Moving: Are You An Intelligent Mover?

Then You Can Be In A New Home In A 12 Pack Of Beer

Moving dragging you down? Ready to pitch out boxes before you've even begun? Overwhelmed with all that needs to be done? Well, don't be discouraged. Follow these easy, practical steps. Broken down into twelve sections, each time you complete a chapter, reward yourself with a beer, wine, or whatever treat you know you deserve.

See your move as a step-by-step adventure, not a time of panic.

Own Your Massage

Achieving Maximum Health And Bliss For Your Body

Receiving a massage is a dive into health, relaxation, and self-care. It is the definition of nurturing your mind, body and soul. Read this book to ensure you are getting the most out of your personal retreat. You deserve this much peace, harmony, and wholesome nourishment. Bliss out!

What Kind Of Peanut Butter Is Your Massage?

For The Massage Therapist 

Who Wants The Best

Ready to give your clientele the best you have to offer? Use these tips and practical knowledge with what you already to know to create optimal health and comfort. You shine now, shine even brighter after reading this book.

Are You An Intelligent Massage Therapist?

Then You Need To Be Massaging At A Luxury Day Spa

Click for purchase:

From how to get your first massage job, to working in an upscale environment, this book has everything needed for the therapist entering the field. Written to be easily understood, yet thoroughly examining what steps to undertake. 

Massage is a loving, giving line of work. Remember to surround yourself in a peaceful work space so that you can pass on your tranquil mood to a society in want of a calming retreat. Enjoy where you serve others!

Mine Are Better

There is a subject of which I ignore because it will make people miserable. But, it has to be said.

My sons are better than your kids.They have a more intellectual use of sarcasm, have more experience with an often inept mother, understand this new-fangled thing called technology, and can text faster than I can think. Oh, and there's all that sentimental stuff like truly being kind, thoughtful and beautiful human beings. Whomever they marry is going to be blessed with an actual good man.

Look, it's okay to lament and whine on the subject. You may even be protesting that this is an untrue fact. But it will be easier on both of us if you simply acknowledge the truth: mine are better than yours. Get over it.

Other facts you may try to deny like a head-hiding ostrich? That being a writer is the best profession of the universe. As my better-than-your-kid once told me, "Mom, you get to make-up the plot however you want. It's your story." See, told you he was awesome and that I have the preferred career.

What else do I have that's better than what you have? Well, this landed in our backyard this morning: a rainbow. And, to make it better than any neon colored arc that may have grazed through your property, it landed on our nectarine tree. You know, the one that's planted over the burial spot of our dear doggie, Sydney. Bet you never had a rainbow land on your dog's grave.

Please, don't despair. You have much to appreciate. You get to breathe, touch flowers, and live in a world in which cats exist (just ask a cat, they'll let you know what an honor it is for you). You can read, know the outcome of two plus two, and have tasted sea salt, chocolate covered caramels. Ice cream has been invented, fuzzy slippers are a part of life, and moon views change every night.

As we were on the subject of animals (well, kind of, anyway) yesterday was National Penguin Awareness Day. Were you aware of the mind-boggling fact that Emperor penguins can stay underwater for over twenty-two minutes? I can't even run in a circle for that long, can you? Plus, the black and white non-flyers have been spotted over one thousand, seven hundred feet below sea level. So, in my mathologist brain, I have figured out that they must be able to get down there in ten minutes, have two minutes to swim, and then get back to air space in the remaining ten minutes. They do not suffer from the bends (if you have never been SCUBA diving, google what that means), inner ear blow out, or popping eyeballs.

I will concede that the parents of penguins are just about as blessed with prodigies as I am.

In the hopes that you do not suffer self-esteem issues after learning of my superior sons, I will grant you this. Most likely, your house is cleaner than mine, you probably are in possession of matching glassware, and have an inkling of fashion styles of the current decade, unlike myself. If you can balance a checkbook, you have one-upped me to the extreme. Text and talk at the same time? You've left me behind in a trail of binary dust.

If we meet on the streets, don't bring up the secret fact that I am a slob at eating tacos. And I will refrain from gloating about my boys.

It's winter time. Buy this book and read it to your kids:

Scout and Ellie, The Ski Resort 

In all humility,

Heather Leigh

Dog Head Void Brings Bliss

There was an article recently about the lack of thinking that goes through a dog's mind. Although I am a 'cat' person, the dog's way of empty thought ties us together. This morning, as every morning for over fifteen years, I awoke to the much anticipated, overwhelming joy of breakfast smoothie: frozen fruit and lemonade. Fifteen years. Every morning. Still euphoric.

It gets me giddy just contemplating the noise of the blender joining the two into one. Like the sound of dog food hitting the bowl. Does life get any better? Turns out it does. The day ended with a glass of Bordeaux and a sliver of tiramisu. There must have been something that happened between the two events, but after those heavenly blessings--who cares?

