Tunics

In my mind's eye, an holistic health therapist swans about her domain bare-foot and in loose floaty cotton trousers and a loose floaty cotton top, probably in a nice shade of purple, or azure blue. In my mind's eye I am thinking 'bohemian free spirit'.

In reality, if one wants to pass their reflexology qualification, an holistic health therapist has to swan about in a polyester therapy tunic 'n' trouser combo in a shade of, well, black. And if you have ever seen these outfits, they are designed for stick thin youngsters with pimples for bosoms and not middle-aged, curvy birds like moi. Still, needs must, and it'll give la famille a good laugh.

So, I type 'therapy tunics' into Google and am presented with a gazzillion different companies, all eager to sell their 'stylish professional work-wear.' And it's all in nylon. Or nylon with a dab of lurex, for extra stretch.

Extra stretch on someone like me is not a good look. Oh no. Think 'sausages hanging in a butcher's window' or 'semi-deflated balloons after the party.' In situations such as these, it is more flattering for the figure to order something a size or two larger than your usual, so that the fabric 'skims' the multitude of middle-age sin, rather than go for extra stretch when the fabric will merely enhance the extra lumps and bumps rather than deliver the suck 'em in and flatten 'em effect one is hoping for. Lurex, I find, is highly over-rated.

Also, there are many different styles of tunic to choose from. There are many different colours, too, but I am limited to 'black'. But styles - well, there are mandarin collars, no collars, round-neck collars, V-neck collars. There are ones with zips, ones with buttons up the middle, ones with buttons up the side, ones with buttons that go off at an asymmetrical slant. Ones with many buttons, ones with one button and velcro. There are long ones, short ones, sleeveless ones, ones as big as your head. There are ones with different colour pipings, ones with bows to tie at the back, ones that wrap over, ones that look alarmingly like strait-jackets.

Mercifully, trousers seem to come in one style only - bootleg.

So, I opt for a mandarin collar, button-down-the-front jobbie, with trousers, two sizes bigger than my usual, and await their arrival with a certain amount of trepidation because if they don't fit, I shall cry.

On a more exciting note, I have ordered some business cards! Not black. They were a freebie introductory offer from VistaPrint, but needless to say, once you've gone through the rigamarole of them trying to upgrade your selection and entice you into buying extras, your cards don't end up as the 'freebie' you anticipated. I held fast against the temptation of matching stationery/pens/websites/ rubber stamps/diaries/ etc etc blah blah blah and got 500 cards, a cardholder and 'special gift' of a block of post-it notes, all packaged and posted to arrive in the next 3 weeks for £4.93. Which wasn't too bad, I thought.

Of course, I am now being bombarded by their customer service department hell-bent on the hard-sell, but I have also set up a new e-mail business account, so once 'Cloud Nine' is up and running I shall shut the old account and they won't be able to find me ever again...mwahahahahahahaha!!!

My welcome pack for the Federation of Holistic Therapists has arrived. I am now in possession of a badge, a membership card, an insurance certificate, a very good, highly informative quarterly magazine and an equipment brochure containing many indispensible items including the dubiously named 'backnobber.' I showed Andy and he laughed like a drain. He is so immature sometimes.

I also joined the Complementary Therapists Association because it was free for students. But their badge is a lot smaller, and their magazine, although having nicer smelling ink, is not as informative, so I think I'll stick with the FHT when I renew next year.

Last night in class we covered 1.1, 1.1.1 and 1.1.2 of the syllabus along with the relaxation 'greet the feet' routine. And now I have homework to do. Fancy that. Homework!

Holistic Therapist - the Journey Begins...

Today I start my reflexology course. Yesterday, I became a member of the Federation of Holistic Therapists. After much interwebbly consultation of their website, I phoned the Membership hotline and spoke to a very nice lady called Tina, who had a wild coughing fit halfway through her taking my details for the insurance which will cover me for my case studies.
'Are you all right?' I said.
'I think so,' she said. 'Must be the Autumn mist.'
I agreed. Autumn mist gets me like that sometimes, too.

So, I shall be expecting my 'Welcome Pack' in the next week or so. I wonder what it contains. Little sachets of tea and coffee, and a shower cap maybe?

I've been gathering together some of the bits and bobs I shall need for the course. I have been thinking I shall enquire about doing the ITEC diploma in Indian Head Massage at the same time. Sort of a 'head to toe' approach. Andy said, 'How about doing the aromatherapy, too.' I said, 'Do you want my head to explode?'

I've been dabbling in advertising. Business cards, headed notepaper, web-sites etc. I am ninety-nine percent certain I shall call my self-employed business 'Cloud Nine,' because it was a name that came to me so suddenly the other week that I couldn't possibly have thought of it myself. Andy and I have begun toying with the idea of turning my writing room into the living room and the living room into my therapy room, but it is a very embryonic idea at the moment especially as we are still smarting from the financial implications of having the decorators in.

