Amassaging Grace

Despite having a topic to write about each week, sometimes it is still difficult to put together an interesting blog. I practice on the keyboard each week, I get better each week. I’m glad I practice because I get the gist of it, then class helps me do it correctly. I can play what is labeled as Barcarolle and Ode to Joy in my book, although I am certain those are simple versions of the songs. Today our instructor told us he was going to teach us how to play Happy Birthday and Amazing Grace. I forgot how beautiful Amazing Grace is, especially the way our instructor plays it. I overheard someone ask him how his performance for UC’s president went, so I’m assuming he’s pretty good at this piano thing.

And that’s all I’ve got on piano class.

Yesterday I had an hour and half massage, which was delightful. It was a gift for dog sitting and was supposed to be recovery from my efforts in the Flying Pig. At least that’s why I asked for it to be on that day. When I didn’t run the pig, it just became – as my gift-giver called it – a “feel good” massage.

I did pretty good at relaxing, which is a challenge for me to do, and even more impressive, I didn’t try to make the massage therapist laugh. Sometimes I think I only go to the dentist because I have an easy audience, they always laugh at my jokes. And with this body, I could have certainly cracked up the therapist with some of my comments and observations.

This chick focused a lot on my head and neck, which was cool, but she massaged inside my ears, which was creepy. I told her before we started that I could guarantee my stomach would growl and she said it’s a compliment if the therapist’s stomach growls, it means they are in a state of something. Whatever state it was, the spin she put on her stomach growling was unique.

When she massaged my jaws the right side was noticeably harder and I guess, tighter, than the left. She said that meant I needed to have a long conversation with someone about something important. Weird. She also said something about ying and yang and sun and moon, but at that point I was 100 percent focused on how badly I needed to pee and kept thinking if she pushed real hard in the wrong place, there could be a disaster. Then my head went to how terrible it would be to have a massage if you had gas. From there my brain took me to the two different times adult men, in professional situations, have let out-loud toots in front of me. One said “excuse me” (dude, you didn’t just burp) and the other ignored it and I just covered my nose. What would a massage therapist do? It can’t be out of the ordinary, especially in Cincinnati. Go to Skyline the night before, it’s out of your hands at that point.

Fortunately, she had given me some tips on breathing and remarkably if I thought about that, most of my odd distractions went away. So I made it through the massage, even though she crushed the scar on my knee and twice I almost kicked her across the room when she started messin’ with my toes. All-in-all, it was a success.

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