very productive week (so far)

I finally managed to cancel my Skyway Y membership. In theory, having a gym within walking distance that featured noon or late afternoon classes (spinning and yoga and strength training, oh my) was just too good to be true. Last October, I enrolled—while still a member of another club—when the Y was waiving initiation fees. With no excuse but my own abject lameness, I was going to get in shape over the winter, train for RAGBRAI, avoid SAD.

October '07 rolls around and I realize I've never gone to the gym. Not. Even. Once.

So I revised my workout scheme, deciding that early morning exercise is the ticket, and bought a spinning bike. It cost less than my Milano and less than a year's membership at the Y. And, I already own a few Spinerval DVDs intended for kick-ass, off-season competitive training.

The bike is yellow, as pictured, which instantly makes it better than any ol' gym spinner. Winston said, "I've tried it [the bike] out, and it's really cool, mom." Funny, I had hoped that one of the benefits of spinning at home would be never needing to readjust settings. As I would be the only one using it.

Effectively, we've just turned our enormous den—bigger than our first apartment—into a home gym. Expect progress reports. If I can't be accountable to myself, I'll try answering to the internets. Can't hurt.

Evan, our Orkin rep, visited us this morning. Part of the regular service we have to minimize bugs and carry away dead mice—or catch them with his bare hands, which he did once. He's a good guy, though he can't figure out where the mice are getting into the house. Dude, that's what we pay you the big bucks to do. Anyhow, we think that John solved the problem by putting mesh over the "ventilation"—the big hole from removing hose on the air-exchange unit—on the side of the house. Evan found a mouse on a glueboard in the mechanical room; the mouse was six weeks-ish decomposed. He also found—avert your eyes if you find killing vermin reprehensible—a glueboard with a pile of rocks, a piece of duct tape, and a squidge (my word) of fur stuck to it. Evan's theory: the mouse, who was likely exploring the crawlspace, got stuck to the duct tape, which it wore, then got stuck on the glueboard, but managed to pull itself off. I've got to stop—the thought of it is making me nauseous. Anyhoo, his theory is just crazy enough to be true.

I've piggybacked another service call with the Evan's visit. Any minute, a handyman/roofer is coming to look at a portion of our roof that has sprung several leaks (right over John's side of the bed), replace the doorknob on the side entry (our primary door, which we haven't been able to use for weeks), and change the lightbulbs in the studio's recessed lights, which are set into an 18-foot ceiling. Dramatic, I know. Here's the long-way-down view. The can lights are still a foot overhead from where I shot this photo.


Oh, he just drove by, looking for the house. Gotta go but just wanted to say: it feels good to cross things off the (large) to-do list.