New thing #40: Voilà! Soufflé

One of the things on my short list when I started this project was to channel my inner Julia Child and make a soufflé. I really want to be a better cook than I am, and this seemed like a nice challenge. I was tempted to make a chocolate soufflé, but I decided to stick to the classics instead. I had this recipe, and what better way to honor a traditional French dish than with a mixture of Italian and Swiss cheeses?

Senior was out of town, but both The Boy and The Girl were home on a weekday night. This is a rare occurrence and deserving of a special occasion meal. Unfortunately I didn’t have most of the key ingredients. I headed out to the grocery store, but I don’t seem to be physically able to enter a Kroger without filling a cart. By the time I got home it was after 8:00 pm and both had eaten. Undeterred, I got out my utensils, put on a fancy polka-dotted apron (really) and pre-heated the oven.

Soufflés are actually pretty easy to make! It’s basically a white sauce with cheese and eggs. My Food Network addiction finally paid off as I had no problem thickening my sauce, grating the cheese, separating and tempering egg yolks and beating egg whites into beautiful tall foamy peaks. Everything folded together nicely, and in less than 20 minutes I had six ramekins ready to go in the oven.

I reminisced while I cooked. My mother’s mother was a home economics teacher, but she was not the warm fuzzy type that liked to cook with her grandchildren. My strongest memory of her is being told to get my hair out of my face. Mom cooked to please my father, who felt that salt was the only necessary seasoning. Spaghetti sauce was a can of undiluted condensed tomato soup, salad dressing was defrosted lemonade concentrate, and casseroles were barely tolerated. Now, sometimes meals were more exciting. At least once a summer my dad would bring home live lobsters and we’d feast. On occasion we ate stuffed beef heart, venison stew, and roast duck. But a typical dinner at our house was plain meat, boiled potatoes and frozen vegetables all cooked into submission and served swimming in butter and salt. It's no wonder that exotic foods would become a passion in my adult life.

My creation

Since I’ve never eaten a soufflé, I had no idea how they should look on the inside or how they should taste. When the timer went off, I took one out of the oven to check for doneness. The Girl and I dug in our spoons, but the middle hadn’t set. She accused me of trying to give them salmonella, and The Boy refused to even try it. But after another five minutes they were done and beautifully tall. We admired the golden brown crust. We poked them and watched them deflate. We entertained ourselves by calling out "Ermahgerd! Serfler!!" The only part we didn’t really enjoy was eating them. 

Basically, a soufflé tastes like eggs. Hot, cheesy, kinda wet scrambled eggs. It would be a great choice for a Sunday brunch or as a light dinner with a salad and a glass of wine. It was not a great choice for college-age kids who had already filled up on cereal and Sweetarts, and were on their way out for the evening. Nevertheless, my inner Julia was satisfied.

New thing #39: Fit body wrap

Fit body wrap review from an actual consumer: A month or so ago I snapped up a Groupon offer for a 60-minute Fit body-wrap session, where "clients cloak themselves in a soothing wrap that aims to burn up to 1,400 calories while administering infrared heat to quell aches, relieve pains, and detoxify the body". Sounds awesome, right? I pictured myself in a beautiful spa-like setting, sipping Chardonnay and listening to soothing music while attentive spa boys swathed me in soft linens that had been soaked in aromatic herbal concoctions.

The "spa" had a funny name - it was a "Hair and Skin Center". This probably should have been my first clue. I arrived for my appointment in a driving rainstorm. The office was located in one of those cozy brick office parks that looks like a condo association, complete with decorative window shutters and trendy landscaping. I was the only sucker client in the waiting room. A friendly receptionist had me fill out a short, intrusive medical form then led me to a small beige room to wait for the expert staff who would begin my treatment. There was an exam table along the far wall, which was covered with what I can only describe as a human-size insulated lunch bag. The rest of the room was pure doctor's office decor. The only spa-like touches were a calla lily print in a gold frame and two fluffy pillows covered with a blue towel . A big white floor fan was set up near the exam table. 

