I just emerged from my very own heaven on earth…a one hour massage. It’s the only way to escape those pesky, everyday problems we think we have, to make your world stop turning, to make time stand still. I got to lie underneath a warm blanket and have these giant, magical hands (once the music starts and you close your eyes, the masseuse disappears, becoming only hands) rub all the toxins out of my entire body. They took me to a castle garden in Greece where there’s a giant, wooden swing hanging from a budding tree, surrounded by fragrances that only those flowers can emit. The sun came and went through the spaces in the millions of branches. I will say, however, that when the hands become a person again and the person says “you’re good to go,” it’s quite the rude awakening to find out that the world is, in fact, spinning once again. Anyway, he put color in my cheeks! I’m utterly convinced that if I had a massage like that at least once a month, I could add ten years to my life…in all certainty.
The problem now is, all I want to do is lie on the living room floor and listen to the clock tick and tock. Oh, woe is me! 
My most perfect niece helped me paint the chaos layer on my next piece, well, one of two. She did a great job, mostly concerned with getting paint in every little circle on my pallet because, after all, that’s what it’s for, right? I’m going to put a fall scene on top of it. I need to hang on to those golden leaves for as long as I can, until winter takes them from me.
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