“For disappearing acts, it’s hard to beat what happens to the eight hours supposedly left after eight of sleep and eight of work.“ – Doug Larson
Time for a vacation, even if it's only for an hour
I don't know if you guys feel the same way, but I'm not sure where the summer has gone so far.  Heck, I'm not sure where the year has gone.  There's been work in the basement and gardening projects and visitors from out of town and chickens (more on this later!), and while it's been delightful . . . well, sometimes there's only so much delight one can take, y'know? 

You ever have periods in your life when your days off become "catch up on All The Things" days?  (Or is that just adulthood in general?  I dunno.)  Or when you're supposed to be doing something fun and your mind keeps going over your to-do list?  That's one of the nice things about yoga--or exercise in general, I guess:  I wind up paying so much attention to what my body is doing that my mind doesn't have the ability to interject.

I may not have time for a vacation in Aruba right now.  I may not have time for a four-day weekend.  I may not have time for a day to laze around my house, drinking mimosas and reading in bed all day.  But, dammit, I can get back into yoga (I've missed a week and have been spotty all summer) and I can take my own damn advice and go get a massage (I just booked one!).  It's been three weeks, I confess, and even if I can't get my brain to shut up during the massage, I know it'll still do me good.

So, for those of you who are running ragged with the long summer hours, I ask:  what do you do to take care of yourself?  What do you do to de-stress?  Exercise?  A hot bath?  Reality TV?  Play with new recipes in the kitchen?  Cuddle with the dog?

If you're having trouble coming up with something, I'm gonna invite you in for a massage.  (Heck, even if you have other ideas, I'm still gonna suggest one.)   I know a lot of folks who only get a massage when there's something gone funky with their body, but stress can tweak you out just as bad as falling off your bike.  Remember, 70-90% of all illness are caused or exacerbated by stress, so think of a relaxing massage as a tune-up for your brain and nervous system, not just your body.

“People who cannot find time for recreation are obliged sooner or later to find time for illness."
– John Wanamaker

Now, that chicken thing
Remember above when I mentioned chickens and said I'd get back to that?  Here we go--but first, a little backstory:

I'm involved in a number of massage therapy groups online.  In one of them, a discussion came up about what exactly other MTs wear for work.  Shorts were discussed--length, type of fit, etc.  Tank tops came up and were (overall) dismissed as being inappropriate; armpits were considered "unprofessional."

In my own minor rebellion, I work a tank top and cargo shorts to my office the next day.  And I brought a chicken.

Yep, you read that right.  I totally brought a chicken in to work with me.  And here's the backstory on that:

Greg and I ordered chickens* from a hatchery.  They arrived at the beginning of June.  Three weeks into it, I discovered one of the chicks curled up against the side of the pen, the others literally running roughshod over him.  In order to make sure he survived, I had to separate him from the others and hand-feed him.  It was kind of touch-and-go for a few days, so I had to take him in to the office to keep an eye on him.  I even took him to my family reunion at the end of the week.

As it stands, the chicken has survived and is doing well.  Er, mostly.  Through the magic of Google, I've come to the conclusion that he suffered the avian equivalent of poor prenatal care.  His legs are all wonky, so I need to make him leg braces and whatnot.  Chicken PT will be involved, too, which means . . . you guessed it, more visits to work with Mom.

So, yeah.  If you come in for a session and there's a chicken in the office hallway in a makeshift Johnny Jump-Up, that's the story on that.  He's quite the engaging little fellow, honestly--he's been handled so much that he's rather people-friendly (he's sitting on my belly, trilling, as I'm typing this). 

Please note:  the chicken will NOT be in the room during the session, but will remain out in the hallway.  I just need him close so I can keep an eye on him.

Heck, even if you just want to stop by and meet the chickie, feel free.  'Cause that's how we roll around here:  massage and petting zoo, all in one.

* We've currently got 23.  No eggs, they're all roosters.  There's a vulgar joke in there, but I'm going to pretend I have some class and not go there right now.  If you want to know what the joke is, though, just email me.

Let's throw a little fun in here
Now, the reason we get chickens is to put them in the freezer.  It should come as no surprise to anyone that chickie is likely to avoid that fate by sheer dint of being charming.  (Yes, I'm a sucker.  Again, this should come as no surprise.)

At some point, he's going to stop being a chickie and become a chicken.  I'd like to have a decent name to call him by at that point.  I've thrown around "Little Wing" (as a reference to the song by Jimi Hendrix), "Hendrix," and a couple of other names, but none are quite sticking or roll well off the tongue.

Got a good idea for a name?  If so, send me an email
If I pick the name, you get a free half-hour upgrade card.

Two items of note: 
  1. For those who care, chickie is a Columbian Wyandotte.
  2. No, I'm not naming him Foghorn Leghorn.

Time to feed the chicken
Okay, guys.  Chickie is telling me loudly and vociferously that he's hungry, so I guess it's time to put him back in his pen and let him do his thing.  It's been great hanging out with the little dude, even if it's taken me a little longer to put this together than it would have otherwise.  However, as the great Bertrand Russell said, "The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time."

So no matter how busy you are, I hope you can stop and take a few minutes--at the very least--to do something that makes you happy.  Pause on your drive home to admire the sunset.  Have a glass of wine on the porch and watch your kids play before you go make dinner.  Cuddle your dog, or your spouse, or your chicken.  Take a deep breath and savor the feeling of being alive, right here, right now.

Be well, and I hope to see you soon.

(and chickie)

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