The "expert staff" turned out to be the receptionist, who had now donned a white lab coat. She handed me a package containing a giant plastic bodysuit complete with attached booties. I shook it out and held it up. Made from a flimsy, transparent waxed-papery material, it would have been a perfect fit if I was seven feet tall. Next she gave me a small can of iFit spray.  I was supposed to apply it liberally to my 'problem areas' before the treatment to jumpstart the fat-burning process . I looked dubiously at the tiny little can, then at the size of my problem areas, then back at the can.  Meanwhile she set the controls on a monitor that was attached to the exam table. The system would pre-heat the human-size insulated lunch bag to optimal temperature, and then hold the heat during the 60-minute session. She ran through a short list of instructions and left, promising to be back in ten minutes to see how I was doing.

I quickly stripped down and doused myself with the contents of the can of iFit spray, about enough to cover my kneecaps.  It smelled exactly like Febreeze. Then I dressed in the giant sandwich bag suit, slid my arms into a pair of insulated cuffs, and crawled into the giant lunch bag. There were two flaps at the top of the bag that I never could quite figure out. I put one over my shoulder and stuck the other somewhere by my right ear, then laid back and waited for something to happen. It didn't take long for the lunch bag to reach optimum roasting temperature. After a few minutes I noticed a faint, vaguely familiar rubbery smell. I realized that I had forgotten to take a Band-Aid off my heel, which was now melting into a permanent blister barrier.

Where is my spa boy?

Thirty minutes later the tech stuck her head in the room, apologizing for forgetting about me. By now I was feeling really sweaty and quite relaxed. I handed her my cell phone and asked her to take a picture for my blog. Then she shut off the lights and left me to finish roasting. Just as I was feeling woozy enough to start hallucinating, the monitor beeped and I was done. I climbed out of the lunch bag and stripped off the now-sticky sandwich bag suit. They didn't have shower facilities so my only option was to stand in front of the fan while using the towel to dry off. They did offer a much-appreciated array of deodorant and body spray (a choice between two scents, Monkey Chow or Fermented Soy), and bottled water to drink. I got dressed and fluffed my sweaty hair in the reflection of the glass covering the calla lily print.  Back in the lobby the receptionist/technician was busy with a pharmaceutical salesman, so I waved and headed out to my car. 

On the positive side, my skin felt flushed and was a flattering rosy tone, which lasted until I stepped outside back into the rain. I also felt really relaxed and flexible thanks to all that moist heat. And although I didn't feel any more fit or toned, I did see a change when I stepped on the scale. I had gained two pounds. 

So, the moral of this story? Be open to New Things, but always read the fine print on a Groupon.

New thing #38: Zhujiajiao neighborhood

My co-workers took me to the town of Zhujiajiao, a beautiful, ancient river town and popular tourist spot on the outskirts of Shanghai. It was a great trip and we got to experience a lot of fun things - riding a canal gondola, burning incense in a temple, watching a paper cutting demonstration, releasing tiny fish into the river for luck and strolling through a market full of strange sights and smells. But the thing that made this trip most memorable was when we missed a turn and ended up wandering in a small old neighborhood bordering the river.

We were on our way to take a tour of a historical old post office, but since we couldn't read the Chinese symbols on the signs, we walked right on by. The shops and businesses gave way to a residential area that seemed to be lost in time. Every few hundred yards an ancient stone bridge arched high over the water. I hiked up to take some photographs from the crest of one bridge, pausing to let a woman pass by. She was returning from the market and was loaded down with three large plastic bags stuffed with goods, a short walking stick and a bright yellow box from the bakery. She was dressed in a straw hat and layers of clothes, inconceivable in the 98-degree heat and humidity, and bright pink sneakers without laces. She marched up and down the narrow stone steps cut into the bridge, around a corner and out of sight in the time it took me to snap a couple pictures.

We passed several people busily going about their chores. A boy, about ten years old and in need of a haircut, was standing on one of the many access steps on the other side of the river, lifting a homemade net out of the water. It was made of a large blue piece of cheesecloth attached to bamboo crosspieces, and tied to a long pole with a shiny ribbon. I think he was catching small fish for the tourists.  A little further along we saw two women sitting on another set of steps. One had slipped off her sandals and was relaxing. Her small gold earrings glinted in the sun, and her hair was held in place with bobby pins. Everything about her was neat and tidy except that both her knees appeared to be scraped. The other woman was rinsing out towels that she had carried down to the water in a big red bowl. She was one of the few women we saw wearing pants, allowing her to squat so low towards the water that her knees were the same height as her shoulders. She wore a wide brimmed straw hat tied under her chin that completely hid her features, and worked quickly and efficiently. Nearby, a third woman in a loose brown blouse was sweeping the sidewalk with an old straw broom. Like most of the people we passed by, they ignored us, perhaps used to Westerners prying into their lives. 

