Four things that happened, just yesterday.

6 Replies

“A little humor there,” she said, laughing at her joke. 

ONE.

At an outdoor restaurant called The Farm, Jerry and I waited for the hostess to seat us. As we waited, I admired the healthy-looking chard in the kitchen garden. It boasted lush greenery. An elderly lady strolled by and pointed to it. “What is that?” she asked, looking straight at me. I must look wise and knowledgeable. “Chard,” I said, adding, “It looks healthy. I wonder what they feed it?” The woman said, “Children.” She then laughed heartily. Ha, ha, ha, ha. “A little humor there,” she added, grinning at me with the most self-satisfied smile. I guess it’s good to be up there in years and still get a kick out of yourself. When I think about it, a little humor isn’t such a bad thing no matter how old you are.
As Jerry and I left the restaurant later, Jerry noticed the Swiss chard in the garden. “Why did the lady think it’s funny to feed the plant chili?” he asked. “What’s funny about that? I didn’t see the humor.” read more

The Day of Pain

2 Replies

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 Woman Who Stole The Cookie

Leave a reply

Lattes became the rage in the 1990s and I landed a job as a barista in a beautiful plant nursery outside Seattle. I loved the job on many different levels. Flexible hours allowed me to spend time with my son when he came home from school. It also offered me the opportunity to meet all kinds of people. I loved the perk of free lattes (all I could drink). The nursery ambience of colorful flowers and classical music made the job a delight.
Each customer had a different requirement for their coffee drink. I had requests for lots of milky foam and others didn’t want to see a speck of froth. Some asked for ice in their coffee and others asked for their latte to boil, specifying “hotter than Hades.” Of course, we didn’t have gauges on our machine stating, “cool as heaven” and “hotter than Hades”—but I tried to oblige. Customers ordered extra syrup and others wanted just a “hint” of syrup, placing their forefinger and thumb together as they said “hinnnn-ttt.” I remember one customer made a stab at poetry in her order and asked for a “whisper of vanilla.” read more

The Benefits of Sickness

Leave a reply

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

How Our Life Turned Upside Down

6 Replies

“What do you make of that?” Jerry asked me, pointing toward our backyard.
I glanced out the window in the direction Jerry pointed. Mama Cat, a black feral cat, stretched out against our block wall.
“Do you think she’s sleeping?” Jerry asked, hoping for the best.
Several weeks ago, the feral black cat had given birth to kittens in our bougainvillea bush. Jerry found them when we returned from our vacation. Our absence must have made Mama Cat consider our bougainvillea bush a peaceful spot for the raising of her babies. When Jerry discovered the kittens, they were too young to be taken from their mother. We decided to leave them right where they were until we had a plan of what to do for the kittens when they were able to leave Mama.
The following day, we checked in on the kittens. They were gone. No Mama Cat. No babies. Our next-door neighbors had returned from their vacation with their dog Barkley. It appeared Mama didn’t think our bougainvillea bush the best place for a quiet nursery after all.
“It doesn’t look good,” I said to Jerry in response to his question.
Jerry opened our back door, and Mama Cat didn’t move.
“Someone poisoned her,” Jerry said when he came back inside. The physical evidence of what the cat endured for her last moments on earth gave us no doubt.
A black cat dead in our backyard on Halloween Day. Jerry and I didn’t know if Mama Cat lost her life due to being a black feline at Halloween or if someone thought she was a nuisance and decided to rid the world of her. Both Jerry and I felt sad for the loss of this cat’s life.
“Where are the kittens?” Jerry wondered aloud.
We had no idea and for the next several days we kept checking the bougainvillea bush to see if the kittens returned in search of their mother.
We later learned from one of our neighbors that two of the kittens had been found alive inside a planter. The neighbor took the two kittens to a no-kill shelter.
“I saw four kittens,” Jerry said. “Where are the others?” Jerry continued to check the bougainvillea bush to see if the other two kittens would return. I gave up after three days of looking.
But Jerry didn’t give up. He continued to keep a look-out. When he heard a squeaking sound coming from our backyard, Jerry called me. He suspected a kitten had returned. It was growing dark and I grabbed a flash light. read more