This is my pal Pete waterskiing in the late afternoon sun. While hanging out with him and some of the Cape Cod crew, I saw the photo of the sunset and the water skis and said I had to post it. Taken on Pete’s iPhone by his friend Julie Johnson, they came out surprisingly well when you consider the tricky light and the fact that a moving speed boat isn’t the most stable of tripods. A simple reminder of summer days – something we need right now as the weather goes from bad to worse. As for whether I’ll ever get up on a pair of water skis, it’s highly unlikely. I would freak out bobbing up and down in the middle of a large body of water. That’s just asking to be eaten by the Loch Ness monster.

To see us through the lunch-time hour, the artful out-of-focus side of a bath time photo shoot, and how best to hide the twig and berries. With some creative cropping, a few fortuitously-floating islands of bubbles, and one disappearing sponge, these shots should be safe for work. The next set may not be, so come back when you get home.

Talking politics always makes me feel dirty, so there’s no better time to take a bath than today. Actually, it was the other day, so hopefully I’ll have some residual cleanliness to see me through what will likely be a very long evening. When we redid our master bathroom a few years ago, both Andy and I decided a tub was unnecessary. Neither of us took baths, and the lines of a shower-only bathroom were much cleaner and more open. Though I still prefer this, every once in a while I find myself craving a long, hot bath, particularly when we approach the winter, and cold nights aren’t staved off by hot showers alone.

When I’m lucky enough to be staying in a decent hotel, I’ll scope out the tub, fill it with hot water, and add a few drops of tea tree oil and some lavender bubble bath. Throw in a new sponge and I’m happy as a pearl being rescued from an icky clam, re-purposed for some pretty lady’s sweetly-scented neckline. It’s the poor-man’s version of a massage – an indulgent moment of pampering that takes the edge off of the day.

The comfort of bubbles, the way they tickle the nose and the ears, adds to the playful notion of taking a bath. All that’s missing is a rubber ducky.

The only thing that sometimes creeps into my OCD head is the thought that by the end of it you’re basically sitting in a pool of dirty water. That’s why I have to take a quick shower afterward. There was actually once a doctor who said that was actually the best way to get the most clean – a bath followed by a shower. Works for me.

In honor of election day, and my intention to stay far from politics, there will be nothing but bath posts coming up later – as per a promise I made to the Duchess. Now then, who’s a dirty boy?

Continuing in the tradition of crazy-ass half-delirious blog posts concocted in the midst of fever-like delirium – wait, delirious delirium? Damn! – I offer a Monday morning entry to ease us into the work-week. With a few days of missed work last week, and an already-behind-schedule holiday plan, I’m just going to wing it for the next few days, pray that Madonna makes it to Madison Square Garden and the show goes on, and do a little Noreaster prevention dance. I did manage to make it to Boston and Falmouth this weekend, to see Kira for a belated birthday dinner, and then my friend Kim in ‘Sunset Blvd.’, but I was still slightly under-the-weather and just trying to keep my head above-water.

As for those holiday plans, it’s just the usual mayhem and craziness. Doing the holiday cards, the party invitations, the outfit planning, the gift buying, the decorating, and, yes, even a bit of the cooking (hello candied yams) has already amped itself into a most onerous list of tasks. Each year I tell myself that I will get it done early and just enjoy the season. And each year I fail – not miserably, but enough. We’ll see if I can get this train back on track, or if it’s going to go all Polar Express on my ass. Toot-toot, beep-beep.

And PS – To all those people I texted in the feverish states of doped up drunken madness I reached this weekend, I warned you. You all wanted me to get texting, now you deal with the monster you created. Don’t call me Dr. Frankenstein.

The notion of gaining an hour of time has always fascinated me. The myriad ways and manners one chooses to use that hour is an imaginative playground in which my mind could romp for the days before and after Daylight Savings Time makes its change. Only once did I forget to move my clocks back. I was in college, and probably not minding much news (I didn’t have a TV in my dorm, nor the internet – it was early 90’s!) On the Sunday of the time change, I went into Boston to catch a matinee. As I handed the guy my ticket he said it wasn’t time for the movie yet. I looked at my watch and said that the movie started in five minutes. He shook his head. I was adamant, telling him what time the movie started, showing him the time printed on the ticket, and again explaining that it was going to begin in five minutes. He shook his head again and pointed at the clock over his shoulder. As he did so it dawned on me that I missed the time change. Sheepishly, I smiled and excused myself, telling him I’d see him again in an hour. He wasn’t amused.