Bubbles

It started with a 20 minute hydro massage, that was extremely effervescent, little bubbles and big bubbles.
Made my flabby bits flap. It was a hydro disco, with lights in the tub. Not too hot, and fantastic.
Chinese massage was the best ever...really..Normally when you get a massage, after wards you need a shower cause you're slippery.
But Mi-lan (teeny c
Chinese lady speaking MINIMAL Engrish) made so much warm friction on my skin that the oil was completely absorbed.
And that, to me, was the important part. Repeated strong movement ("you got pain?" NOOO) on large areas to increase circulation and movements always toward the heart.
Not to say it was all rubbing. There were pressure points and reflex points that were manipulated, after the area was warm with circulation. She did some sort of suction thing with her palms, like cupping (and not the game that Chandler Bing invented, oh wait, that was Cups..it's Gweneth Paltrow that gets the cupping).
I was covered with several towels, and my head was in the drool bucket hole (in the beginning). On several occasions I felt her climb onto the massage table with me????? When she was on the table with me she used her body to diagonally stretch mine, one hand on my shoulder and one on my hip...lengthen. I can't remember what she did the other times she climbed on with me.
And she smacked me often. Sometimes the smacks were slaps, but sometimes it felt like her little fist. At the end she stimulated my scalp and temples and then proceeded to cuff me on the noggin' repeatedly. AND IT FELT GOOD.....
Have you ever had a breast massage? Lots of circular motions and then the cupping thing on the nipples, resulting in quite a snap...then she said "bootiful". Awww
And I forgot to wear underwear. I was freaking out when I realized, and started looking for a store that sold drahs, when the sky opened and dogs and cats fell, rained so hard and fast everyone scurried. I aborted the mission and headed directly to the spa, hoping for the best. And I'll be dipped in chocolate.......... they gave me little disposable undies, as a matter of course, not cause they knew I was a slut.

anger management

I'm mad.
And not just about one thing.
My head spins with all the reasons I'm mad.
I'm mad at Facebook. I'm mad at Hollywood, pesticides, banks, Israel, oil, television, Obama, my inability to speak French, methane, consumerism, food additives, religion, and this is just the tippy of the iceberg. I am not even going to get started on how disappointed I am with the human race. I think we have got ourselves on a downward spiral with avarice.
Now that I've written the words, I worry that my head is full of negativity. But, my heart, always buoyant, knows better.

bureaucracy

I love Belgium, I really do.
Why?
It is a tiny country with such organized bureaucracy that it can exist and flourish without a government. There is such animosity between the Walloons (the French segment of the population) and the Flemish that the government has collapsed. I don't feel knowledgeable enough to explain this situation, but I live with the results.
Here is a taste. I received a letter in the mail, telling me that I have a appointment scheduled for a mammogram. The letter informs me that I am of an age when breast cancer is an issue, and I must take my appointment at the hospital..Period. OK...I take the tram to the hospital on the appointed day. Never having been to the hospital I ask a tall handsome man in a white coat where to go. In perfect English, he answers me. This is another reason that I love Gent, Belgium (in particular). The population is mostly Flemish. The Flemish speak an attractive form of Dutch. BUT, just like the Dutch, they speak perfect English. Better English that we native speakers speak. They don't use the word "like", or "sort of". They only use the words they need, without colloquialisms. It is a clean form of English. But, back to my breasts......I have the mammogram. The technician, a lovely young girl, tells me the machine is brand new, and the whole wing of the hospital is new. And do you know how much it cost me?...nothing..nothing.
They have National Health. You pay for it, don't get me wrong. The taxation is painful. But in the big picture, it is the only way to go. American's look at the National Health System in England, and think that is the norm. Well, it is not. I have had experience with several systems, so I am speaking from experience, not conjecture. The system in the UK has good intentions, but they do not pull it off..at all. I watched my Mother in Law suffer through the English system, and pass away within it. The Belgian, French, Swiss, Austrian systems are incredible.
But back to my breasts..

where do I start?

Writing a blog SOUNDS like a good idea, in theory. One thinks one is rather clever, and full of news (that would be Me), and interesting tidbits of life. But when it comes right down to it, one (me again) wonders if what they say has any relevance to the ether population. Who cares what I say? Altruism? No. I am doing it to make myself feel good. To cement my notions in my own mind.
Having said that, I am going to ramble on with my feelings, findings, and tiny revelations.
Brace up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.
I hope.

Please, hawk soaring with a snake in it's talons

I woke to the sound of a tractor in the next room.
The fields are being mowed. Nicolas cuts the hay, and then bales it...big, round bales.
He keeps the hay for his labor.
He cut the far field in a perfect amoebae design. Curly and soft.
As the hay dried it turned golden.
When the sun sets the fallen hay looks like undulating golden rivers.

The hawks are flying low this morning. The hay was cut 2 days ago. Mice, snakes all lost their homes. Usually a couple of hawks circle the fields, way high and following the thermals, out for a joy ride.

Pipeliners and Gypsies

My Dad was a Jack of All Trades. When I was tiny my Dad was a Pipeliner. He was a foreman. My Mom was my Mom, and the best Mom that ever lived. Dad's crew dug the giant trenches for the pipe. The pipe was taller than my Father by quite a bit, and he was 6 foot tall. My Dad could drive tractors as big as a house, and move vast amounts of earth. The Pipeline went for miles and miles. I have pictures. Looking like a long earthworm, twisting through deserts, and mountains, and plains the pipeline moved us on. We progressed with it, changing towns every few months.
Because my Dad was a foreman, he selected his crew. As a result he hired Family. And those that were not actual Family became Family. We were with these people all the time. We went from town to town with them, and we watched lives unfold.
Usually we lived in little apartment/hotel places. When we lived in Reno, Nevada my parents and I slept in the same room. One night, after a hard day of play I flopped into bed. Out of nowhere came a pain. A pain like I had never (in my little life) felt before. It was in my leg, my calf, or maybe it was my thigh? Nevertheless I screamed I was dying and my leg was killing me. My anxious parents galloped to my side, pulled back the covers, saw that my leg was drawing up, like a grasshopper's leg when the grasshopper is dead. My Mom calmly pulled my leg back, straight, causing severe pain, and said I had a Charley Horse, and laughed…Laughed.
Friendly sounding name isn't it? Charley, good old Charley, and Horse, Horse=Good. But not Charley Horse. I will always remember Reno.

Once upon a time, far far away....

My name is LaVada Ernestine. I was born on November 29th, 1950.
My parents were Lydia Margaret and Perry Earl. I was born in Kansas City, Kansas.. Although my birth certificate says Kansas City, Missouri. I don't know how it got confused and stayed confused for most of my life, but it did. I have always said, "I was born in Kansas City, Kansas, but I've never lived there".
I don't know if I never lived there, or because I don't remember it, I might as well have never lived there.
Or been born.