“Here’s something you might be interested in,” David said, pointing out an ad in a local magazine.
The advertisement was for reflexology. Reflexology is more than a simple foot massage. It’s about healing through applying pressure to the areas of the feet that correspond to the organs and systems of the body—a definition I’ve heard some refer to as hokum, though, while living in Singapore I indulged in it often. I’m not certain whether a deep tissue foot massage truly restores balance throughout your body, but I’m a poor sleeper and I always sleep better for several days after a reflexology treatment.
And there’ve been a couple of incidences that, to my mind at least, support the theory. For instance, once, while digging into the pads of my toes, the masseuse asked me if the arthritis in my neck was painful. Another time, after I’d taken a tumble and landed hard on my shoulder, the reflexologist abruptly abandoned my feet, raced to my shoulder, and began massaging it instead.
So yeah, I think there’s some truth to it.
Up until four years ago there was a place that offered reflexology in Marble Falls. Run by a couple of shady Asians, it was reasonably priced and they did good work—though in Texas you must be licensed to call yourself a reflexologist, and I doubt they’d had the requisite training. Nevertheless, they hit all the sensitive areas and David and I enjoyed going to them on a regular basis. When they were arrested for giving “happy ending” massages we were disappointed; also disgusted by their stupidity. I mean, where did the goofballs think they were? We’re not some Thai island.
So. Reflexology. Was I interested? Definitely. I read the ad and called to make an appointment.
“May I ask where you got my number?” Her tone was suspicious and somewhat accusatory.
“From the ad in the Fox Mailer,” I told her.
“Oh that silly ad. I had them put it in the center of the magazine, but then I got so many calls that I asked them to bury it in the back where nobody would see it. Yet people keep calling.”
She seemed to find customers annoying. Why would she place an ad inviting people to call, then act inconvenienced when they did what she invited them to do? This confounding and brief conversation caused me to feel less than warm toward her.
BREAK TO GO TO REFLEXOLOGY APPOINTMENT.
Well, she was delightful, which teaches the value in actually meeting someone before drawing conclusions. There was nothing begrudging about her. She was welcoming, friendly, and informative. Her technique was excellent and the heated mattress beneath my back was heavenly. Digging deep without causing pain isn’t easy, but her every stroke soothed so pleasurably that I’m inclined to declare that she’s the best reflexologist I’ve ever had. I hadn’t realized how abused my poor feet were, but when I left her studio they were so blissfully free of pain that I couldn’t even feel them.
On a coinciding topic, when the anticipated cold front came to town, Marble Falls met it with insanity. Schools were closed and medical appointments were canceled; there were very few cars on the perfectly safe streets; at the grocery store there was available parking near the door, and within, the shelves had been so picked over that only a few packs of celery sticks were left. Townsfolk, what were you thinking? It was cold, that’s all. Wear a coat.
While others huddled in their homes, I floated through the lightly populated grocery store with new feet. When I ran into a friend from yoga, I rhapsodized about my joyful toes and arches. When she asked for the miracle worker’s name and number, I gave it to her, tickled to think that she, too, would be asked where she heard about the reflexologist. And this time the answer would be me.
Next, imagine my glee when I ended up in the check out line of an eccentric cashier. It’s my habit to carelessly toss the groceries into my bag; the only attention shown is when I place the eggs (expensive!) on top. But, displeased by my method, or lack thereof, the checker removed every item I’d stuffed into it, and repacked with care, giving the bag a proud pat before allowing me to be on my way.
After that, as I was exiting the store, I noticed the man who was entering. He had a bit of a belly; long snowy strands flowed from his head; a full soft white beard curled over his broad chest; and his blue eyes twinkled with joy at the icy wind. A chat with an old friend, an OCD checker, then Santa Claus. How cool is that? Plus, feet that feel like they’re encased in clouds. This has been a great afternoon.
The backyard on a cold and dreary morning.