I have a queue of case study volunteers as long as my orang-utan arms.

'Nearly King Jimbo' draft two is on the homeward run. I have permanent typing cramp in my right hand and permanent writer's cramp in my right foot where I tuck it between my left calf and the chair leg when I'm working. Andy is producing many delightful cartoon illustrations.

I finally felt brave enough to wear the push-you-together-and-hoik-you-up posh bra Heather got me for Christmas last year. It is a startling thing to find one's bosom so close to one's chin once more.

The sun is shining and at last the tomatoes are ripening. Although the green ones in the paper bag with the over-ripe banana are fairing slightly better. (I've always been dubious about the ripening powers of a banana giving off its gas, but I have tried it and it works!)

The sewing machine is coming out today. I have an urge to sew.

Andy has requested a birthday list from me. Although it is another six weeks until I hit 45 (which sounds very grown up), he wants me to make a list, and then forget everything I've put on it in order that he may initiate 'a surprise.' This happens every year. It never works!

This blog was brought to you today by 'Serious Intent Lapsing Into Random Stream of Consciousness for All Your Covering the Bases Blogging Needs.'

It just happens like that some days...

Sitting Still

As I signed in to check my e-mail this morning, an advert on the web site caught my eye. It said, 'If you die unexpectedly, how much cover do you need?' and then it went on with a list of figures ranging from £150,000 to 1 million squillion, and a button to press if you were foolish enough to want more information, thus opening yourself up to insurance spam for the next year at least (unexpected death aside).

'Hmmm...' I thought. 'How much cover do I need if I unexpectedly die? Well, I'll be dead, so that'll be none, then.'

I've always been given to believe that post-death one's financial requirements are pretty much zilch. I rather thought B & B in Heaven would be gratis, having gone through the purgatory of paying the mortgage in the earthly realm.

Or were they talking about a different kind of cover? I've already given instructions to my nearest and dearest that I wish to be wrapped in my Celtic pattern wool shawl and buried with a tree on top. If they can afford a coffin, all well and good. But cover of a few depthly feet would probably be good for health 'n' safety reasons and avoid me being dug up by a curious badger.

So that's sorted then. Of course, if the badly written catch line of the advertisement really meant, 'How much cover will your FAMILY need if you die unexpectedly?' then the answer is still none. They'll have to fend for themselves. I've had to.

I also take exception to the use of the word 'unexpectedly.' This is the last word to use in conjunction with the notion of death. Death is the one thing in life that we know is going to happen and is therefore 100% expected at some point. The surprise is 'when?' So they should have used the word 'suddenly'instead, or just left it out altogether.

Pedant rant over.

I've just finished reading a very thought-provoking book. It's called, 'Teach Us To Sit Still - A Sceptics Search for Health and Healing,' by the novelist Tim Parks. It's not the sort of book I'd normally pick up and read, and to be honest I found the author to be highly irritating, but the story of his journey to overcome crippling ill-health is thoroughly fascinating not to mention fully in keeping with the kind of thinking I am doing as I set forth into my life as an holistic therapist. Which must be the reason why a little voice in my head told me to pick it up and buy it last week.

The basic premise is that people in the 21st century are too busy to keep in touch with the link between mind and body, that we separate them off instead of encouraging them to work in unison, and as such we lose our sense of self - of living in the moment. We plan too far into the future, make our bodies do things our minds are telling us not to, so should we be surprised that ill health follows? We tend to think that illness comes from external forces (and I suppose if you get hit by a bus, then you have a case) whereas we should be thinking more that ill health comes from within. And if we can accept that responsibility, then we can be more able to maintain our health ourselves, without scooting off to the doctors for a bottle of jollop when we're not well.

It's a difficult concept to deal with in this quick-fix, throwaway society we live in. It requires hard work and challenges of a different kind, leading untimately to the benefit of regular meditation. Meditation makes you live in the now, be aware of what is happening now. Now you are well. Now you are ill. Now you can do this. Now you can deal with that. Don't fret about what might happen in the future. The future never happens. It is variable, unsettled, open to too many external influences. When you think you've got there, you find you are still in the now.

Anyway, it is a good book. It's inspired me. It's given me a lot to think about regarding what sort of holistic therapist I am.

And before I go, I'd like to share a little discovery I've made this week. I have discovered that storing brazil nuts in an old tea-caddy makes them taste like fish.

So I won't be doing that again.

Shuffling Onwards

Three days of weirdness have prevailed. But I now have, by means of various signposts and psychic nudges, taken another step forward along the path to 'I'm Not Quite Sure Where Yet (But It'll Be Okay...Won't It...(???)...Yeah, Bound To Be.)'

