Massage!

I had a massage today. Oh, Lordy me, put a dollar in the bucket, doesn't it feel wonderful?!

For thousands of years, men and women have suffered pain and discomfort related to anything from overexertion (chasing mastodons or racing marathons) to bad eating habits (grub worms & gruel or double whoppers & ding dongs). Add the stress of day-to-day living, (and certain T.V. shows) and one is left miserably plagued by sore muscles, fatigue, and general malaise.

For years, medical experts from Hippocrates to modern day physicians have used therapeutic massage to relieve those aches and pains. And with good reason: IT FEELS AWESOME!!

I needed to loosen up the mire that collects after months of walking long distances. Not all at once, of course, that would lead me somewhere near Fargo, and I know no one there. Walking is the major exercise I do anymore. I used to dance, skate and bike ride to the point where I panted heavily and collapsed in a dizzying, sweaty, but gleeful pile of endorphins. I can’t do that any more. Instead, I can dance, skate and bike ride to the point of, “Oh, that’s nice, let’s go see grandma.” 

I miss that endorphin load. 

My massage therapist, let’s call her Vladimir (sorry, J, artistic license-you know I think you’re magical and quite lovely), sends me traveling along Gothic byways and steamy beaches, jogging with Arabians (the horses, I’m thinking, but who knows?), howling at the moon, lightly stepping across a pebbly stream….

And cringing in barely-contained agony. 

Vladimir works on my knotted muscles like she’s trying to mold Mount Rainier to fit in a matchbox.

So, I’m lying there, dimly-lit room, comfy massage table, dainty trickling music—-with an open-mouthed silent scream, as if surrendering to the entire crush of mankind.

But, oh, does it ever feel good. It is good.

Afterward, I’m bounding out of there, 15 years younger. 

Endorphins! I can’t wait to go back.

I'll take those egg yolks, please

Yesterday, hubby and I walked (4,890 steps, thank you very much) to Panera for breakfast, and I noticed on the menu that they still offered an egg-white sandwich. For heaven's sake, isn't that craze over? Hasn't the pendulum swung way over to the side of reasonableness where egg yolks, butter and dairy products are again acceptable? Yessiree, I believe it has.

 In the meantime, what happened to all those egg yolks? I've never seen a food establishment offer an all-egg-yolk anything. 

Isn't the yolk really the only part of the egg that's yummy? Who looks at that glutinous, snotty glob of white and think, "Drool city, I'm gonna dive right into that ASAP?"  It's only the yolk that makes the white palatable. You don't dip a piece of toast into egg white. You don't make deviled eggs with egg white. And Hollandaise with egg white?  You'd end up with something better suited for, uh, the boudoir.

That got me thinking about all of the various food dictates over the years. Once, I calculated that if one ate all of the daily magic food recommendations: blueberries, miso, fava beans, quinoa, goji berries, chia seeds, steel cut oats, sprouted grain bread, avocado, nuts, kefir, yams, coconut oil, etc., etc., one would consume approximately10,000 calories a day. 

A walk of 4,890 steps, even round trip, wouldn't touch that caloric hippo. 

So, at Panera yesterday, hubby had a toasted sesame bagel with peanut butter and I had the egg and cheese breakfast sandwich.  

And we shared a muffie.