Category Archives: slice of life blog

The Day of Pain

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When I entered the darkened room, a lady emerged from the dark shadows. She took my purse and jacket and directed me to a low-to-the-floor futon bed before leaving the room. Mandolin tunes drifted from the sound system.
“Take your shoes and socks off,” whispered another lady. The new lady told me to place my feet in a large tub as she poured hot—I mean very hawwwdt—water inside. The bottom of the tub had pointed daggers, making it difficult to relax with sharp pointed objects stabbing my feet.
I had never had a Thai and reflexology massage before and wanted to give the experience a try ever since two of my friends recommended it.
“It is wonderful,” one friend said.
I asked my sister if she also wanted to give it a try. Jodee has the adventurous spirit and agreed to meet me at the spa my friend recommended. Mama Deed, our 85-year-young mom, came along.
I knew the sharp spikes in the tub had something to do with reflexology and pressure points connecting certain parts of the feet to other parts of the body, thereby treating the whole body to better health. Daggers jabbed my feet while immersed in boiling water. Would I need a trip to ER before the night ended?
Jodee and Mama Deed had their feet inside tubs also. They sat on beds next to me. Each of us had a massage therapist for the hour. I hoped our time at the spa would be relaxing and “wonderful.” I would overlook the potential stitches and bandages I’d need for my injured feet.
My therapist, I’ll call her Alice because I never asked her name, had me lie down and brought over a hot towel for my neck. She placed it under my head. “Oww, ouch!”
“Too hot?” Alice asked. Uh, yes. Did she not understand my hair could have ignited into flames at any second? Alice placed a dry towel over the steaming hot towel. It helped a little, but my neck started itching in response to the fiery steam. Still, I didn’t want to complain further. I endured for the sake of the therapeutic benefits I hoped it would bring.
Alice pressed my skull with her fist. Press. Press-ssss. Squeeze. Alice must have sensed I couldn’t take it any longer and stopped. She actually did herself a favor. I had only moments before I morphed into a crazed woman screaming and swatting in a can’t-take-it frenzy.
If you aren’t familiar with a Thai massage, it is a massage with clothes on. Developed in Thailand 2,500 years ago, it’s an ancient form of stretching and applying pressure along the body’s energy lines to increase flexibility, relieve muscle and joint tension, and balance the body’s energy systems.
Using the sides of her hands, Alice beat on my body like a bongo drum. Then she kneaded me like bread dough. She crouched over me and drilled her fist into my back like a jackhammer. I jumped up from the discomfort.
When will the muscle tension leave me? I wondered. Muscle tension seemed to increase as the session progressed. read more

The Benefits of Sickness

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During Victoria, my favorite Sunday evening TV show, my muscles twisted into knots. My stomach rumbled with a dull pain, as if a storm brewed. Suddenly I lost interest in the show’s storyline.
Let me explain. I love watching Victoria, a PBS series based on the life of Queen Victoria. I make a big deal when this show comes on. I fix myself a cup of tea, cuddle up with my blanket, and turn the lights out to make it feel like I’m at a movie theater. Of course, it’s not exactly like a movie theater. I don’t have people whispering loudly behind me. No one sits in front of me flashing their cell phone screen as they read their text messages.
In my home movie theater environment, I’m savoring my tea when the stomach churns and the muscles ache. Suddenly I don’t care if the villagers riot at Victoria’s gate. Large objects sail through Queen Victoria’s fancy, castle window. Yet, I don’t care. And on top of this, I don’t care that Prince Albert is adorably cute. Something is very wrong. I’m usually so in to the program.
As the night continues on, the symptoms of stomach flu hit hard. In the stomach world, I’m having Hurricane Katrina. For the next two days I stay in bed except for the grueling treks to the bathroom. Jerry hears a blow-by-blow detailed account of my misery. That could be the reason he offers to go to the store to get flu meds, hoping for a reprieve from listening to my litany of ailments.
Foods I ordinarily love suddenly seem abhorrent. The thought of coffee, or salad, or anything edible gives me the desire to writhe on the floor flapping my tongue in agony. Except for… bananas. For some reason, bananas hold a special place in my heart. We have no bananas and the longing for them takes over my thought processes.
All of the things I usually love doing, like reading, walking, guzzling coffee (well, maybe I don’t actually guzzle), and slathering age-defying creams all over my face don’t interest me at all. Gravity has already barged in my door, completely uninvited. Why defy it? None of that interests me. The only thing I care about right now is…yes! Bananas…Jerry drives to the store to buy bananas. read more

