The Goddess Speaks
The Goddess Speaks
TO my daughter -- I finally got around to the Mother's Day gift you wished for me. The only true gift is a portion of oneself, so with that portion of you -- your thoughtfulness -- in mind, I booked an appointment at the Ihilani Resort & Spa. The most beautiful gifts
can’t be seenDad did his part, per your instructions, to the best of his ability. He was supposed to make arrangements for the pampering, but I thought it best not to leave the choice in his hands. His contribution was, "Go for it," and of course, he picked up the tab.
I signed in and was shown to the changing area, where I was given a white robe, rubber slippers and a locker key. I stuffed my clothes and my inhibitions in a locker and followed the attendant on a short tour of the women's facility: sauna, steam room, whirlpool, dressing rooms and treatment rooms for any variety of massages and wraps.
I'd had a massage only once before and the masseuse told me I had incredibly dry skin. I had a facial, once, and the facialist told me I should really see a dermatologist, as if this were news and I hadn't lived in my skin for decades.
I have a real phobia against being handled by strangers, but this was your gift, your fantasy for me and I knew you'd love it.
I signed up for an herbal wrap, partially out of curiosity and partially out of hope. I've read too many ads; experienced too few miracles. Perhaps the spa's promise of glowing skin and a release of toxins lurking below its surface would produce what sunscreen and moisturizers had failed to accomplish: a beauty at least skin deep.
WHILE I waited for the attendant, I downed a glass or two of iced herbal tea. First step in the detox program. Then a woman named Ping led me into a small room with a high table bed draped with a rubber sheet. She laid out the first of several wet sheets soaked in hot, scented water. I shed my robe and climbed aboard.
Soon I was covered chin to toe. She folded the sides up until I felt like a soggy burrito. She tucked a rolled towel beneath my knees and dimmed the already subdued light. With an ice water compress on my face as a finishing touch, I was left alone.
I could not move, I could not see, so my only recourse was to lie perfectly still and relax.
After 20 minutes, Ping came back and woke me. She asked about my welfare and bathed my face with another icy towel. She unwrapped the layers of sheets. I slipped back into my robe and thanked her.
It seemed too short a time, so I went straight to the steam room, which hissed eucalyptus mist. My skin felt great, but even in the fog I could tell that it wouldn't last past the door of the steam room. No miracle there. I took a cold shower and settled in the dressing room where I proceeded to slather white orchid lotion all over my revitalized self. You would have loved the array of amenities.
The beautiful woman you are today started as a pretty saucy kid. You probably don't remember coming home from first grade full of new wisdom. "Do you know what's the largest harp in your body?"
Dad and I, both ignorant, looked at each other before correcting, "Don't you mean organ?"
"Nope," from Miss Know-it-all. "It's your skin. That's the largest harp in your body."
Walking back to the hotel, I wondered if anyone would notice a difference in my largest harp. After all, being less toxic must be apparent to someone. I thought of you, and it made me smile -- and glow -- at least on the inside.
Mahalo for the gift.
Sally Sorenson is president of the Aloha Chapter
of the Romance Writer's of America .
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