One, I have been rejected by Waterstones for a part-time job, 23 hours a week (inc weekends)x minimum wage = £133.40 per week before tax. How did I feel about this? Well, I like the idea of working in a bookshop, because of the books. But the hours were a bit tricky, given I have much else to cram in, so I wasn't unduly upset. I wreak my revenge by purchasing all my bookly requirements from Amazon...mwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!

Two, my old head of department e-mailed. Would I be interested in delivering one-to-one tuition? 6 hours a day x £25 an hour = £125 a day before tax. Definitely one day a week, possibly 2. So less than half the Waterstones hours but nearly double the pay. Well, even I could do the Maths on that one. Plus I get to choose my days.

Three, the visit to the Harry Edwards Healing Sanctuary Open Day has resulted in my application to follow their Level 2 Practitioner Course Certificate in Spiritual Healing. It's a two year course, part-taught, part self-study. It'll involve a bit of trekking but feels both good and right. So the dilemma between Reiki and Spiritual Healing has been resolved by the spur-of-the-moment visit plus an article in a magazine I was given whilst I was there entitled 'What's the difference between Reiki and Spiritual Healing?'

Four, I wrote down how I was feeling yesterday morning, because for some bizarre reason I got up miserable as sin. I felt disjointed, flat and mean. Then I pulled three Tarot cards for myself. The first was 'Schizophrenia,' the second was 'The Miser.' Okay, I said, I know this - I've just written it down - look. What do I do about it? And I pulled a third card which was 'Playfulness.' At lunchtime, my grand-daughter arrived for a visit and I spent the afternoon playing silly baby games. By the evening I was out and about, visiting a friend who has a birthday today, and chanelling some healing for her ancient labrador, who fell so fast asleep on my feet that I thought he'd died. Oops, I thought. Not an auspicious start to the holistic therapy malarkey. 'Only joking!' said the labrador, lifting his head, wagging his tail and giving me a wide-mouthed labrador smile.

Five, I've found a house that makes my heart leap. It's more than we can afford, well, not too much more. It is, as they say, do-able, although I'm not sure Andy agrees. So saving is in order. And if it's our house, then the money will be found. And if it takes a couple of years or so, then the house will either be sold, then put up for sale again, however many times it takes until we can catch up with it, or it will wait for us.

Six, I've started a distance healing list because I was told to. Last night. Lit a candle. Meditated. Ignored all cats who suddenly found me to be the most interesting thing in the Universe. Didn't set fire to house. This was good.

And on Sunday we went for a ride in a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud to a Rolls Royce rally 'n' picnic do. Which was also good. And made me want to buy a Volkswagen Camper van. No idea why, but that's life at the moment!

Holistic Hens

The hens have got wind of my plans to develop a career in holistic therapy.

'We can help!' they said, when I went out to greet the sun with them yesterday morning.
'Oh really?' I said, filling their water bowls and topping up their food, as yet another heatwave day presented itself over the horizon.
'And what are you wearing exactly?' asked Mrs Miggins. 'They're very distracting.'
'They are my new jimjams,' I said. 'Do you like them?'
'You look ridiculous,' said Miggins.
'Oh, I don't know,' said Mrs Pumphrey, who lives, as you know, at the cutting edge of fashion. 'I rather like the huge pink and blue dots on the trousers. And the massive bow on the left bosom is rather fetching in a Danny La Rue kind of way.'
'More like Coco the Clown,' snorted Miggins. 'Aren't you afraid you're going to choke on it in the middle of the night?'
'No,' I said, hotly. But secretly I was.

'Anyway,' said Mrs Miggins, once she had partaken of a handful of breakfast cereal followed by a goodly pile of dandelion leaves (good for the bladder, don't you know), 'about our holistic therapy
business...'
'Our holistic therapy business?' I said.
'Good, I'm glad we've got that settled,' said Miggins.
'You have a blob of dandelion leaf on your beak; shall I peck it off?' said Mrs Slocombe, helpfully.
'Come near me with that beak and I'll break your wings,' said Mrs Miggins, 'but do tell our holistic therapy partner about your beak related therapy.'

'Well, 'said Mrs Slocombe, 'it's quite revolutionary...'
'I'll bet it is,' I said.
'It's called Pecku-puncture,' said Mrs Slocombe.
'Don't tell me,' I said, 'you get to peck people silly with that naughty feather pecking beak of yours.'
'Oh, you've already heard of it?' said Mrs Slocombe, somewhat surprised.
'Lucky guess,' I said. 'And I'm not so sure it's going to be very relaxing or therapeutic for my clients to be pecked to within an inch of their sanity by a chicken.'
'Well, there's always the slightly gentler form - acupeckture,' said Slocombe.

