My Spa Vacation

Wearing just a robe and my orange crocs, I quietly pushed open a heavy door with a sign that reads: Please refrain from talking.

The seriousness of the room. The importance of the silence. The reality that I was now living this moment caught me off guard.

My entire body convulsed.

Shaking and trembling as I held my breath, I desperately tried to keep it still. I buried myself toward the wall and then turned my face toward Brenda, pleading with my eyes to do something. To save me from this involuntary physical and emotional spasm I was experiencing.

She looked at me, horrified.

Saying nothing, her face screamed "Nooo, not now, Shaawwwn. Not now. Please don't do this."

I quickly turned around, facing away from her and the others in the relaxation room, hoping to melt into the wall.

"Please God. Please God. Please God." I whispered over and over and over again. "Don't let me---"

And then, in one sudden onslaught of emotions, my body erupted like Mount Vesuvius.

I let out an obnoxious loud, blusterous snorkle. I was surprised how much it sounded like I was crying! But. I was indeed, induced by the laughing bug. Hysterical laughing. Laughing so hard, tears spilled down my face.

And, then, (I like to call it a miracle)... I was able to quickly turn it off.

"Sorry!" I chirped into the room.

I leaned down into a relaxation chair but I sat down too quickly and realized my white robe had folded itself between my legs and was digging into me and was slowly stopping the circulation in my butt. I sat there for a few moments, pretending not to notice.

Then, slowly, and very quietly, I lifted myself back up to re-adjust the robe and in a pretend, fake move, I reached over to the cucumbers to place over my eye lids.

"relax. relax. relax" I keep saying to myself. Over and over and over again.

If you say it enough times, you will find the word relax morphs into other other words such as flaps and sacks.

And now as I am imagining the sacks under my eye lids ... I feel the cucumber sliding down off my eyes and I wonder if anyone is watching me.

I quickly lift my head and glance around the room at the others relaxing. The others don't notice me as they are so poised in their perfect hair styles piled up in such a sophisticated manner. I would have had to hire a hair stylist to even look half as sophisticated. My shadow that is reflected against the wall from the soft lights looks as though my hair is shellac'd against my neck.

Then I hear my name being called out.

"Shawn?"

I jump up quickly so I don't keep her waiting.

She introduces herself:

My name is Oddie.
"Oddie?" I repeat.
"No. Annie."

And as we wandered down the hall to the unknown, she asks me when I last foliated my face and when I tell her twice a year whether I need it or not and the last time I used a mask was last week but can you believe I still have the same ointment from 1997 ? she giggles and says, "you're kidding right?"

And I'm not. But because I was pretending to be sophisticated, I said, "Well, yes!" And we both laugh. And she believes me in my sophistication.

Until. She spends half the facial appointment removing blackheads around my nose. And when I lean my arm out so she can place it in a heated glove, I can see one of the cucumbers from my eyelids sticking near my left arm pit.

It was an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime experience staying at the Watermark Hotel. An early birthday present from my best friend.

It was not just a facial. And a full body massage. But a full 3-day spa experience. Staying in their own Spa suite apartment. We were pampered with impeccable service.

Treated like royalty. Which isn't too far from how Brenda treats me anyway. They say everything is big in Texas.

And with my best friend, her heart and generosity toward me certainly is.
I will never forget it.

Thank you Brenda, from the bottom of my heart for a memory of a lifetime.
I will never forget this. Ever.

"You drove off with the gas pump..."

I'm back.

--I think from all that bouncing off the walls prior to my leaving, caused me some short-term delirium as I set off for my trip.

Just less than two hours on the road, in a small town called Livermore, I drove away from a gas station passing a large crowd of people waving and jumping up and down at me and pointing wildly at my car.

My traveling friend turned to look back and said to me as calmly as saying, "you have parsley in your teeth..."

"You drove off with the gas pump.."

Indeed, it looked like a giant snake gripping on to the back side of my car for dear life. It's long thin body flipping and reeling as I drove through the lot.

I drove back to the scene of the crime (despite men waving me to "KEEP DRIVING! THEY'LL NEVER CATCH UP!")... and walked back inside, standing in line, waiting my turn to tell the man with the thick accent that I had driven off with his gas pump. Expecting to sever an arm and a leg to hand over to him, it turned out okay. He didn't charge me... and we were back on the road in no time.

We laughed all the way to the Los Angeles town where our hotel waited, only for our smiles to vanish when I realized I had forgotten to bring the confirmation paper and directions to the hotel who's name I couldn't remember. After an hour or more driving up and down darkened, empty streets looking for the hotel with a familiar name, I blindly walked into a hotel lobby asking if I had reservations there. (Of course not. That would have been too easy!) Finally, a helpful woman behind the desk at the Marriott did a google search for me and was able to point me in the right direction of the hotel across town.

A part of the trip, I stayed at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. You would love it! It's in a prime location along the Hollywood Walk of Fame and across from the Grauman's Chinese Theatre. And it has a storied past. Host to the very first Academy Awards, the Roosevelt has been the playground of stars such as Clark Gable, Carole Lombard, Montgomery Clift and Marilyn Monroe. Now the poolside Tropicana Bar attracts the newer celebrities. It was so fun and yet so wildly different than the ultra cool mid-century modern hotel in Palm Springs.

Sitting poolside in Hollywood, I felt flawed sitting next to the young self-absorbed Hollywood elite. In Palm Springs, it was a much more gentler crowd. Where we'd sit around and exchange stories. I even met another woman who shared my first and middle name.

