I went to get a facial and came out with...

10/21/2010

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...the best massage I’ve ever had - and I’ve had plenty.

A while ago a group of my friends bought me a gift certificate for a local Spa. Wanting to make the most of it for me and for them I pored over the brochure a few times, then phoned reception twice for confirmation of the services. (Yeah I know, a bit anal, what can I say). I kept waffling back and forth between face treatment and a good massage and still wasn’t really sure what each service offered so I called to ask about a certain facial treatment. I was told I must have a consultation before getting that service so I booked one for the following week.

When I arrived at the Spa I was given a tour. Very sumptuous and chi chi, rather mod loungy and Grecian bathy with its contemporary furniture and carved pillars framing tiled pathways leading off in all directions to mysterious underground doorways and dens.  

After the better part of an hour the consultant concluded I was not a good candidate and we began reviewing several other treatment options. I told her right off I was a low-maintenance kind of person and I knew myself well enough to know I was not going to do the cleanser/toner/exfoliating routine. She looked at me and then proceeded to go into this long dissertation about how I must do this or that for my skin and spent some time trying to sell me on Spa products. I reiterated my position on the matter and finally the therapist recognized she had better listen to me. I had had skin treatments before and told her I did not want a gentle butterfly wing facial. Those don’t make me feel coddled, I’m just not that kind of delicate flower; they make me feel as if I am cheated. By now of course we were eyeing each other warily.

Then something changed. We were both uncomfortable and it was as if at the same moment each realized we had to give way a little. The therapist pointed out a couple of options and began to explain them to me. Suddenly her eyes fell on one called ‘Designed for U – Anti-Aging Facial Therapy’. She suggested this might be the best course for me and explained what she would do for my skin. Then came the clincher – she told me as part of the service she gives a neck massage. Ahh, now she had me!

We booked a time for a week later. I got home and realized I had a conflicting event that week and we pushed it back to the following week. The day before that date I got a call that there was an opening for a medical test I had been awaiting. We pushed it back another two weeks. By this time our group was having a girl’s weekend, our very own women’s wellness weekend (written about here). I had been hoping to have the treatment before then, but it was not to be. That week I got a call saying the therapist was not feeling well and the next available time that suited us both was a few weeks later.

The appointed time fell yesterday at 3 pm. It was a beautiful day and I was looking forward to the walk along Coal Harbour and back as well as to the treatment, certain we had landed on just the right plan. Now I felt coddled. The therapist had found a way to give me both of my wishes and I had come to both like and trust her.

Indeed the facial treatment was wonderful. The therapist had firm and confident hands and it really felt as if the treatment was making a difference. Then she executed the most wonderful neck massage. I was in heaven. After the next phase of treatment she began massaging my neck again. She paused and said I had a lot of knots, did I want her to work them out? Did I? I grinned my assent. Now she went deep, moving from knot to knot, and there were a ton of them. Some hurt unbelievably when she first began them but I trusted her and after a few seconds each disappeared. It was magical. Not sure if this was acupressure, she didn’t name it, but if it was I want more of it! At the end I felt positively limp – the tightness of my neck and shoulders had disappeared and I felt at peace and just went ahhh....

In the next phase or perhaps the one after that she was massaging a product into my face and neck and her hands got hot. Not warm but hot. They had not done so for other facets of the treatment. I asked her after she was finished if she had done something to make her hands warm. She said no, that was just natural with her. I know a little about energy healing and am aware that often the practitioner’s hands can become either very cold or very hot. I told her I thought she had healing hands and she broke into a wide smile and said that was what she wanted.

Afterward the therapist served me red wine in the lounge, pulled out a pad and ticked off items from a list of the product she felt I needed. She called this a prescription. I smiled secretly and told her I would decide later. It was her job to try to sell me something even if we had become fast friends and she knew it was unlikely I would be interested. I hugged her tightly as she rushed off discreetly to her next appointment, and found I did not want to leave the place. I lingered in the lounge, enjoyed grapes and other offerings, people-watched, and simply luxuriated in the afterglow of the treatment, as was the intent. When I left, I had not bought any product but I knew I would be back. I will probably even buy some of their wares, as the therapist had shrewdly ‘prescribed’ a 5-in-one product.

There is still enough left on the gift certificate for another treatment and it’s a good thing. I think I am now addicted!

First posted to the Red Room/Spa

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Vancouver, my favourite garden...

10/14/2010

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Several years ago I was fortunate to land in the West End of downtown Vancouver BC. My apartment is fairly spacious and I have a small view of the ocean which is heavenly ~ but it lacks a balcony on which to grow plants. This living in a big city is a new thing for me ~ I’ve always been a small-town gal with a picket-fence kind of mentality. I loved growing things. In fact if you had told me ten years ago I would be living in the heart of a big city I would have laughed and denied such a thing could be.

But here I was, having tested the waters in two other areas of the city and discovered an amazing thing about this Big City: It consisted of many small, wonderful community villages, as is common to all successful cities. As I settled in and began to explore my new village I discovered another amazing thing: Without contemplating or appreciating it, I now only had to step out my door to the biggest back yard anyone could imagine. And this back yard is maintained by a whole slew of gardeners just for me... or so it sometimes seems.

When I began this blog I was planning on writing only about the gardens of our famous Stanley Park, which is a mere couple of blocks from my door. At just over 1000 acres, Stanley Park is a wonderful garden indeed. On any given day one can meander through the glossy big-leaved unpretentious rhodo garden beside the pitch ‘n putt, past the natural gardens of Lost Lagoon made famous by Pauline Johnson an early Canadian First Nations poet, and on through the spectacularly manicured perennial beds and Rose Garden. From there one can continue on to pet the grande Mounted Police horses housed within the Park they patrol, peruse the garden of artwork in the painter’s corner, sit in solitude on a bench and read or branch out to any of the many other lawns and gardens throughout the Park.   

