Okay, so Mom and I spent the hottest weekend possible in Tucson this July - and loved every minute of it. For Mother's Day I got Mom a trip to Canyon Ranch Spa and I went along as her cheerleader. We spent a crazy 5 days sweating and exercising, loofa-ing and soaking in the tub. It was awesome.
The grounds were beautiful and our suite superb. We each had a bed in the big bedroom, and there were two separate bathrooms (one with a giant soaking tub and a big window), a washer and dryer, and a living room. I think the suite was larger than our house. Right around the corner was a pool and I spent several hours there reading and sitting in the hot tub.
Also nearby was the spa complex, where each of us spent many hours a day. All of the treatments were in there - from massages and facials to body work like salt scrubs, Ayurvedic treatments, and the sweat lodge. The exercise rooms were in the spa building too, as were the racquet courts, the gym, and...best of all...the women's locker room. I know this will sound bizarre, but hear me out.
When you arrive at the Ranch, you get a locker for your entire stay, as well as slippers to wear in the spa. Robes and towels are abundant and fresh, and I grabbed one anytime I went in. The locker room had huge showers, a steam room, sauna and inhalation room (tea tree and peppermint oils in steam), two whirlpools and a cold plunge, a naked sunbathing patio and a quiet room. I took at least one nap in the quiet room, snuggled in my robe under a chenille blanket with cool cucumber and mint water at my reach. Fresh squeezed orange juice every day at 4pm - in the locker room! Need a razor? No problem. Need an icy cold towel? No problem. Need anything? No problem.
I got ambitious my first full day at the Ranch and started with a World Dance class. It was only 45 minutes and I wasn't the oldest there (nearly the youngest, I think), but I was dead beat when that was over. I headed for the locker room and spent a couple of hours just chilling out inside. Actually, I found it to be the most relaxing place in the spa. No phones, no noise, just the sounds of water and quiet whispering. It was perfect.
I had a couple of spa treatments while I was there - the first was a North African hammam-type treatment, complete with a coffee ground and lime pit rub down, and a soak in a tub full of rose petals. The treatment was luxe, like nothing I can get in Seattle. It was a perfect start to the weekend, and made me realize that as long as a bathroom has high enough ceilings and appropriate lighting, you don't have to have windows. Sure, it feels subterranean, but peaceful.
The second spa treatment I had was the Shirodhara, an Ayurvedic treatment in which oil is dripped onto the forehead. I was led through the treatment carefully, and it was extremely meditative. I left exhausted but relaxed. This is something I can easily get in Seattle and will probably look into it more.
The third - and most challenging - treatment I had was a Native American sweat lodge-type treatment, made appropriate for Ranch visitors, but still very hard and very tiring. Kevin was my guide, part Lakota and part Navajo I think - superb. We had Miles Davis playing for the whole first hour - intense body work in the hydromassage tub, and then deep tissue work in the steamroom. It lasted almost 3 hours, and I drank about 10 containers of water, about 16 oz each. Afterwards I was drained and disoriented, and I went back to the locker room where I slept a bit and rested before dinner. I loved it.
As I said, it was beautiful being there and I'd go back again if I could save the money to do it again. I think Mom really enjoyed herself too - eating that well and playing racquetball our last two nights - we both slept well and felt great as we left. I'd totally encourage people to go, if you can get past some of the hokey stuff.
Here are some pictures from our trip. There were lots of animals on the property, although the one I really wanted to see (a javelina) never appeared. Boo.
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Friday, July 18, 2008
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Day 1, Unemployment: The Sequel
It's the first day of my time off between jobs. This morning I'm due for my waxing with Karen, and I'm mailing Mom's birthday present too. I found a snappy little bag at Fireworks from an Olympia company called Queen Bee - perfect. Last night I spent some time at Third Place shopping from my book buy list and picked up 4 or 5 books, except I couldn't find two I wanted to buy (Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf and A Thousand and One Arabian Nights). So that will happen later, as will a copy of HP7.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Do the Math
My grandmother was 40 when my mother had me. That's four years older than I am this year, and that means when my mother was the age I am now, I was almost 16. That's a lot to digest. I'll break it down.
By 40, my grandmother had lived in three countries (China, Cuba, Texas) in abject poverty and in ample comfort. She had three children, one of whom was in college and the other two on the way there. She and my grandfather were running a successful business, they owned a home, they were becoming US citizens.
By 40, my mother was visiting me at college, grieving the loss of her father, and still working 60 hour weeks for 30 hour pay, running a law office nonetheless.
I was a good kid, I had loving and happy parents - I had access, education, and opportunity that both sets of grandparents had provided. I had no shortage of affection, and while both my parents worked, I never felt they weren't there.
