Dear Houston,

I never thought I'd miss your heat.  Your sweet, stifling, too-hot-to-run-a-loop heat.  But I do.  I even think nostalgically about the sensation of sweat beads dripping down my back beneath a suit jacket on the way from a well air-conditioned downtown building to my oven of a car.  None of that here, in lovely Chicago.  Zip.  Zero.  Freezing winds?  Yep.  Snow on the ground in late March?  Got it.  Absence of direct sunlight?   Most days, count on it. 

My younger sister says Tanning Beds make her feel better when she's got the winter blues.  "Vitamin D," she says, "a lot of people are deficient."  Neither of us were sure that tanning beds could provide such a thing, but I tried it, and she's right.  There's something soothing about 10 minutes in a pseudo-womb.  Despite the hard plastic and the apprehension about the standards of cleanliness at "L.A. Tan", 'I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome, I took some comfort there  Mmm, mmm, mmm.... '  And there's even research doctors promoting the practice as well, claiming that so many of us are severely Vitamin D deficient, that the risk of skin cancer from UV rays is justified by the overall health benefits of increased Vitamin D levels. 

The ease with which someone says they've got the "winter blues", the full-spectrum light-bulbs that are being sold in health food stores, statistics that say 40% of us are Vitamin D deficient (and for why this is important, Vitamin D, I believe, is what makes Calcium more accessible)... it all just makes me wonder if things we're putting in the air around us are interfering with the Sun's journey to the earth.  Certain components of it, at least.    I mean, Sunlight HAS to be an AMAZING assortment of wavelengths and particles.  Science says so, and, can't you just FEEL that to be true on a perfect summer day?  The sun's rays are complex, mystical, magical, even.   I'm sure of it.   "Let there be light."  It's the beginning of our world, the sustainer, the time keeper.  I'm only guessing here, but I'd bet the sun is the most worshipped structure in history.  Now, I'm not denying the importance of the moon - I totally believe the moon dictates cycles of life, but the sun is like THE GENERATOR.  It powers everything, ultimately.  Remember those charts of the food chain from 8th grade Life Science?  It all began with the Sun.  And we've heard a lot about the holes in the Ozone.  Aerosols, styrofoam, etc.  But what about a haze of particles interfering with the Sun's penetration?  What if congested cities and the pollution that they fart out make it almost impossible to absorb the necessary energy particles and wavelengths of light that our bodies need to produce certain neurochemicals and vitamins?  And although we can still see everything in the daylight and feel the warmth of the sun,  it's like living on "The Truman Show" set in terms of real benefits.  It looks the same, but what if our bodies and minds are tortured daily, starving for those particles and wavelenghts that have been in abundance for millions of years of mankind?  (Is it millions?  I'm never sure.) All of those neurons just waiting, aching to feel the surge of that familiar ray or particle that just isn't quite making it to the earth's surface? 

I'm really enthralled lately by something Albert Einstein said:  "that the single most important decision any of us will ever have to make is whether or not to believe that the universe is friendly."  Powerful.  Truly.  It's one of those questions that can blind-side you in the shower, if you're one of those people that happens to....  But it seems our techno-saavy earth, shrouded in smog and chemical burn-off, may have muted this question for the time being.  Because no matter how friendly someone is, no matter how much love they have to give, if you hold them at arm's length, you'll never feel the complete, soul-soothing warmth of their Sunlight. 

It’s time, friends – time to step away from the keyboard and into the streets.

The internet asks every man his opinion.  In fact, responding to the call feels like praying to a Higher Power.  Send an e-mail, post on a weblog, rant your frustrations, and in turn, receive some peace of mind.   But if your computer goes up in flames, it’s probably an electrical fire.

I imagine Moses e-mailing his buddy, Joseph, or whining on his blog about Egypt’s enslavement of the Israeli people.   His buddy Joe comments:  “Dude, that totally sucks,” and then Moses feels a little better – you know, emotionally supported.    And later that week, when he’s walking the sheep, Moses sees a bush burst into flames and thinks, “Oh man!  I can’t wait to post about that crazy burning bush!”  Blogging and ranting on the web offer peace of mind, but ameliorating each other's pain via the internet won't change the policies of this nation.   In fact, we might even be stifling our generation’s call to revolution by 'chatting' about the signs that are telling us to do something. 

“War In Iraq”: 

Scene 1: 

Take 2:

America: “Hello, we are THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.  We came to save you.  Yes, save you, from that EVIL man who built an empire with money countries like us paid him for the black drug that seeps up from your ground.  (But we stopped giving him money at some point, ‘cause we had that embargo thing after a while).”  

Iraqi people: “Thank you.  I guess we’ll try this on our own, now.” 

