Rudi and I headed out yesterday evening to Tyson’s Corner to look at a sofa. It wasn’t what we were looking for, but while we were at the mall we got watch batteries for some dead time keepers and some free skin products (from the company who is subsidising the book I’m writing), so all was not lost.

We had one more errand to run while we were out that way and headed west. It was just at sunset and the sun was poised just over the treetops like a single red Christmas light. Had I wanted to recreate it here for you, it would be the perfect use for a fluorescent red Crayola crayon.

So maybe that’s why I did it. Maybe I was inspired by nature…

I had already looked through the dress racks at TJ Maxx. There was nothing that would be appropriate to wear to Caroline’s wedding. So I went off to look for inexpensive tea and for athletic wear. I found the tea, but no workout clothes. But as I turned around, there it was — a dress.

And not just any dress, mind you, but a ruby red dress.

But it was a size smaller (and sometimes two) than what I normally wear.

I looked at Rudi. He looked at me. He said, “It’s just one size. You could fit into it by the wedding.”

So I went to try it on. Rudi offered to wait for me, but I told him not to bother. I wouldn’t be able to zip it up. I certainly wasn’t going to parade a half-done-up dress out in public.

The dress felt lovely going on over my head. It should — the lining (although not the rest of the dress) is silk.

But the side zipper seemed to be stuck and with the dress only half-zipped it looked like the dress hadn’t been cut properly, which would have explained its presence at TJ’s.

I kept working at the zipper though, and millimeter by millimeter it rose toward its destination. And, as it did, the rest of the dress evened out, until finally the zipper was done up and the dress looked fine.

Except…

Do you remember the scene in Dirty Dancing when Baby tries on her dancing costume dress for the final fitting? And she starts giggling because the dress dips so low you can see her bra?

Well, that’s this dress. And it looked a little funny because my tan line from Falcon Ridge is very pronounced right now. But I’ve never owned a dress with such a décolletage (as a side note, the word actually refers to the neckline of the dress and not the woman’s anatomy, as I had always thought) before.

I bought it (and a bikini that was marked way down so I can even out the funny tan line).

I’m not sure a plunging neckline is appropriate for a wedding, though, (and I’d hardly want a reputation as Caroline’s American cousin with the poor taste) so I might hold off and wear it to the Kennedy-King dinner in October instead.

But it sure does feel good to look at it hanging in my closet this morning.

I am supposed to be finishing the first draft of a book on skin health today. (No, I did not pick the topic…) Generally, I’ve found it easy enough to write and interesting to research. I know tons more than I did when I started. Of course, it’s mostly gross stuff that can go wrong with your skin, but still…

The first draft is due Monday. I have another 10 pages or so I need to write before I’m going to be happy with the way it’s put together. But today has been so remarkably unproductive. I’ve written sentences. I’ve deleted the same sentences. Written more. Hit the delete key. So on and so forth. ::sigh::

The book was flowing so well before I went on vacation. What happened to my good writing fairy? Why did she foresake me? And, more importantly, how do I entice her back?

My friend and former officemate, Dianna, is taking part in her first triathlon Sunday. She is crazy, but also very inspiring. Not so much in the now-I-want-to-do-a-triathlon kind of way, but more in the wow-I-wish-I-had-her-drive-and-determination-and-follow-through kind of way.

Di ran a marathon last year and will run another one this fall. She is a running diva.

Please stop by her blog and wish her luck. I know she’d appreciate the well-wishes.

Good luck, Di! I know you’ll do great!

It’s Thursday, so it must be time for Three Beautiful Things from the last week:

1. While at Falcon Ridge, we camped with Mike and Shelley and their kids, Daschel and Irisa. Dasch and Reesie are full of energy, but at night they eventually settle down and get very cuddly. I haven’t been around little kids a whole lot since last fall’s visit to Jason and Essia and their daughters Nina and Lylia, so it was good to replenish my snuggling quota. Because child-snuggling is just different from Rudi-snuggling or cat-snugggling.

2. Yesterday evening as I was walking to the Metro, the first frog-sized drops started to fall from the sky. By the time the train stopped at my station, the rain was coming down steadily. Usually people scamper when it’s raining, not wanting to get their work clothes all wet. But it’s been so hot and nasty that last night, everyone walked leisurely along, enjoying the stroll as we all got progressively damper. Utter bliss.