The above is the short gist of the longer post I had outlined, the descriptive one where I waxed eloquent about the Park without all the hyperlinks. But it was a beautiful late-autumn sunny day here and I decided to take a break for a long walk and lunch with my daughter in the village of Yaletown. I began striding up the wide sidewalk of paving stones of my own leafy street, with its front gardens manicured by a continual variety of individual landscapers, past mini-gardens spilling out of roundabouts and through some sharp-pebbled paths of a neighbourhood park. After a great outdoor lunch shaded by ornamental trees, we headed for the water. It was the kind of sparkling blue ocean day when awareness just came naturally and as we strolled the long inlet sea wall pathway and appreciated the flowers, trees, lawns, water features and bushes along the way it occurred to me that Vancouver itself is one big garden.

I could not possibly list all the myriad of parks and gardens, nor the walkways, but I can tell you I have visited many of both and each one brings a new and unique, lovingly tended garden or two to admire.  

This was affirmed by the palm trees and flower beds framing the laughing figure statues in the corner display at English Bay just short of the historic ivy-covered Sylvia Hotel where we turned up for the few steps to home. If this had been evening chances are we would have seen a skunk or two or a mama racoon and her brood strolling across the ambient-lighted boulevard and disappearing into a flower bed. Seems even the critters enjoy Vancouver’s gardens.

First posted to the Red Room in response to calls for blogs about our favourite gardens.
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Canadian Thanksgiving

10/10/2010

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October 11 is Thanksgiving day in Canada, a time to reflect on all our blessings. A day to sit with a piece of paper and pen and list everything we have for which to be grateful.

Many traditions of Thanksgiving have evolved over the entire history of humans, usually involving a sharing of wealth, be it a bountiful harvest, a generous hunt or a successful trade. Some traditions simply wish to thank a mystical something greater than themselves for a mate, a healthy newborn baby, perhaps mild or dry weather in time for the building of a new dwelling to protect them from the coming snows. Our ancestors knew to stop and take the time to give thanks. To gather up and celebrate the small graces.

Here in the Pacific Northwest Aboriginals gathered for the potlatch, the main purpose of which was re-distribution of wealth. The prestige of families was distinguished in this way. Their stature was raised by their ability to give away their abundance. Potlatches were made unlawful by Colonial governing bodies of the day because they did not understand the rituals and sacred dancing that went along with the celebrations and thus pronounced them ‘uncivilized’. First Nations continued to hold such meetings in secret for well over a half century until the laws were repealed. Such a travesty, but then European North Americans still claim to have invented the first thanksgiving. They could not have imagined that ‘heathens’ could have such elaborate thanks-giving.

Even if you are not Canadian it might be a good exercise to take stock today and give thanks for what we have, rather than focussing upon how little. Most of us will be pleasantly surprised as we list all our little abundances. We may find we even wish to share them.

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10-10-10

10/10/2010

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Today’s date is 10-10-10. In numerology that can translate into either a number three, or if using 10-10-2010, a five. Either way it is a day to take note of. The number three is the happy-go-lucky number, a number of movement or expression. The number five is also spirited and stands for life or expansion. Enjoy this auspicious day.

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Friendship, Oxygen, Fire... And Life

10/06/2010

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This past weekend is always my favourite one of the year. It is the time ~ actually not a weekend at all but four days or so ~ when several ‘old’ friends get together and just hang out. There is a ton of eating, some (I’m not talking) drinking, a lot of laughter and occasionally some tears. Seventeen years ago our friend Leanne sent out an invitation. She and her husband had recently purchased a cabin on a vacation lake and she thought it might be a good idea to bring together a group of friends for a weekend of girl’s stuff, or as the invitation euphemistically read: Women’s Wellness Weekend: Ladies of the Lake. The premise is still the same though the title has since denigrated to something altogether different ~ but that’s another story or likely a whole book. We began with seven women, all good friends of Lee. Four still lived in Leanne’s home town, three others were more distant. Some of us had known one another for many years, one or two were barely acquainted, some were strangers to each other. One of the original group had some issues which prevented her from joining us for more than a few hours each year and eventually simply dropped out. A few years back we added another, more recent friend.

Though the dynamics change from year to year depending upon the stuff of life, we all seem to settle very quickly into various roles ~ this one is a fabulous cook, that one jumps up first to clean up, another instigates thoughtful conversations. WWW XVII was no exception. Though the hostess is very adept at it herself, I have taken on the role of fire-builder and she graciously humours me.

This being October, albeit a sunny and warm one, we needed a constant fire. I was building the first one of the day and it was not cooperating. I pride myself on being able to start a fire with minimal paper and a few sticks of kindling. This day the fire was in danger of going out and needed a bit of nurturing. I began blowing on the few sparks which were burning. Just as humans, fire needs oxygen to survive. As I sat there patiently feeding little gusts of air to the sparks until one flicker produced another and then another and I had a huge log or two boisterously ablaze, it occurred to me that building a fire is a lot like building a life. One gust at a time, we must patiently nurture it and provide little sparks with oxygen so that it builds and builds into a roaring blaze ~ and when it dies down we must find that spark again and start all over until the flame reaches high once more.

Friendships are a little like that too, they flame up and they become benign but undying embers. We feed them, sometimes by way of gatherings such as our group, sometimes by way of support for one struggling, sometimes by the celebrations of life, and they become radiant again.

And the circle goes round and round....

Also posted in the Red Room
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