And the apple does not fall far from the tree. After several days in ICU, Dad was sent back home today. Not only is he doing better, he's performing in a drumming gig tomorrow night. The sound of beating sticks is too much for my paternal lineage to resist. It may take an ambulance to get him there, but he must beat on drums. Addicted like a golden retriever to a thrown tennis ball. But then, this is rock and roll.

What are your ties to the empty brain of the canine? What overly simplistic hobby, job, or ritual sets your tongue to flop out your mouth? I'm pretty sure if you don't have something, you must live the bleakest of lives. A desert of monotony. Moral decay. Or, gasp, a dog hater of some kind. If this is you, for goodness sake, get help. There must be a group you could join: watching rocks crumble, plucking thorns from roses, curling. Dogs will love you when you get to their level of life enjoyments. You will always have something to bark about with them.

When the boys were little, the grandest joy was the cardboard box. Yes, this is a common one with kids. But these two stepped it up a notch into something dangerous. Again, the apple does not fall far.
Before parenting became my favorite part of life, I never dreamt this would be a needful House Rule:

You Are Not Allowed To Wear A Box On Your Head

At first glance, you may assume that I was a miscreant mother. Out to destroy joy, and childhood laughter. Please, hear me out. When two energetic boys run through the house, unable to see and knocking over everything in their path, things get broken. Many things. Many, many things. Hence, the House Rule. Now, does that remind you of a pack of playful St. Bernard puppies? Did to me too.

You must be wondering about our puppers. Their kind of bliss is more complicated than the average dog. There is the morning trip to the coffee shop where all patrons know them and stop to pet the attention starved mongrels. Breakfast of dog chow and raw hamburger--scrumdidiliumptious. Mid-morning run at the beach. Nap. Bark at passing dogs while peering out the living room window. Nap. Run around backyard, wrestle, argue with neighbor dogs through the fence. Nap. Second walk around farm behind our house. Nap. Dinner, complete with biscuits. Be petted. Sleep. Repeat next day.

Wow, no wonder dogs have no time to think. Too much to do in one day. I'm glad my day is less full. I can barely handle getting a perfect balance of lemonade and berries. 

You know who can accomplish more than a Jack Russell Terrier in a day and still laugh? Ellie, the elephant with attitude living in Scout's backyard. A must read for all who know about mindless giggles.

Click to giddy laughter and joy

Heather Leigh,

Your favorite, empty-headed author 

The Vice and The Somersault

I have a weekly vice  of a glass bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola. It is bottled in Mexico, hence our family  nickname for it. Aren't we intelligent? The taste is better than the plastic one of the States because pressed sand tastes better than oil-produced plastic. The sweetener is cane sugar, not yucky high fructose corn syrup. The glass shape is pretty and easy to grip. It is charming to look at. Inviting. Old School.

When I deposited money at the bank two days ago, I made certain to retain two one dollar bills, so I would be ready to buy my unhealthy addiction on the way home from Wednesday morning Laughter Yoga. I drank the soda with left overs from last night: Mongolian BBQ at Wasaki's restaurant in the south part of Arcata. As this was not quite enough to satiate my hunger, I also fried a stone ground corn tortilla and filled it with Daiya non-dairy cheddar cheese. Then, I sat down and started reading The New York Times Magazine article about art becoming a necessity only if it related to current worldly events, or gave a 'message' that would cram more personal growth down your throat.

This got me thinking about Duncan's Somersault. I keep this scene in my mind's catalogue under 'events that keep me an appreciator of the pleasures of the simple things in life'.

Once a year, at the K-8th grade charter school that my boys attended, there was a wonderful Talent Show. Wonderful in talent, but more so because of the wildly passionate, supportive audience of parents and staff.

Duncan, age six, got up on stage in his new white belt karate uniform. Laying out a yoga mat, he crouched down, tucked his head, and did a somersault. Then, he got up and bowed to the crowd. As we did for every act, we clapped, cheered, and stomped our feet in appreciation. He rolled back up his mat, and left the stage as the noise continued.

He was not Pavarotti's granddaughter wowing us with perfect pitch opera, not a young Michael Jackson belting out ABC 123, nor a twelve year old addressing the UN about Climate Change. He was our Duncan, doing his thing.

While you go about our life dreaming of the big things you are missing out on, remember to:

relish your mini vices

 taste the good food in your mouth 

keep a running list of simple pleasures in your life

   Please share in the comment section below what your good stuff is.

One of the best ways to experience a simple pleasure that is a virtue, not a vice is massage. 

Maximize your relaxation:

Click, purchase and read to relax

Heather Leigh,

Simple Lover of Simple Pleasures