3. This morning the sun shone down into our window well and reminded me summertime can actually be nice. Because I couldn’t see past the window well flora from my seat, it seemed almost as if the sunbeams emanated from the young saplings themselves, creating a remarkable glowing emerald green landscape for me to look at and making it seem like a glorious day to be alive.

Almost anyway. Bristol, actually.

We’ve bought our tickets to my cousin’s wedding in England in mid-September. I’ve come up with an idea for a wedding present. Haven’t bought it yet, mind you, but I’m feeling better about things than I was a week ago.

I will rent a cell phone while I’m there this time. No point in repeating the problem of our first trip when we managed to miss meeting up with Erik for dinner. I’d hate to miss Caroline’s wedding simply because I’d gotten lost or something stupid like that.

Should I buy a new guidebook? Ours are 4-5 years old. Should we fly to Austria or Germany or take a train to Paris for a day? Take the ferry to Ireland? Everything is possible right now. It’s almost the best part of the trip. I love this part of things — so much potential.

Forbes Magazine has posted their Best of the Web blog listings. Under their City Blogs category, DC Blogs gets a nod.

KOB works hard to keep his finger on top of what’s going on in blogs across the city, in the ‘burbs, and from travelers to the area. He highlights posts he thinks are particularly interesting or well-written or that form the bridges that unite us.

But most of all, he keeps our blogs — and us — from existing in a vacuum. While I could read all the local blogs every day, I don’t. But I know if there’s something I should read, KOB will find it and point me over to share in someone else’s life.

So, thanks, KOB, and congratulations. You deserve the accolades.

On this day 230 years ago, the Second Continental Congress established the nation’s first post office department. So if the USPS has to raise prices in the next year or so and the price of a stamp goes up to 40 cents for a letter, just remember that that’s a ridiculously reasonable rate of inflation. (Plus, what else could you buy for 40 cents these days?)

Ben Franklin, our first postmaster general, earned a salary of $1000/year and had a secretary and a comptroller under him who each earned $340/year.

On a side note, Boston set up the first post office in the colonies in 1639. [Abby is correct; Massachusetts had finally approved the Constitution by 1939. Just shows I shouldn't be allowed to play with numbers when I'm sleepy...]

Well, we’re home. Vacation was just starting to get restful. Good thing we have another one coming up in September. And the cats were glad to see us roll in just before 3 a.m. Well, they might have been happier if we’d rolled in a little earlier, but that’s what happens when you’re driving home from vacation — you leave late, you drive slow, you stop to buy cat food…

I’ll post deeper thoughts on our vacation later on — after my brain has had a chance to regroup. In the meantime, I leave you with the list of new cds that now call The Burrow home:

• The FRFF sets of Eddie from Ohio, Brave Combo, and Arrogant Worms — Eddie from Ohio were Eddieless so took on the moniker From Ohio for their festival performances (I also saw them hanging out waiting to autograph stuff in the cd tent and were impressed by their Nationals caps); Brave Combo is the headbanging, Grammy-winning polka alternative (way more fun than any of us thought they would be!); and the Arrogant Worms are a hilarious Canadian trio you should see live if you ever get the chance.
• Erin McKeown‘s We Will Become like Birds — Erin wasn’t at this year’s festival because she’s busy being in demand — touring with Ani and getting ready to perform on Conan (Aug. 9!).
• Crooked Still‘s Hop High — I was impressed by Aoife O’Donovan’s voice last year, but forgot to buy this disc then.
• Signature Sounds Sampler #9 — This Connecticut-based independent label is home to many favorites — from Richard Shindell and Fred Eaglesmith to Tracy Grammer and Kris Delmhorst, as well as Erin McKeown’s early albums.
• Paul and Storm‘s Opening Band — Two of the four members of Da Vinci’s Notebook, whom we discovered at Falcon Ridge a few years ago.
• FRUiT‘s Burn — A catchy Australian band.
• Tracy Grammer‘s Flower of Avalon — Sweet and soulful arrangements of Dave Carter-penned, but unreleased tunes.

This Is Just to Say
— William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Letter to N.Y.
— Elizabeth Bishop

for Louise Crane

In your next letter I wish you’d say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays, and after the plays
what other pleasures you’re pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,
driving as if to save your soul
where the road goes round and round the park
and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves
and suddenly you’re in a different place
where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can’t catch,
like dirty words rubbed off a slate,
and the songs are loud but somehow dim
and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,
one side of the buildings rises with the sun
like a glistening field of wheat.

– Wheat, not oats, dear. I’m afraid
if it’s wheat it’s none of your sowing,
nevertheless I’d like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.