Yesterday, I treated myself to a massage. I've been on Spring Break and, since I did so much traveling in February and the first week of March (see "MIA" post), I opted to do things closer to home - a stay-cation, if you will. Of course, Florida decides to participate in winter the week of Spring Break 2017 and it was quite chilly as I pulled into the parking lot of Payne Chiropractic and Wellness Center. After checking in, the lovely, young massage therapist directed me to the dimly-lighted room where 60 minutes of deep tissue nirvana awaited me. I slipped into something more comfortable - the sheets and blankets of a soft, yet firm, massage table - and as I settled myself on the table and beneath the weight of the blankets, a warm feeling came over me. Literally. Ah, do your worst Florida winter! I was safely cocooned within a gentle haze of radiant heat. The massage therapist had not made it back into the room - obviously holding to the belief that "Some things can not be unseen" and was allowing me plenty of time to situate myself beneath the covers. As I lay there, face down, listening to the new age melodies snug as the proverbial bug, I allowed my mind to wander and where did it go? To the Friends episode where Ross thinks he's going to be massaging a beautiful, nubile, FIRM woman, but ends up massaging her much older - and SOFTER - dad. With wooden spoons. And then my mind turned around and looked at me. And wiggled its eyebrows with an accusatory grin. And then I started giggling. And the jiggling of all of this hunka hunka burnin' love beneath the heavy blankets only served to remind me of the courage and passion that must certainly live in the heart of the lovely, young massage therapist waiting just outside the door. Courage and passion keep us doing the hard things, the things that no one else can imagine themselves doing in any given circumstance. I am thankful for those people with the courage and the passion to climb the poles to get the electricity back on, to work in the hospital Emergency Room on the fourth of July, to drive the big rigs cross-country to deliver the goods, and to massage, with their bare hands, one and all - young or old, firm or soft, thin or thick, smooth or hairy. So here's to my brave massage therapist and her strong hands willing and ready to pummel my deep tissue into submission. And here's to anyone else who is following his/her passion with courage - and without wooden spoons.