Skinny-atliss, part 2

Here is a picture of my husband Mark.
If you know Mark (and even if you don't), you may have trouble picturing him in one of those overpriced terry spa robes. Don't get too excited...I won't be posting any photos of that here, because I value my marriage. But the fact is that we spent the better part of 24 hours lounging around in those robes, sipping cucumber water (ok, that was mostly me) and seriously doing the spa thing. I know...weirdness. And also really, really fun.

Before we got over there we checked out the town of Skaneateles a little bit more, unencumbered by our boisterous children. I wandered fearlessly around a little gift shop full of breakable things. We got breakfast from an awesome little bakery called simply "Patisserie," which was fun to say with an exaggerated (and ghastly, I'm sure) French accent.
We lingered in a little chocolate shop and bought fudge as a thank-you gift for my babysitting in-laws. The timing of this purchase turned out to be a miscalculation, as caring for the fudge became the pervasive theme of the rest of the trip. ("We can't leave the fudge in the car...it's too hot... Don't forget the fudge when we go...Does fudge need to be refrigerated?... Who knew a pound of fudge was so heavy?") It did eventually make it home unscathed, though, so...score.

Oh, and one other thing happened that morning that may turn out to be pretty significant. It has to do with the house pictured here, which we walked by while exploring the town.
This huge home with its front walk clearly prepared for surfacing but overgrown with weeds ended up inspiring me. Mark wondered at its condition, and I told him I knew what its story was...and ended up spinning a tale about its owners that grew progressively more complex. Over the course of the next couple of days I started incorporating people and places we encountered all over town, and now I find myself with something unexpected: a possible starting place for a novel.

I'd just about given up on my goal of having a full chapter of some novel written by my birthday. This is hard to explain, but the idea I've been playing with for the last couple of years has become so important to me that actually writing it has become too daunting. It needs to be good. But this fun little story I've got brewing now doesn't have to be good...it would be enough for it to be done. I'm not making any promises, but there it is.

Before heading to the spa we ate lunch at a little place in town with great, great burgers. The pic of Mark at the top of this post is from that lunch. I also snapped a photo of their incredibly creepy...mascot, maybe?
Is "Meat" a bad pun for "Meet" (duh), or is it his name (ew)? Either way it's a little disturbing. His image was all over the restaurant, but I chose this wall because you could see both his publicity photo (or Facebook profile pic?) and his effigy above, also labeled with his name. Kind of like Joe Camel meets the golden calf.

OK. And then....finally....the spa. We would never have been able to afford this place without the great deal we got, so it was an enormous treat. Mirbeau Inn and Spa is styled sort of like a gigantic French chateau. The rooms are in villas that surround a courtyard designed to evoke Monet's "Water Lilies."

The room itself was gorgeous, with a fireplace and a ridiculously beautiful bath. Our beat-up Adidas duffel bags seemed very out of place. I felt much the same way for a good portion of the visit, but I didn't mind.
You'll note the fluffy, pricey robes hanging next to the shower. These people take their spa very seriously, and the robes are considered appropriate daytime attire on the entire property. Spa, lobby, grounds, restaurant...

I know it betrays how un-spa I am, but the idea of a bunch of rich people hanging around in their bathrobes all day long still seems really weird to me.

When I booked this trip I assumed we'd just ignore the spa, which is our usual practice, but our package deal included a spa credit that basically covered a 50-minute massage. I have zero interest in this...far, far too many body issues. Thank you for your willingness, but keep your masseusey hands to yourself, please. My husband, however, doesn't share my baggage, so he scheduled his first-ever massage for the afternoon. And thus began our spa adventure.

We hit the 15-person hot tub first. It featured a waterfall. A hot waterfall is an odd but strangely wonderful thing. Then we hung out for a while in the relaxation room. This is a place where they dim the lights, burn incense, and play didgeridoo music and Gregorian chants. You are supposed to lie in here and sip various fruity waters while you wait for your massage. I wonder how often people miss their name being called because they've fallen asleep and are snoring, drooling, or both. I managed to avoid this pitfall.

Eventually they called Mark into the regions beyond the relaxation room. I watched him walk off with his massage therapist guy ("I asked for a dude. I don't know if that's better or worse."), then determined that despite my fear of the unknown, I would try the sauna.

The story of the sauna and the massage tomorrow...