|From Ohio Christmas|
It is on Monday that three notable things occur.
I do not take a nap.
I make my first visit to the library to re-establish internet connectivity.
I get a Christmas massage.
One of my gifts from my mother this year was a massage. There is a new massage therapist in town working out of the Sports Medicine Clinic. I arrived early and was led back through the facility- through doors and corridors and more doors into a little white painted room with prominent beams and studs. The environment is minimally decorated with a photograph of the moon and a primitive painting of a church. And, white paint. And, a small portable heater.
"I'm sorry it is so chilly. Take off all your clothes and get under the sheet."
This apology is repeated often. But, neither the apology nor the heater does much to warm the room.
So, in goose bumps I lay under the sheet studying the room and wonder, "Was this the old meat locker?"
"How did you get to be here?" I asked.
He described his job hunt which ended here in Versailles. "Funny story," he said. "This used to be the meat locker. See the holes in the beams. I think that is wear they put the hooks from which they hung the carcases."
I don't know. Maybe I've been away from home too long. This just isn't the environment that I associate with massage. Frigid. Stark. Bright. Meaty.