddenly I was back in that time, on skis at the top of Pajarito Mountain, snow falling around me, and exuberant joy bubbling up inside me as I prepared to push off down the mountain.  I’m telling you, I could close my eyes and feel my skis under me, my legs effortlessly executing the turns down one of the coasting blue slopes… and when I opened my eyes, I still felt like I was in the fantasy, because the view (with snow obscuring the distance so I didn’t miss seeing mountains) was just like being halfway down the mountain.  It was an amazing experience– the closest thing I could compare it to physically is when, at the end of a long day skiing or boating, you lie down in bed and your body feels like it is still swooshing or bobbing.  Almost as good as being there.

It made me miss New Mexico, of course.  Even more it made me miss the life we had there– and the fun.  It seems I spend most of my time these days wishing I were somewhere else.  Even looking at the Athleta or Title Nine catalogs– with all the women living active lifestyles (often, but not always, in warm and beautiful places)– fills me with a longing for something I’m missing.  Am I having a mid-life crisis?  I’ll try to get over it before the next blog… so I can write about something OTHER than where I’d rather be!

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