'I want to tell her about my ideas,' said Mrs Pumphrey, who was already wandering around in a mystical way in her Madame Arcarti outfit.
'Tarot?' I said.
'Yes,' said Mrs Pumphrey, 'but with a subtle twist.'
'And that twist would be?' I said.
'Gin and tonic,' said Mrs Pumphrey. 'Very relaxing, and I should know.'

'Right, I'm going in for breakfast,' I said. 'And I'm taking my pyjamas with me.'
'But wait!' called Mrs Miggins, as I beat a hasty retreat. 'We haven't told you about the special herbs we're growing behind the South Wing gazebo.'
'I don't want to hear anything about special herbs,' I said, sticking my fingers in my ears. 'Tra-la-la-la-LA!!!!!!!!'

Anyway, I have located courses on aromatherapy, reflexology, diet and nutrition, Indian head massage and Reiki. I think that will do for starters.

Chickens not included.

Bits and Pieces

Today, we added a super to the hive. After a week of hot weather, where the bees have been busy from six in the morning to gone nine at night, I had my suspicions that when we did our hive inspection today, we would find the brood box full to bursting and indeed we did!

From 10,000 bees four weeks ago, I reckon we are nearly up to complete capacity, nearing 40-50,000 bees. So we added a super and will be agog with anticipation until next weekend when we can have a peep at how productive the ladies have been with the super. They are certainly working very hard indeed. Oh, and we saw a baby bee being born today, which is just the most exciting thing and weirdly cute, too.

On another stingy insect note, Pandora and Phoebe both managed to get stung by the same wasp this afternoon. I was in the garden hanging out washing, when I heard a nasty buzzing. I thought, hang on, that can't be a Malarkey bee pestering me, surely? I'm far away from their hive, and even in this heat they are being remarkably placid - we managed to do the hive inspection sans smoker today, which is just as well because it went out within 5 minutes of being lit. The buzzing didn't stop, so I thought I'd step inside a while until the wasp, for that's what it was, buzzed off.

Unfortunately, said wasp persisted in following me into the house, then out of the house, then back into the house as I leapt in and out of the back door like a loon trying to maintain an air of calm so as to avoid being stung. And even more unfortunately, Pandora decided to help by pouncing on the wasp, catching it between her paws where it promptly stung her on her kitten cheek. And then, as she rushed off not quite knowing what to do with herself, Phoebe wandered into the fray and got stung on the paw. Tybalt came to have a go, too, but lucky for him he isn't hard enough. By now, my inner calm had given way to outer shrieking which brought Leane and Kayleigh, who were visiting, into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about.

'Into my writing room,' I yelled, which is where all the cats had dashed towards in varying amounts of pain, and I bundled them both, and me, into safety, slamming the door behind us and leaving Andy in the kitchen to deal with the intruder.

There was a bit of shouting, and then the shouting stopped so I opened the door a crack.
'Has it gone?' I called.
'No!' Andy resumed the shouting. I felt I ought to go and assist so I dashed through the door and between us, we managed to manouevre the wasp behind the kitchen blind and out of the window.

Phew! Andy then had to nip to his surgery to get some medication for Pandora and Phoebe, and my dislike of wasps grew even more, because now I am fretting there is a renegade mob of them holding out in a nest somewhere waiting to rob the Malarkey bees of their honey stores in the Autumn.

But I shall be there, ready to defend our bees in whatever way I can. Although I suspect the cats will be way, way behind me.

Meanwhile, beans and tomatoes are growing flowers, as are the potatoes. I think we'll be having a lettuce glut in a couple of weeks' time. And Mrs Slocombe's lady-bits are now where they should be and she's been welcomed back into the flock by Mrs Pumphrey towering over her, wings akimbo, and saying, 'Just watch it, you!'

On the 'Denise's New Career Plan' front, I have purchased two pairs of uniform trousers (wide leg linen jobbies to allow for comfort and felxibility), and three relaxation CDs. I listened to one of them this morning, and it went okay until someone started singing, or rather chanting in a 'umm, diddle, ummmmmmm, ummmmm,' way. Which I wasn't keen on, because personally, if I was having an aromatherapy massage, or reflexology treatment, any ummmm diddle umming would tick me off something chronic. I hope the other two CDs prove devoid of the human voice.

I have been reading a 'How to Set Up An Holistic Therapy Business' book, which is fascinating, exciting and a little bit scary. I have found three courses to sign up to, and it seems I can register with the Federation of Holistic Therapists because of the qualifications I have already.

And now I am trying to think of a name for my business. I have three so far - The Poppy Field, Forget-Me-Not and Daisy Daisy. There's a bit of theme happening here vis a vis one of my favourite things of all time (flowers, people; come on keep up!), but I'll bide a while for some divine inspiration before I get the business cards and leaflets printed.

Busy weekend so far. Hope yours is busy too, in the most satisfying, productive and non-waspy knid of way.