The Light of a Thousand Suns

David moved into our apartment four years ago last month. He scouted it, he previewed it, he told me not to make a decision from the outside alone (the icky screens on the porch have since been removed). I remained downstate for a few more months having finally defended and deposited what my mother called "that paper you have to write" (read, dissertation) and then wrapped up a visiting lecturer position. I moved in full-time, officially, name on the mailbox and everything in August.

We figured it out our first night while trying to get comfortable on the mattress on the floor. (The mattress that remained on the floor until August when I moved in full-time even though the plan was to buy a platform bed pronto because surely we wouldn't be able to sleep on the floor for long!) There is a streetlamp outside our bedroom window that illuminates the alley. Directly outside our window. David put up with it every night. I put up with it on the weekends.

I am all for public safety and the enlightenment of dark spaces, but holy crap. This streetlamp could light a stadium. This streetlamp competes with the huge Burger King sign at the opposite end of the alley. Though it is directly outside our bedroom window, it sufficiently lights the dining room and living room as well. You could sit on our bed and read a book at midnight. (The bed? A trip to IKEA on hot day in August; awkward, slow drive home with the trunk lid flapping up and down; assembly of bed on hottest freaking day of the year by two people who both need to be in charge and aren't good at sharing one allen wrench. I may have stated already that the best marriage preparation is putting together a bed with your Intended on a sweltering day with insufficient tools and directions that have no words but attempt to guide the builders with smiley faces and sad faces.) Yes, this streetlamp has a light of a thousand suns.

My wonderful fiancé took action before we had suffered too long. (I'm sorry. Did I mention that our apartment does not have air conditioning? Okay, so you can stop wondering why we didn't pull the shades and/or install some sort of aluminum foil sun guard.) David called the city's new information number and voila, someone showed up and removed the domed lens from the light surprisingly dimming the street lamp to maybe a half sun. The naked bulb still lit the alley to a safe level and we could sleep in peace.

That lasted for four years.

On some mornings I like to lie across the bed -- near the foot -- while David gets dressed for work (mine is life of late mornings to work in the summer). We chat. I stealthily hide his socks from him. He follows the same exact get-dressed protocol every morning. This particular recent morning was different. I heard something outside the window. It wasn't the usual garbage trucks. It wasn't the usual pain-in-the-butt-condo neighbors slamming their gate and then their dumpster lid. No, this sound was different. It was close. I glanced out the window and saw a man wearing a yellow hard hat glancing back at me.

I casually slid myself across the bed, behind David, and safely off the bed to the floor. "David, there is a man outside our window."

David laughed -- perhaps because he had clothes on. I was trying to calculate how much Mr. Hardhat could have seen. I don't sleep in the nude, but I'm not exactly public-appropriate either.

He was gone as quickly as he appeared. He left a calling card. In a few brief moments he managed to re-install the lens on the street lamp. We were amazed. That night we were sitting on the couch and noticed a warm, orange glow coming from the alley. We noticed it through the living room porch door. We noticed how it sliced through the bedroom to sufficiently light the hallway and the bathroom. We thought we could handle it. We were sure our memories had become exaggerated over time.

We were naïve. We were plain wrong.

The second night was particularly bad. I was sure that the light was intensified by reflecting off the white paint on the bedroom door. It was warm. Maybe I could throw our dark comforter over the door and dampen the light…

My dear husband moved into action after the second night. He called the city's informational number again. Within 48 hours of the phone call, the lens was removed and a sleek, flat panel was installed. The bulb was no longer naked, and we are no longer sleeping with stadium lighting.

I'm Glad I Shaved My Legs Today

It started out a crappy week: back to work after a little break, more work at work than I had figured, an impromptu departmental meeting related to things I'd rather not think about, a big screw up with an important package I was waiting for, and a hair appointment that was not recorded correctly by the salon.

I was supposed to get my hair cut (and colored, but don't tell anyone) yesterday afternoon. I made the appointment Tuesday morning. The young woman at the salon and I both expressed shock that this Thursday was already June 1! When I did not get the usual incomprehensible reminder voicemail on Wednesday, I wondered. So I called yesterday before I left for the appointment -- you know, just in case. Sure enough, no appointments. My appointments had been set for Thursday, June 8. My hair should look something like this by then.

