More than a manicure

Part of getting ready to travel to Concordia is taking care of the spring sprucing up of self - you know, getting a haircut - short for summer - having a real manicure, not just a self inflicted one. Shedding the winter dryness, letting spring sweep though all aspects of your being. So Saturday, while Drew was still fast asleep, I schlepped over to the mall (just around the corner from my apartment) and visited the Nail Salon. I signed in and waited for the next available manicurist to call my name.

Despite the holiday weekend, they were bustling. Everyone was all business, pummeling customers through as efficiently as possible without sacrificing quality. Next. Next. Next. It was OK, I wasn't interested in pampering myself, just in taking care of things. My eyes wandered for the umpteenth time over the wall of nail polish bottles, trying in vain to find the least offensive color. Not that I normally have a problem picking a color, just that I wasn't getting ready for a concert or some special event where I knew the color of the outfit I would be wearing. I really was interested not in looking gaudy or attracting attention or matching an outfit, but in strengthening my nails that are so worn from working in the clubhouse cleaning bathrooms and scrubbing gunk off stuff.

While I was concentrating on the wall, a young lady appeared to my right and said, "You pick color?" I almost jumped since I had not seen her approach. "No," I sighed. "I would rather not pick a color." "OK," she said. "Just plain. Come with me." That was easy. I can do just plain. She began with the pedicure first, and started to turn on the massage part of the chair, and I stopped her. "No massage," I said, too tired to deal with a lot of being jostled about and hearing the noisy humming of the motor. "You easy,"she replied. "I like easy. What you name?"

"Esther," I said. "What's your name?"

"Liu." I had to ask her to say it three times before I got it (she was wearing a face mask that muffled her voice some).

I'm not sure just when we began to connect, but as she drew the warm water and slathered my feet with lotions, I relaxed. It felt so good to have someone touch me with care and I appreciated her attentions. She appreciated being appreciated. I was not there to be waited on or expecting to be treated like some kind of princess. I was just a tired work-worn body who normally doesn't get this sort of treat, and I noticed each ministration of care with gratefulness.

As the young lady worked, I glanced around. The other women there were having much more complicated things done - acrylic nails, special designs, etc. They were fussing about little details, in a diva-like manner. Its not like they were paying a small fortune for the service, but you would have thought thousands were riding on the outcome. There were few smiles, and much scrambling of workers to placate them.

I closed my eyes and let Liu move me about, handling the details with tender care. I let my tiredness simply be there, not trying to hide it or make excuses. She saw it and acted accordingly. I never mentioned that I had cancer, or that I had had a demanding week or that I was tired. She seemed to either know, or knew enough to not need the details. For such a young person, she was very astute. She became unconcerned with the queue of customers waiting. She was not paying any attention to the pressure of business.

We had entered another reality, one hard to explain. I have experienced this level of gentle loving care when I was taking care of my boys, especially when they were very young or very sick. I did this sort of tender massage for my Grandmother when she was so ill, and for my friend Leslie when she was in the hospital after her cancer surgery, long before I ever thought I would find myself facing cancer. It is an inexplicable bonding between two beings when neither one is either demanding or being dutiful. It is a free giving of self to someone who appreciates and needs a bit of TLC. And it makes time and reality take a back seat to simple kindness.

When I looked into her eyes, I saw love and concern. I wondered if she had experienced a family member who was dealing with health issues and had learned the importance of encouraging through gentle touch. It didn't really matter. She understood. She did what she knew was needed. That spoke volumes. After she completed the feet, we moved to the hands part. She took the same care with my hands as she had with my feet, with the added luxury of music! I had shut my eyes partly to avoid the bright lamp that helped Liu see exactly where to trim the dead skin and where the quick flesh was.

As she held my hand, she began humming. Did she know I was a music lover, a singer, a musician? Did she realize how amazing this gift would be for me? It was a quiet little song, very Oriental in nature, and extremely soothing. As I listened with pleasure, she became bolder and added words. I didn't understand them, but I could sure imagine what the song must be about. Suddenly she forgot that we were smack in the middle of a busy nail salon. It was just she and I together experiencing the healing of the moment. She sang unabashedly and beautifully, repeating the little song over and over until I could hum it. And I did hum along, adding words when it was repetitious enough for me to anticipate them. I'm not sure when the other salon employees joined in, but one by one, they added their voices to Liu's and mine, first the deep bass of the operator next to us, then a timid tenor across the aisle, followed by the girls near the front.

No one stopped working, but *everyone* who worked in the salon joined in. Over and over we sang the beautiful little song, the whole salon part of the venture, including the boss who had been in the back room. He came out and stood near the cash register, nodding and smiling. The tenderness of the song overcame the gaudy mall music that filtered into the salon, and the noise of the crowds racing back and forth in front of the doorway. We drowned out the whining of the tired children being dragged along and the crying of the babies begging to be held. For a good ten minutes we sang together, sharing the sound, sharing the zeal, sharing the joy of moving beyond the plane of the ordinary into the extraordinary. The other salon customers looked about perplexed, not sure what to make of it, not knowing whether to join in or what. And slowly, just as imperceptibly as it had begun, the song died away as if it had not occurred, until it was just Liu finishing the manicure, humming softly.

It was magic.

It was way more than I had expected.

It was much, much more than plain.

It was the most amazing manicure I have ever experienced.

I wandered out of the salon lighthearted and filled with joy and wonder. I never asked what the song meant. It was too precious and rare a moment to destroy with mundane words. But I will carry Liu's courageous gift in my heart for a very long time.