There are lots of things I hate about politics but right now it’s the political ads. Every other ad on TV and radio is for one or the other candidate in one of the many races happening here. It’s insane. I think I’m getting dumber with every commercial I see. By the time November 2nd comes around, I may not be able to read well enough to vote, let alone make a complex decision about who I hate least.

What ever happened to debates? What ever happened to candidates conveying information about themselves and their views rather than accusing their opponents of stupidity at best and steal-your-firstborn malevolence at worst. And might I ask how much money they’re spending on these USELESS ads accusing each other of spending too much money?

Sometimes I wish I were a Republican or Democrat so I could stop thinking and start voting on party lines. But no, I’m one of those indecisive ornery voters whom candidates hope to sway using TV and radio ads…

I’m Iris, and I approved this message…

Disclaimer: Apologies to those of you with political convictions. I’m sure you think.

I had a really, really, really, really, really bad day yesterday. Super bad. Awful.

Then this morning I woke up with a headache, which I should have anticipated, but somehow it surprised me. So in an effort to pamper myself, I made myself a nice cafe au lait, complete with foamed milk. Later, I wanted another one, but I was out of milk. I scrounged through my cupboards looking for some way to make my coffee not only palatable (I don’t like it black) but also fun. Only two solutions presented themselves: chocolate ice cream and cocoa mix. I opted for the cocoa mix to keep things warmer. Mmmmmmm…..

As a young girl, I begged my parents for dance lessons. I had dreams of dancing Swan Lake to rave reviews, marrying my oh-so-handsome dance partner (not realizing the statistical improbability of finding a straight dance partner), and living happily ever after in the wealth and fame of the truly talented celebrity.

Yeah, that didn’t happen.

When I was 14 I started dance classes. By this point in my life I had fantasies of dancing Swan Lake to rave reviews, marrying an avid ballet-goer (see, I was learning), and living so happily that I’d never notice how poor we actually were (again, this would be slightly more realistic for a ballet dancer).

Eventually, I learned that while I could be technically good at ballet, my body just wasn’t built for a professional career as a ballerina, let alone the prima slot I’d dreamed about. It was, however, built for classical modern dance, particularly Martha Graham-style dance. If I hadn’t decided on an academic major in college, and if I hadn’t worried about the short careers and extreme uncertainty of a dancer’s life, I might have made something of myself with this style of dance.

But then I moved away from my dance academy and, try as I might, I couldn’t find an instructor in my new location that could coach me in this style of dance. For a couple of years I traveled back to Chicago each summer to teach, choreograph, and continue my training. But dance really doesn’t lend itself to 10-months-off/2-months-on training schedules, and I eventually gave it up. I thought I was over it. It’s hard to believe that I took my last dance class 5 years ago, and it’s been 9 years since I was actually “in training.”

Well, in the last couple of weeks, dance has become a silent obsession again. I’ve begun stretching for the first time in years, I’m dreaming complex and vivid dreams about choosing dancing slippers, I’m ordering books on Graham technique, and I’ve resurrected my old habit of mentally choreographing to every whisper if music I hear. I’ve even developed a “silent” dance technique that I hope Ms. Second Floor can’t hear. Is this what addiction is like? All of a sudden, all I want to do is find a Graham instructor, but unfortunately they’re few and far between.

Maybe I’ll find a space and teach myself. I’m sure my muscles will remember what they’re supposed to do. Maybe I can even get a couple of my friends to play at being dance students for a while (these things are always more fun with people than without). I just really, really, really want to dance again.

… that you’ll be surprised to learn that I’ve recently spiced up my repertoire of evening fun. You wouldn’t have though it, I know, but it’s true.

Last night, as the sky got dark a full two hours earlier than I thought it should, semi-darkness suddenly seemed more restful than any other state. And having just survived the busiest three work weeks I’ve had in months, restfulness had become my ultimate goal. If I couldn’t find that grail, I was in imminent danger of losing my sanity.

So I moved a table lamp to my kitchen table (which looks out of my patio doors onto my porch and out over a thick stand of fir trees), made myself a pot of tea, wrapped myself up in blankets (it suddenly got REALLY cold here), and read for a couple of hours. I haven’t felt so refreshed in weeks.

I don’t know where that idea came from. I could just see myself sitting there and enjoying it. All I had to do was recreate my mental picture of tranquility. And it worked so well that tonight, after my dinner guests left, after the dishes were done and the leftovers were put away, and before watching the most recent episode of House, I set up the lamp and the tea and the blanket once again. Something about the warm pool of light falling only around me and nowhere else, the silence of the rest of the house, and the fading light causing the fir trees to shift from deep green to black against the cloudy sky did more to calm me than a warm bath ever could.

I’m even thinking of buying a little lamp specifically for this purpose.

Yes, I know. My life is incredibly interesting.

There comes a day in every year when the iced tea and iced coffee run out and it never occurs to me to make more. All of a sudden, hot tea and hot coffee take their place and I find myself spending my mornings brewing coffee and my evenings boiling water and steeping tea. The transition isn’t complete quite yet, though, as I’m still content to drink water while at work. In a few weeks, though, I imagine I’ll start brewing my morning thermos of tea to pack with me to the office.

I don’t remember when it happened, but sometime in the last two weeks I drank the last cup of iced tea and, instead of turning around to make more, I thought, “I’ll make more tomorrow.” Then tomorrow came and I made hot tea instead. After all, I could always make more iced tea the next day. But each day I’ve chosen hot over cold, and yesterday I washed the container I keep the iced tea in rather more thoroughly than I normally do and put it way up on top of my cupboards so I’d stop bumping into it every time I turned around.

Fall doesn’t officially arrive until next week (September 23rd, to be precise), but in my kitchen, fall arrived sometime last week.