Massage the day

July 20, 2013

The Maltipoo had been living with a hoarder and due to poor nutrition, had to have all of her teeth pulled, get shaved, ear hair plucked and mite treatment before the little thing was placed. The chopstick thin woman in a purple sweatshirt twice her size, white turtleneck gaped from the saggy collar, blue denim skirt I had not seen the likes of for decades, and size ten men’s white tennis shoes showed their obnoxious selves as she parked on the cushioned chair, with her back to me. The story of the pathetic dog she adopted, distracted me from my duties. I was charged with providing Qigong to her face, trailing to the top of her head, along the back of her spindly neck and down the shoulders. The class lasted three hours and I was able to have work done on my pained foot and throbbing hip area. St Thomas is a welcoming campus yet I floundered around a bit before finding the workshop in the non-designated building. The elderly woman with the horrible dog tale seemed nice enough though I was tortured over the course of the morning with her saga several times since I could hear the scratchy voice through my long deep breaths and decisively closed eyelids, I commend her for accepting such a miserable species yet so wished she wasn’t so compelled to regurgitate her drama to every single participant at the workshop.

On the route home I discovered several back alley sales. Vehicles attempting to blast their way through, to the tired and well-worn items, mowed down the tall brilliant orange lilies, planted on the sides of the asphalt. I was astounded by the murdering shoppers, who seemed to follow me, from one locale to the next. One man had mostly small breed dog attire; little shiny sweaters with ridiculous phrases, frayed collars, knotted leashes, chewed dishes, smelly dog carriers, a rotten bed and glassware. When I approached him with a pale green lightweight blanket to inquire about the size, he told me he thought it a full, he bought it at J.C. Penny two years ago for $23, on sale. He wanted $5 and grimaced as I placed it back on the table, explaining I have a Queen bed. He then insisted it must be a Queen size, and scoffed at my inability to find a tag to legitimize the item. Another house further down had all black gadgets. Three young men sat on dated lawn chairs drinking Leinenkugel and talking about nonsensical crap. They did not seem very interested in parting with their black coffee maker, electric black can opener, black tent and matching down sleeping bags, black shelving units, black television stand, black weight machine with accessories. Nothing of interest.

Around the corner down yet another alley was another garage sale with long tables full of red and white Christmas things. She had $5 Disney glasses, plastic earring sets, mix-and-match dishes, chipped mugs, clothes hangers with large men’s shirts, slacks and jackets, massive tv’s with ugly stands and a few vases I purchased for $1 each, only to discover she had glommed onto them from the neighbor’s recycle bin. They had tin tops like that of a canning jar for the elderly couple could not unscrew a cork with their arthritic hands.

She threw-in the $.25 shirt. By then, I had enough of the junk people were trying to pawn-off as gold and returned home. The dog was ecstatic to see me, as though I had been gone for a decade.