America: “Oh, no, let us ‘help’ you.  We’ll rebuild your oil infrastructure!  (Sorry – we kind of destroyed everything earlier, but we were trying to save you!)  But listen, it’ll be fun!  We’re totally cool.  We’ll hang out and steal things from you and you can throw bombs at us to try to make us leave.”

A worldly and opinionated high school friend of mine chastised me on Saturday when I vented about the US “Driving Itself to War”.   

“Don’t play the oil card, Ellen.  It’s too easy; your opinion sounds uninformed.” 

It seems Bush and his cronies have succeeded in suppressing awareness of oil acquisition’s importance in the “War In Iraq”.  Or if voters do understand why we’re sitting on top of Iraq, no one has elucidated how our near-sighted, oil-addicted regime has manifested the REAL FEAR worth screaming about.

Robert Samuelson reported in a 2/23/04 Newsweek article that the Persian Gulf suppliers (Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iran, Iraq, United Arab Emirates) now provide 25% of the world’s oil supply and sleep at night on top of two-thirds of the world’s 1 trillion barrels of proven oil reserves.  His article states the world uses 30 billion barrels a year (and rising).  Analysts cheerlead there could be 1 trillion more barrels hiding somewhere in the ground, and pray only 25% of these will be found in the Persian Gulf.   When I divide 1 trillion (known oil) by 30 billion (current yearly world oil consumption), the quotient is 33.3333.  (I majored in Sociology, though, so someone should check my calculations.)  To me, this means, that the world can sustain current oil dependency for about 33 more years, assuming the yearly increase and the hiding oil cancel each other out.)  

2037: Vision Odyssey

After 8 more Summer Olympic Games, American athletes will be rowing boats to other countries to participate,  grocery stores will offer crops grown without farming machinery, the family dog will be pulling Dad to work in a wagon… but I wonder which workplace will that be?  Not the Exxon Corporate building, not the Halliburton oil field, not the help desk for IBM… (Because it’s not just dumb luck you speak to an operator with a heavy Indian accent when you call.)

Am I missing something here?  Some major piece of information that lets everyone else sleep at night knowing that we are killing and pillaging in a country that has something we’re physically, but even more so, psychologically addicted to?   Knowing that Medicare, Medicaid, and the Social Security budgets will eventually be slashed to cover the debt that has mounted in this effort?  Knowing that we’re alienating former allies and terrorizing Middle Easterners for a drug that will only offer a 33 year high?  Knowing that we’re writing history books that will shape future world leaders’ impressions of US Diplomacy (or lack thereof) in the 21^st century?   And after our high, when we’re strung out, begging China for loan injections to feed our children, will we regret not emphasizing education and inspiration … will we lament ignoring a nation of would-be visionaries because the only things we could see at the time were missiles and fighter jets? 

Alright.  Are you with me?  It’s time to start scaring each other.  I propose “Truth Terrorism” begin today.  Scare your neighbor!  Scare your mother!  Scare your kid sister!  Let’s get scared, and let’s start yelling about it!

I can’t stop thinking about people touching people.  Literally.  Skin on skin. 

The summer after I graduated from college, I became obsessed with counting the number of times I physically touched another person throughout the day.  My then boyfriend was in Mexico, I was sharing an apartment with someone I barely knew (he was a nice enough fellow - poshdeluxe’s cousin, actually), and I could go days without feeling the touch of another human.  Bumping someone’s elbow, while sitting down in the physics class I took at night, felt like a special moment.   I’ve since recovered from the counting problem,  but I am still fascinated by the power of touch.

In the captivating book, Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers, Robert Sapolsky sites studies which show touch to be “one of the central experiences of an infant, whether rodent, primate, or human.”  He goes on to explain that stress, while often brought about by something done to an organism, can also be brought on because something is not provided. 

According to numerous human development studies, the absence of touch is “one of the most marked developmental stressors that we can suffer.”   Premature infants in hospital neonatology wards helped prove the positive effects of human touch in measurable ways.  Although the infants were well attended to medically, they were cared for in isolated, sterile conditions.  Impressively, when infants were stroked and touched for fifteen minutes, three times a day, they grew nearly fifty percent faster, were more active and alert, matured faster behaviorally, and were released a week earlier than their un-stroked peers.  And you know what?  Months later, they were still doing better than infants who hadn't been touched!

Hillary Clinton, in her fabulous book, It Takes a Village, also underscores the importance of loving touch in child-rearing.  “In the islands of Japan’s Goto archipelago, a new mother stays in bed for a month after delivery, wrapped in a quilt, warmly snuggled with her baby.  During that time she has but one responsibility – to feed and hold her newborn.  All her female relatives attend her.  She herself is considered a child during the time and is spoken to in a sort of baby talk.”  Hillary goes on to say she could do without the baby talk, but admires the ritual.  I say ‘bring on the baby talk’, because I think the aim is probably to create is the most stress-free environment possible for the mother, so the baby can physically thrive in the safety and security of the mother’s constant gaze and attention.

