Carol’s Column

Oozing oil from every pore

ST VALENTINE’S DAY came a week early for me this year. I gave myself Arthur Chambers whom I found while looking for my dentist.

There he was, a few doors along, Arthur Chambers — Aromatherapist. What on earth was an aromatherapist I wondered as I entered the place of drillings and fillings.

It sounded tantalising. My belly dancing grandmother from Stellenbosch had a well-known saying “Life is short, so go for it!” I immediately phoned Arthur Chambers and booked an appointment for an aromatherapeutic body massage.

Fuel

I did not inform my family beforehand. Why give them fuel for the avalanche of witty repartee that would drop like pearls from the mouths of warthogs.

“Don’t rush to get here,” a charming Arthur Chambers said to me over the phone. “Arrive relaxed.”

He was not to know that my appointment with odorous oils would be sandwiched between a dash to Pretoria and a cat flu appointment.

I dressed for my aromatherapy appointment with care in a shocking pink dress, matching shoes and undies. After all, it is not every day that I indulge in such things.

Out-of-breath, my complexion toning in with my dress, I was late for my appointment.

“No matter,” said Arthur Chambers, a leprechaun of a man with cobalt eyes and wide smile. He put me at ease.

I was a little apprehensive, you understand. What actually was aromatherapy?

“It is the art of healing through the use of pure plant oils,” Arthur informed me. “I use different oils for different people at different times.”

He ushered me towards the changing booth where I hung my pink ensemble on a hook and appeared for battle like a beached whale in a frilly gown.

A gentle Arthur instructed me to sit as he explained aromatherapy in more detail.

“Healing is the balancing of energies,” he said as he massaged my aching, taut neck.

Oils

“I buy my oils direct from Grasse in France,” he said, “they are pure, the very best.

A fascinating discourse followed and I inhaled oils by the nostrilful. Juniper, rosemary, lemon, bergamot, orange blossom, camomile, hyssop. The wonderful fragrances wafted past my olfactory organ and I was in a state of happy euphoria even before we’d started.

Arthur sprinkled a few drops of bergamot on a paper towel and lay me down, my nose in close contact with the bergamot.

“I massage by instinct,” he said as his eyes closed and his hand hovered over the oils. Lavender, calary sage, hyssop and basil — these he mixed with almond oil.

And then he began to massage and rub.

Ah. Such joy. I now knew why Cleopatra insisted on eight body massages a day, inbetween Caesar, Anthony and the asses’ milk baths. Arthur’s hands magically massaged away my aches and pains.

The use of oils stimulates the body, the mind, the circulation. They ease tension and are also reputed to have great healing powers. From coughs to flatulence to quinsy to scrofula — there’s an oil to help you in your ailment. And then there are the oils famous for their aphrodisiacal properties.

Kneecaps

I’m not sure what was happening to my energies, but I do know they were enjoying every bit of body massage while even my kneecaps and joints relaxed.

Some time during the massage, I wondered why it had taken me so many years to discover aromatherapy.

I floated home — the odour of oils all around me.

“What’s that smell of spare ribs?” my daughter said as she kissed me hello.

The dogs tried to eat me.

“Something stinks around here,” muttered my third son as he walked past.

My spouse sniffed the air and announced “Ah, roast lamb for dinner.”

That night, instead of falling, exhausted, into bed at eight, I leapt around the house like an autumn chicken.

“Goodness,” my husband remarked, “such energy, what’s hit you suddenly?”

I smiled a secret smile with my aromatherapeutically oiled and massaged facial muscles.

That’s a secret between my aromatherapist and me.

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