This amazing body

With some of our recent health issues, I've been thinking a lot lately about my body, and contemplating each part, especially this morning as I lay on the massage table.

Like most women, and many men, too, I suppose, I'm not a huge fan of what's there. It's long and lumpy and somewhat squishy. There is dimpled or wrinkly skin where it was once smooth. An assortment of scars and marks decorate limbs, torso, even face.

A couple of toes are bent and a little stiff; my thumb joints are thick and frozen. My gait can be a little stiff, depending on achy hip joints or lower back; my left elbow doesn't flex all the way out; my shoulders creak and my neck can grind.

But it works.

My legs take me where I need to go, and my balance is pretty good as long as I do regular yoga. My feet need extra cushioning in my shoes these days but they are straight and still nice looking. I can stand up straight and tall: my back is no more curved than it's ever been, and I consciously 'telescope' my spine and pull my shoulders back when I stand. I can bend over to pull weeds or plant seedlings or pick something up off the floor and get back up again without help.

My arms and shoulders let me carry shopping bags or groceries or pots or piles of fresh laundry or kitties or babies, and I can hoist a sling full of firewood into the house if I need to. My hands slice and chop and shred food for our meals, and I can still easily type with all 10 fingers, and knit or sew or thread a needle.. They may be a little lumpy in places, but they don't hurt.

My eyes see well, actually better now that I've had cataract surgery than I saw all of my adult life, and they let me read and watch movies and ocean waves and plays and see my honey's big brown eyes right before I turn out the light at night. My ears bring me music and the chirrups of the birds that flock to our feeders and the soft mew of our kitties and the footfalls of the deer outside our window at night. They may not pick up every word sometimes, but that's usually no great loss.

My mouth may have gold and silver and porcelain in abundance, but my teeth can chew anything I want to eat, and my throat easily swallows the big vitamin supplements that we take every morning. My voice still carries to the back of most rooms and my words are clear.

My hair is bright and thick and healthy, silvery gray though it may be. My mind works well enough for me to understand the books and magazines I read, the conversations I have, and even to memorize lines. It may work a bit overtime in remembering trivia from many years ago and replaying scenes from my past, but I can usually corral those wanderings and come back to what is here and now.  I see things from a perspective that generally cuts through to the heart of the situation or to the essence of a person, and I am not afraid to say what I see and think, although I am careful to choose my words.

I know that our physical appearance can make a lasting first impression, especially upon those who are younger. But I am aware also that outward appearance does not necessarily reflect who we are and what we can do, and as I age, I have begun to look more deeply before I venture an opinion about someone.

I have an amazing body. I am so grateful for all that it does, for all it allows me to be and do. And now, more than ever before in my life, I  am consciously, intentionally working  to keep it healthy and strong for as long as I can, and to say 'thank you' every day for all that I do have. If yours works, if it does what you need it to do, you should, too.

An Ode to Massage

I wish I could say definitively that my funk has lifted: it has changed, however. I'm still in limbo and doing, as I'd expected, more testing to figure out what's going on in this body and what to do about it. My expected outcomes range from 'Oh, no problem. A little medication change and we're good' to "OMG, we need to do WHAT?." I'm leaning more toward the former. My imagination sometimes gets a little dramatic.

Massage is good for the soul, though, as well as the body, and after one today from the talented and busy Natalie Peterson (plus this morning's yoga class), I'm feeling the Zen. At one point during the massage, I could swear I was nestled on the bosom of the Great Mother (that was what came into my head), wrapped up in those great arms, even to the point of hearing Her heart beat (it was not mine nor Nat's). It was very reassuring and comforting, and I can still envision myself in that feeling of loving, healing calm and power. It will be an image that I will recall and use to help me cope with anxiety and stress in the coming weeks.

When I last worked for a company other than our own, I got to the point where I was having weekly massages from a wonderful therapist, and I swear it was all that kept me sane and going as long as I did. At that time my health insurance would pay at least partial benefits, but honestly, I would have figured out a way to do them even if it hadn't.  Massage is so much more than a spa-type benefit, and it is finally getting its due recognition as a health benefit.


During my mother's last years in a nursing home, she participated in what was then a pilot program titled Compassionate Touch. A caring massage therapist visited her weekly and in 30-minute sessions, gently massaged her and talked to her. She always felt so much better and calmer afterwards, and she and her therapist developed a wonderful relationship. Nursing home residents -- indeed, so many of our elderly -- are so touch-deprived anyway, at least of loving, caring touch, and I always felt like Ann  Catlin, the Compassionate Touch founder, was giving my much-loved mother the hugs and loving touch that I couldn't do very often, since I lived some 2000 miles away. The program has since grown tremendously and practioners all around the country are able to receive training and certification in many regional workshops.(Note to California therapists: there are only five Compassionate Touch practitioners listed. We have a lot of nursing homes, hospice, and other eldercare facilities in this state. You might want to consider this...just saying...)

Most cities now have a plethora of massage therapists and even schools where massages can cost as little as $10. In our little rural community, we have 10 therapists listed online and several in the phone book, and I know there are more. Chiropractic offices often have a staff massage therapist as well. Marinello School of Beauty in Redding has a training program, and there is also at least one program in Chico.

Take care of yourself. This is not a dress rehearsal, and massage is yet another way to help us find our path through life by taking kindest care for our miraculous selves.