It's back onto the PowerPoint autobahn tomorrow, but I crashed hard after lunch today (and was dropping things left and right before then, including a just-purchased jar of bbq sauce), so I'm obeying my body's hints to take the rest of today off.

(That, and I shouldn't be subjecting my clients to dubious metaphors like "PowerPoint autobahn." And considering all I've consumed today in the way of alcohol has been a single sip of my partner's Bloody Mary, I shouldn't even be coming up with metaphors that dubious.)

Have I posted before on how much I love my bed? It's nothing special in and of itself - mattress, boxspring, metal frame on wheels (no headboard or footboard) - but it's solid and comfortable and cozy, and there's usually a BYM in it by the time I call it a night (and when he's away, his side of the bed ends up with papers, books, and clothes piled on it more often than not). I didn't discover mattress pads until I married the man, but they do make a difference, and I like my mishmash of sheets and pillowcases and blankets. I missed it all when I was in the dorm room at Emerson earlier this summer - the price was perfect for my budget, but next time I'm bringing along a sleeping bag and one of my own blankets.

When I was a kid, one of my old bedtime fantasies was of falling asleep while drifting about in a fairy-tale gondola. I found myself sliding happily back into that old dream yesterday night, having gotten to live a variation of it earlier in the day. The BYM's parents recently purchased a rigid inflatable boat; he'd hinted a week or so ago that it would be nice for the two of us to borrow it and spend some time on the river, so yesterday we did just that. It felt great to be out on the water, getting some sun and letting my mind (and, while I know certain people in my life aren't going to stop giving me grief until I shed 15 pounds, I also know my current curves mean I fill out my swimsuit rather nicely. *cat with butter in mouth*). We stopped at Blue Moon for burgers and fries (served with giant Mason jars of ice water), and I got in some napping and writing near Clarksville when the BYM got fed up with the alarm and tied up, clambering up to the highway and walking to the second-nearest gas station for a couple quarts of two-stroke oil (his dad had informed him there was plenty, but that turned out not to be the case). We spent some time just off a tiny beach upriver (not much in the way of sand, but a nice spot to share a beer in the twilight, watch fish jump, and enjoy the feel of Cumberland clay between our toes), and the guys at the Shelby boat ramp were a hoot.

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This morning I got to church not quite on time, but early enough to sing the last verse of the second hymn. The theme was "blindness" -- on the tendency of humans to miss the beauty and opportunities around us -- and the "story for all ages" (told by Emily Green-Cain) was a corker. A condensed version:

A man decided to go ask the Great Goddess why he never had any luck. On his way, he met a scrawny wolf who asked the man to ask the goddess why it wasn't as big and strong as the other wolves. He also met a small tree who asked the man to ask the goddess why it wasn't as tall as the other trees. And he stayed with a woman who fed him a good meal and asked him to ask the goddess why she was so lonely.

When the man confronted the goddess, the goddess whispered to him the answers for the others. As for his own question, she said, "Foolish man. Your luck is all around you. You have only to see it for what it is."

The man returned to the woman and told her, "The goddess says you are lonely because you need a companion." The woman replied, "So I do. Will you stay?" The man said, "I don't have time for that, but I'll send the next person I see your way," and departed.

The man then stopped by the tree. "The goddess says your roots are being blocked by a box of treasure. Once it's dug up, you will be able to grow properly." "That's wonderful news," the tree said, "and there's a shovel by that rock. Will you please dig up the treasure?" The man said, "I don't have time for that, but I'll let the next person I see know about it," and departed.

Finally, the man spoke to the wolf. "The goddess says you aren't getting nutrition, and you should eat the first foolish person you see." So the wolf did.

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In today's New York Times, there were two keepers:

The Lost Summer, an Op-Art feature on Illegal Art, a collective in New York that

used 6,000 Post-it notes to sepll out the words "To Do" on windows and billboard across the city. Passers-by were then invited to write on the blank notes, to cover them with descriptions of tasks they hadn't gotten around to this summer.

The slideshow on the Times site (registration may be required) is worth visiting, as it shows the Post-its in color and displays one of the full window-fronts as well as some of the collected notes. (My favorite: "Call Dad. Find soulmate. Buy milk." In that order.)

Haiku Journalism, a review of Félix Fénéon's Novels in Three Lines. Have added it to my "to get" list, because someone for whom "There is no longer a God even for drunkards. Kersilie, of St.-Germain, who had mistaken the window for the door, is dead" is a complete piece is someone who likely has something to teach me about style. :-)