This ritual is particularly interesting because in another section of her book, Ms. Clinton sites a World Health Organization study from 1992 that ranked the United States twenty-fourth in infant mortality.  Japan ranks first among the twenty-three countries that, when compared to the US, do a better job of caring for their babies in the first year of life. 

Anyways… I can’t help thinking that the importance of loving touch in human development could and should be publicly emphasized.   Public service announcements, ensured maternity leave, community support for new mothers, those little kangaroo pouch sack things given out by hospitals as post-partum party favors …..because when the next generation could be calmer, happier, and healthier because of these efforts, to quote a t-shirt from some cheesy store in the mall….. “why ask why?  Ask why not.”

How To Lose a Guy in 10 Seconds:

So I just discovered this savvy move on Saturday night….it’s impressively effective ….

On Saturday night, Marisa and I went to a dance club at Main and Prairie called Opus (formerly Tonic), and danced like the fools that we are.  The clientele was on the young side, and there was a preponderance of Asians, which was cool, but I was suddenly hyper-conscious of my height.  The dance floor was small but redeemed by four elevated platforms on the periphery for those of us prone to exhibitionism or claustrophobia. (I prefer to claim the latter, but you can think what you want.)  Interesting side-note: The bathrooms are uni-sex, which not only makes the toilet areas generally less clean, but also eliminates a tried and true escape route when giving the slip to cheesy guys trying to monopolize one’s time.      

So the witching hour comes and goes, and the DJ ushers everyone off the floor around 2:25am.  Marisa and I are stumbling towards the front of the club -two sweaty, tall, has-been divas - when we’re approached by two, confident baby-faced college boys who invite us to “after-party” with them.  When pressed about the destination of said “afterparty”, College Boy (CB) #1 quickly suggests his apartment, and I’m rolling my eyes (but just on the inside, ‘cause a little flirting is good for the soul, I think).  CB#2 begins to inquire as to the whereabouts of my boyfriend, why am I alone, etc, and when I reply that I don’t have a boyfriend, he looks incredulous (not because it’s hard to believe, but because this was just good chess on his part). 

So, with all the sincerity I could muster at 2:25am with a few ounces of tequila in my veins, I placed my arms around his neck, looked him steadily in the eyes, and with a slightly sad, honest tone, I said, “Because I’m looking for a husband.”  And to get the full shock effect, ladies, you must continue to hold his gaze with that honest and almost pleading look for about three more seconds.  I kid you not!  The guy looked like I’d just told him that I was a man.  He responded with a shocked and amused look on his face and then looked over at CB#1, who seemed to share his sentiments.  To get the full image, imagine focusing in on someone’s face while they watch a contortionist perform… a look that sits halfway between disgust and amazement and freezes on the face as the mind comprehends what the eyes just witnessed.   So I smiled sweetly, and Marisa and I went on our way arm in arm, another ladies’ night notch on the bedpost.

To My Unborn Darlings:

I know you’re probably wondering what’s taking me so long, right?  Like by now, you’re thinking, ‘surely she could have found someone’….  And you’re right.  Someone isn’t hard to find, but to be honest,, this game has gotten a little more complicated than it used to be.    And although the world’s population has nearly TRIPLED since 1950, we've still got to do a little leg work.  I truly want you Darlings to have a happy mommy and a loving daddy.  So, to meet the first end, I’m scouring the ranks for a guy that I just enjoy being with.  Like the “he gets me” kind of feeling, where I can talk about the physiology of an orgasm or literature or my little sister’s soccer game or the interesting article in the NY Times yesterday and he’s still right there with me.  And then he says something that twists my kaleidoscope a little bit, and I feel appreciative for his insight and renewed by his perspective.   

And then for you, my lovelies, we’ll dip him into the loving daddy litmus test .  And first we’ll read the report on the basics – is he honest?  Is he patient?  Is he good-spirited?  Is he flexible?  …. And then we’ll ask the tougher questions……How does he respond to young puppies?  Will he run behind you for hours in the summer while you learn to ride your bike?  Will he champion a child-friendly home, with carpets ready for spills and walls that welcome boogers and handprints.  Little Darlings, I want you to know the giddy joy of hearing your daddy sing silly songs while making pancakes on Saturday mornings, and the rush of running to greet him at the car when he pulls up the driveway after work.  And of course, he will go to your soccer games and your piano recitals, but he’s even happier to help you build forts in the back yard and set up lemonade stands. 

And this, my darlings, is why I will wait…. And try…. And admit when I reach a dead end…. And wait…. And try…. And realize when to let go ….And then wait…. And try again.   Because…eventually…after lots of stepping stones…..I think we’ll find a good one.