One of the good things that happened this week is that I made an appointment for a facial at my favorite salon. It's been maybe six years since I've had the pleasure. Though I talk a big game with fancy hair cuts and getting my groceries delivered, I don't frequently get facials. Since I have not yet outgrown my acne, and since I found a nice lady at the salon, and since I have convinced myself that I deserve it, I made an appointment for this morning.

I started the day by attending mass. I know, I know. I'm a little surprised myself. It's a long story that goes back to my days in high school. June is devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus (the devotion of the nuns who taught me in high school). The Sacred Heart revealed 12 promises to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque (see #12). The twelfth promise is related to the practice of attending mass on the first Friday of each month. It's all actually pretty interesting. I've always liked old traditions in the church. The Sacred Heart did well by me way back in high school, I figured it couldn't hurt to rekindle my friendship with the ol' guy.

Mass this morning was also attended by our parish grade school -- their last mass of the year. I can't tell you the flashbacks that resulted! Wow. The uniforms, being seated by class, being monitored by strategically-placed teachers -- and the principal! The other usual suspects at an early morning weekday mass were present as well: the young man who can't figure out if he wants to enter the seminary, some ladies from the local shelter, some men who could benefit from a local shelter, a few elderly couples who attend mass daily, and, um, me.

I had forgotten how refreshing a simple, to-the-point mass can be. I had forgotten how miserable it was as a grade schooler. Today's gospel was the one when Christ asks Peter three times if he loves Him (three – it's a magic number). Instead of preparing a homily geared toward the ears, hearts, and minds of first through eighth graders, the priest gave a homily quite over the heads of the students (and probably a few others in attendance) about eros, filios, and agape. Actually, he concentrated on filios and agape and tried to "translate" Jesus' three questions into the Greek to make his point. Yowza.

Okay. I'm way off point here. What does morning mass have to do with shaving my legs? David keeps telling me that I would post more often if I would write short blurbs about my day. I am realizing that I don't ever write short blurbs.

So I attended mass in an attempt to rekindle an old devotional practice, reminisced about being stuck in a hot church before a long day of grade school in a hot building, and then headed to Julius Meinl for baked eggs and a mélange.

The Meinl visit was an opportunity for a nice (but far from quiet) breakfast and to kill time before my facial appointment. Ah, there we go, clean-shaven legs. I leave the café and decide to drop off the Metro at a tire place that we frequent for a long-needed tire rotation and oil change. I pull in, notice all the employees standing around the empty, open garage doors, think "Super! It'll be finished when my face is!" and park the car. I walk to the door -- it's locked. I walk to the idle employees and ask "Are you guys open?" Nope. They're not. In fact, they will never be open again. My usual basic maintenance place has fallen victim to the Brown Line expansion (as has my old, favorite hot dog place). With the tire place closed, only one corner at that three-street intersection is the way it was when David first got his place there.

That sucked. I was hoping to not only get work done on the car, but dropping the car off would also remedy the whole crappy parking situation in the old neighborhood. I worked it out.

I stopped in at our friend Vanessa's café and got a hazelnut coffee for the brief walk over to the salon. Nice. Hazelnut coffee and an impending facial on a beautiful Friday morning.

Have you ever had a facial? Bliss. Well, except for the zit-popping part. After putting on a weird, terrycloth wrap -- no other way to explain it, I was comfortably wrapped in two layers of sheets like a cocoon. Oh! and she put a bolster pillow under my knees. It would have killed David. He would have run screaming from the place. The lights were dimmed, I picked a scent, was treated to some aromatherapy, and the facial commenced. Almost sounds like a date, right?

So we get to the point when she paints layers of good-feeling stuff on my face while the steam is billowing over my humongous pores. She unwrapped the sheets from one of my legs, covered it with a hot wet towel, and rubbed and rubbed, and put lotion on and rubbed. Insert all happy ending jokes here. It wasn't like that. But it was so super nice. Leg and foot rubs are the best thing ever. And leg and foot rubs during an aroma-facial? Please.

I am so glad that I thought to shave my legs this morning.