I called Valerie Walsh while I was in Hollywood who happily agreed to meet us for dinner in beautiful Malibu. She is an amazing artist who I met on Illustration Friday. She is so beautiful. Inside and out! And she is such a delight with all her colorful stories. It was the shortest three hours I have ever spent.

My vacation was much too short. I am so grateful for my job. Don't get me wrong. But what I would give, to have my three-month long summer vacations again. Just like when we were kids. Three work days and a weekend just isn't enough time.

Me in my bathing suit

So I walk into a Marin County Physical Therapy Office for an appointment. A Seattle friend had recommended a wonderful physical therapist 45 minutes from where I live. "He's wonderful, Shawn!" she told me. "And be sure and wear your bathing suit underneath your clothes because he might want you to sit in a hot tub or put you in a pool to swim laps or sit in a sauna during your session".

"WOW!" I thought. "This is going to be fun!"

Marin has a reputation of being perhaps a bit more holistic, intuitive and spiritual than it's neighboring counties.

I happened to be in the area, so I just walked in to make my appointment.

When I told the receptionist who I wanted to see, she pushed her mouth to the far side of her face and whispered, "he's only working part-time these days." She leans in closer, darting her eyes back and forth, making sure no one is within listening ear: "He's only seeing celebrities at this time..."

I rolled my eyes at her in an amused disbelief and then focused them on the long line of physical therapist's business cards along the counter. From Hellerworkers to Reiki to Reflexology to Sports Medicine. How could I possibly decide which specialist to choose?

My eyes finally stopped and softened upon a woman's name, Sophie. Such a sweet, beautiful name. I picked up her card and plunked it down on the counter saying, "Then I would like to make an appointment with Sophie."

She stepped back and said in a distant voice, "I don't make appointments for Sophie, but I'll give her the message when she's through with her 1 o'clock appointment and she'll call you."

"Fine", I said and drove home.

An hour and a half later, she called me. She was comfortable and inviting as I expected her to be. We made our appointment for the following Tuesday.

Sophie was on time when she greeted me warmly from the waiting room. She lead me down the hallway into one of the rooms and I sat across from her in a chair. She seemed so genuinely interested in me.

I began to tell her about my injuries and how it hurt when ... I did this ... or whenever ... I did that ... and she was extremely kind and gracious. Just as I knew she would be with her beautiful name. She asked me a lot of questions. Her face showed such concern and even sadness when I expressed to her my story.

I glanced down at my watch and worried she wouldn't have enough time to do any bodywork on me as my 50-minute appointment was closing in on us, when she asked, "Can I give you a cup of tea? A glass of water?" I remember being told to drink lots of water before and after a massage because the body can become dehydrated after bodywork, so when she left the room to bring my water, I believed this was my Que to quickly dress down to my bathing suit.

She returned shortly after, and without a change of expression continued asking me questions about my life. I smiled under my breath, thinking, "How "Marin" is she!" Finally, she asked me, "Are you seeing a physical therapist?"

I said, "Well, no. That's why I'm here."

She looks down at me, sitting there, stripped down to only a bathing suit, and without blinking an eye, or a flicker of an expression, she handed me her business card and said, "I'm .. a .. clinical .. psychologist."

The Broken Necklace

I just got back from clothes shopping.

Can pants getting any longer? I am of a fairly average height of 5'5 so why is the length so long, they fold at the bottom of my feet and stick out under the dressing room door! I heard a woman's voice say, "excuse me" as she stepped over them.

Quietly, inside another dressing room, I could hear two teenage girls talking a few feet away.
"Oh, m'gawwd, like that tee is rilly, rilly cuuuute. And it's just plain white, so no one will know you got it here, ya know?"
"Totally. Do you like these pants? Does it make my butt look small? Oh m'gaawwd, what is THAAAT on my face? Is that a pimple!?"
"I don't see it. Oh, yes, I do. Ewwww... get it awaaay from meee!"
"Why didn't you tell me? Oh m'gawwd, it's covering half my face!"
"Ewww, I think it just popped up. I would have seen THAT!"
"Let's get out of here. I could JUST die".
"Are you getting those pants? I totally love them".
"I love them, too. Not totally."
"If you don't love them totally, then don't get them".
"I WOULD totally love them, but I just don't like this pucker".
"What pucker?"
"This pucker."
"Where?"
"Here!"
"Ohhh m'gawwwd, now i see it! Maybe you can find another pair that doesn't have it!"
"Why didn't I see that pucker on you when you tried these on?"
"Like, I'm a little smaller than you..."
"I hate you."
"i hate you more."
"Did I just make that zit larger on my face?"
"Ewwww. Let's go. My mom's going to pick us up in less than five minutes!"

Just then, I pulled a sweater over my head. I had forgotten I had a small beaded necklace on. And, as I pulled, the necklace went with it. Out of the silence came loud pinging of the smalll colorful balls bouncing to the ground and spraying out everywhere like a clogged faucet!

"Oh m'gawwd! What is that sound?" One of the teenage girls shrieked.
"Is that the ceiling crumbling?"
"NoOoOoo, look! LoOoOok! Someone broke their necklace."
"Oh m'gawwd, how saaad is THAT!"

They gathered them up and waited for me to open the dressing room door to hand them to me. But I couldn't. The sweater was still stuck around my necklace.