The Book I Didn’t Want To Read

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I had a problem. I didn’t want to read the book I had ordered.

I’ve read all of Anne Lamott’s non-fiction books (except maybe one). When I learned of her upcoming new book Almost Everything, I immediately pre-ordered a Kindle download. I later discovered I could order a hardcover book signed by Anne Lamott for a few dollars more. I pre-ordered the signed hardcover and cancelled the Kindle order.

A month later Anne’s book came out, but I didn’t receive my hardcover copy for another six weeks. When I opened the book, I noticed an official-looking piece of paper inside the pages. The gold-embossed paper stated “Certificate of Authenticity,” an assurance Anne’s signature belonged to her and not an imposter Anne. Her signature on the title page seemed to emanate the vibes: “I’m getting tired of signing my name thousands of times so I’ll make my first name legible but give me a break on my last name. Here ya go.” read more

Facebook, Tidy Cat, and Misery

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A few days ago, I learned the sad truth. Facebook harms your sense of well-being and the well-being of others.
According to a research-based study at the University of Pennsylvania, Facebook (in addition to Snapchat and Instagram) increases depression and loneliness. Psychologist Melissa G. Hunt who published her research findings in the Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology suggests users reduce their time spent on social media. “When you look at other people’s lives, particularly on Instagram, it’s easy to conclude that everyone else’s life is cooler or better than yours,” she says.
She has a point. No one posts photos of the unpleasant, boring, miserable events of their lives. No one announces with happy grin and toilet brush, “I’m cleaning the bathroom now.” I haven’t yet come across a post stating, “Here’s a picture of me slouched on the couch, in my pajamas, doing nothing.”
Instead, we see vacation photos of our friend’s river cruise on the Rhine. The Facebook post shows our friend lounging on the ship’s deck, feet up, drink in hand, all smiles while gazing at majestic castles on the riverbank. You, on the other hand, remain at home getting ready to clean the cat’s litter box. According to the research study, social comparison takes over and you begin to feel depressed. Your friend enjoys a European adventure while you need to drive to the store to buy more Tidy Cat.
It’s not that social comparison is a new concept. It has been around for a long time. As a child, I often heard the phrase “keeping up with the Joneses” (not the Kardashians). I had no idea who the Joneses were, but it seemed everyone wanted to have whatever they had.
Back then, I only wanted to keep up with Winifred. She had a color TV. My family, and everyone else in our neighborhood, had a black and white TV. Winifred, the red-haired girl who lived down the street, bragged she watched Bonanza in color. She viewed the Ponderosa all aglow in green fir trees and glistening blue sky. Oh! Oh! If only I, too, could see the Ponderosa in color—my life would be complete. read more

The Mood of No

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A woman in the booth behind me blurted, “WHA-AAAAT?”

Moments earlier, Jerry and I had congratulated ourselves on choosing a booth where we could enjoy quiet in one of our favorite lunch spots. Jerry bit into his grilled ham and cheese sandwich and I took a delicate swig of my coffee.

I couldn’t see the woman, but I could hear her over the café’s chattering, kitchen-clanking din. Her agitated outburst continued, “I DON’T WANT TO BE NEGATIVE HERE, BUT WHY DID SHE SEND EVERYONE AN EMAIL ABOUT ME? SHE HASN’T SAID ANYTHING TO ME.” read more