Bardessono Spa
Yountville 
California

Lollygagging about as dove-white cloudlets paint a bluebird blue Napa sky is an art in which I excel. And a lime-colored cabana at the edge of Bardessono’s second floor swimming pool is the box seat at center field.

Relaxing? Very. But nothing like what was waiting for me in my room.

There Michelle B, the lead therapist, was setting up the massage table that comes out of the back wall of the oversized dressing area.

Dappling shade of the Japanese maple out the picture window or the calm of candle-lit darkness? My choice. Michelle lowered the automatic shades, switched on a piano and violin piece and set flame to the gently-scented candles. I crawled onto the spa table.

"Shall I turn down the music?" Michelle asked. "Are the bolsters comfortable?" she continued, adjusting the one under my knees. "Anything needed special attention?"

Frankly very little in my body didn't hurt, but I replied, "Just whatever seems tight."

When all was ready, Michelle was quiet for a moment then took a deep breath and placed her hands on my feet.

"Ahhhh," I thought, relaxing, "This is going to be right nice."

Michelle's long velvet hands moved with a ballerina’s grace. The pressure of her touch was potent, but she didn’t attempt to bully the knots out of my muscles. There was a rhythm to her touch. She teased and coaxed my muscles, melting them into a soft-dough-rising state.

She found precisely where the problem was in my right leg—definitely today’s twisted sister. With each expert stroke my big toe prickled, as the curdled, rotten energy moved out.

Next, she worked my back with her whole arms. They felt like benevolent velvet snakes sliding over my shoulders and down my spine. When she reached my lower back, her fingers and hands started moving separately, yet symphoniously.

As the shackles fell from my rib cage, I could draw twice as much air with each breath.

It felt like a massage I’d had in India where there were two therapists working on me in harmony.

But at Bardessono, it’s only Michelle—and her magical mystery fingers.

Kate Crawford    October, 2009