But I can hardly imagine having a 16-year old as the person I am today. Of course, I would have had 16 years to become that parent. But if I were to become a parent, what kind of parent would I be? Would I be the kind of mother that my mother was, that my grandmother was? Could I even be that kind of mother, having 16 more years of experience than they did when they first gave birth? Would that extra 16 years do me any good? Or would I be a neurotic, controlling grown-up with no business having kids, like many people I know?
In some ways I envy my mother and grandmother for having done it so early. They got to grow up - sometimes the hard way - with their daughters. When I went to prom, my mom was the age I am today. I remember shopping for the dress, the jewelry, the makeup. I remember my mother buying me my first razor (that was years before prom, but go along with me here...), my first bra, going with me to my first gyn visit. It was probably terrifying for her, but she never showed it. And our trials were nothing compared to those she and my grandmother went through. When my grandmother was pregnant with my mother, my grandfather left for Cuba, looking for a better life for all of them. My mother was 5 when he came back for them. All that time my grandmother had to find food for this tiny baby girl, sometimes giving my mother the meat from the fish while she sucked the bones. Anything to survive, anything not to starve.
Knowing that, do I have what it takes? I'd be a great girl scout leader - I can show you how to paint pottery, to make pipe cleaner crafts, to make peanut brittle. I'd probably be a pretty good older sister too, revealing the naughty little secrets every girl should know. Heck, I can even put together model cars, hit a baseball, and help with a science project. But could I be the kind of mom I'd want to be for my kids? I don't think you can ever know that before you do it - it's the kind of thing you look back on years later and say, 'yeah, I think I did okay there.' I think this weekend I'll call my mom and tell her what a great job I think she did.
But wait a second, what about my dad?
In many ways, I am the person I am because of my father. Where the women in my life gave me passion, energy, and the shape of my ass, the men showed me the quiet strength of reason. Of planning, of hard work, of patience. Lots of patience. That was the side that got me to 30. As I grow older myself, wondering about my future, I see my father more for his sense of humor, for his kindness and his gentle nature. He is strong and quiet, but never unfair.
And I know that if I'm to become the person I want to be, and maybe even the parent I think I can be, I won't be doing it alone. I don't have plan. Heck, I don't even have a clue. But I'm getting there.
By 40, my grandmother had lived in three countries (China, Cuba, Texas) in abject poverty and in ample comfort. She had three children, one of whom was in college and the other two on the way there. She and my grandfather were running a successful business, they owned a home, they were becoming US citizens.
By 40, my mother was visiting me at college, grieving the loss of her father, and still working 60 hour weeks for 30 hour pay, running a law office nonetheless.
I was a good kid, I had loving and happy parents - I had access, education, and opportunity that both sets of grandparents had provided. I had no shortage of affection, and while both my parents worked, I never felt they weren't there.
But I can hardly imagine having a 16-year old as the person I am today. Of course, I would have had 16 years to become that parent. But if I were to become a parent, what kind of parent would I be? Would I be the kind of mother that my mother was, that my grandmother was? Could I even be that kind of mother, having 16 more years of experience than they did when they first gave birth? Would that extra 16 years do me any good? Or would I be a neurotic, controlling grown-up with no business having kids, like many people I know?
In some ways I envy my mother and grandmother for having done it so early. They got to grow up - sometimes the hard way - with their daughters. When I went to prom, my mom was the age I am today. I remember shopping for the dress, the jewelry, the makeup. I remember my mother buying me my first razor (that was years before prom, but go along with me here...), my first bra, going with me to my first gyn visit. It was probably terrifying for her, but she never showed it. And our trials were nothing compared to those she and my grandmother went through. When my grandmother was pregnant with my mother, my grandfather left for Cuba, looking for a better life for all of them. My mother was 5 when he came back for them. All that time my grandmother had to find food for this tiny baby girl, sometimes giving my mother the meat from the fish while she sucked the bones. Anything to survive, anything not to starve.
Knowing that, do I have what it takes? I'd be a great girl scout leader - I can show you how to paint pottery, to make pipe cleaner crafts, to make peanut brittle. I'd probably be a pretty good older sister too, revealing the naughty little secrets every girl should know. Heck, I can even put together model cars, hit a baseball, and help with a science project. But could I be the kind of mom I'd want to be for my kids? I don't think you can ever know that before you do it - it's the kind of thing you look back on years later and say, 'yeah, I think I did okay there.' I think this weekend I'll call my mom and tell her what a great job I think she did.
But wait a second, what about my dad?
In many ways, I am the person I am because of my father. Where the women in my life gave me passion, energy, and the shape of my ass, the men showed me the quiet strength of reason. Of planning, of hard work, of patience. Lots of patience. That was the side that got me to 30. As I grow older myself, wondering about my future, I see my father more for his sense of humor, for his kindness and his gentle nature. He is strong and quiet, but never unfair.
And I know that if I'm to become the person I want to be, and maybe even the parent I think I can be, I won't be doing it alone. I don't have plan. Heck, I don't even have a clue. But I'm getting there.
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