Saliva on My Back

Obviously I don't need to write about each time I prune olives, as it's pretty standard. I experienced something unorthodox yesterday (Friday), and must share. You're probably going to scan through to find out where the "Saliva on My Back" comes into play, but bear with me. I'm on a foreign computer and can only type for so long until my fingers give up.

I was having one of those days, where my back wasn't cooperating with me on anything, and work lulled on and on, until I couldn't do much of anything. Even my appetite was affected. NO! The monstrosity!

Well, just so happens that Lyne, who has been having shoulder issues for months, was going to see a "specialist" that very night! She had tried doctor visits, but they kept pushing her back and wanted an extra examination each time. She had heard of a healer from a friend who continually swears by her, and decided to give it a try. She offered the chance for me to attend, and although at first I was skeptical (still am, really), I consented because I thought, at the very least it will be an experience. And that it was.

It took us just 15 minutes to get there, a little area out of the town. Apparently this folk healer (not foal killer, which would have been great to profit from for some meat), works from 5 pm to 8 pm on certain days. We're the first ones there and were ushered in a few minutes past 5. We took seats inside a room slightly decorated with Catholic murals and pictures, with a desk topped with a plethora of outdated magazines. I filled my time reading about 2009 Sandra Bullock's thoughts on fashion, in Spanish. I wonder what she thinks, now? Oh that's right, it's unimportant and irrelevant. She does take some good pictures, though. Anyway, a long while later, after she finished with a couple people, I was brought in with Lyne to help translate. The room was a small one, filled with hundreds of religious figurines and framed pictures. I'm told to lie face down on a table, and after a few questions she told me I have two crossed vertebrae, which was surprisingly true, as I know since the pain is in the same area it was when I went to the chiropractor two years ago. She dripped something on various parts of my back whilst whispering sweet Catalan nothings to my spine, then does a light massage with spit as her oil. Yeah! Talk about a way to relax your patient! No, it was fine, I'm filthy here anyway. I just showered, but last night I hadn't properly showered in over a week. Anyway, she told me to halt the work I specifically came here to do, and for 2 HOURS a night for 9 nights, put hot, cooked chick peas (garbanzos) in the curve of my affected area. We're going to try it, because, well, why not? If it works, that will be the strangest way to cure the ailment that's afflicted me for years, and if it doesn't, I waste 18 hours and a whole lot of hummus. I love hummus, too, so this better not be all for naught. Like, I said, I'm TRYING not to be skeptical! No comments on this trial, please. I won't allow it. One funny memory, her asking Lyne in Catalan if I have family, and when answered with the affirmative and that they're in America, she shakes her head and says I'm a poor fellow and she feels bad for me. Lyne had to explain I wasn't her adopted kid.

Also, not only am I typing on a "stylized" keyboard, but am half blind since this morning when I stabbed my eye with an olive branch (how ironic that the symbol of peace caused me this pain!) that broke my contact and rendered my subsequent work and this blog much more "AARR"duous.