As the river bent away from the neighborhood the streets got narrower and more crooked. Two-story houses with simple furnishings stood with the front door propped open to attract a breeze or a neighbor in the mood for a cup of tea. Cheery paint on the windows almost camouflaged the bars stretched across the openings to prevent unwanted visitors. In one house an old woman sat just inside the faded red doorway. She had fallen asleep in her wide wicker chair while reading, still clutching two or three sheets of white paper in her hand. Several more sheets rested on a low wooden bench in front of her, held in place by a small pink paperweight. A sheer white curtain blocked the rest of the cluttered room from our view as we tiptoed by. We continued on past short, narrow alleys leading back between the houses to paved courtyards choked with grass. Two chairs sat side by side in one alley, facing in opposite directions. An elderly woman seeking respite from the sun occupied the chair closest to us. Her weathered arms and legs led me to believe that she was used to working outside. She was wearing a blouse and skirt in contrasting floral patterns, a typical fashion choice for the area. She appeared to be staring blankly at the wall in front of her as she leaned on her cane. I thought she might also be asleep, but as we passed by she tapped her cane impatiently on the ground between her feet. 

Once we reached the main road we knew we had gone too far. Nearby, two men relaxed at a street side cafe beneath a small iron windowsill that wept rust stains down the whitewashed wall. The older gentleman had a happy gap-toothed grin. He was dressed comfortably in a white undershirt and plain gray shorts, and his feet were bare. His companion had just finished telling a story and was sitting with his hands clasped in front, his quiet demeanor offset by the loud mismatched floral shirt and shorts he wore. They sat in sturdy chairs made of bamboo lashed together with cloth, resting their tea and bok choy on a small table while they shared a laugh. We paused to show them our tourist map, pointing out where we wanted to go. In a short time we had directions back to the marketplace, delivered in the universal language of pantomime and smiles.

New thing #37: Panda-monium

I love zoos! So when work took me to China and I found out the zoo was within walking distance of my hotel, I made it a point to go. My first stop was the giant panda exhibit, since I've never seen a real one. Six fat bears, reacting to the extremely hot and humid weather in Shanghai in July, preferred to lie nearly comatose inside their dirty glass and concrete cage instead of going outside to frolic in the bamboo trees of their enclosure. But many of the other local exotic animals were out and about. I got to see red pandas (adorable), a Chinese tiger (looked like any other tiger to me) and the hilarious expressive sun bears (my new favorite!) I stayed away from the pet zoo, which I'd heard was unpleasant, but the rest of the zoo was pretty nice. I enjoyed the park-like setting and the wide variety of wildlife, including an albino wallaby! Or maybe it was actually a giant rat. Here are a few of my favorite pictures from the zoo:

New thing #36: Ann Arbor Art Fair

My best girlfriend asked me if I'd ever been to the Ann Arbor Art Fair. I'd never heard of it, but it sounded fun so we went along with her. It's actually made of four separate award-winning art fairs held at the same time near the downtown campus of the University of Michigan.  Besides the university and the art fairs, Ann Arbor is full of great architecture and lots of cool shops and restaurants.

The last time I went to a professional art fair was in August 1990, in Lewiston, NY. It was a more traditional, less interactive event. We bought a print titled "Guards of the Abbey" that still hangs over our fireplace. But my main memory is that it was the first time The Girl ever went into a port-a-potty. She was about two years old and past due for a nap. She leaned over the hole and, mesmerized, started to ask what the heck This Thing Was. Unfortunately this caused her favorite and much-loved 'Binky' to fall out of her mouth directly into the hole, where it floated helplessly. There was a beat of stunned silence followed by a bloodcurdling scream. It was years before she would enter another port-a-potty.

No such adventure this time.  It was a perfect summer night, the drive was easy and we found cheap parking right downtown. We walked out into the State Street Area Art Fair, one of the four festival sites. It was in full swing, with enough of a crowd to be festive and fun yet not herd-like. Every third booth seemed to be selling jewelry or tie dye, which was kind of lame. But the booths in between were fantastic! Every type of media was represented and the artist was present at every booth. They would come out and talk to you about their work, and a few of them were actually working on their next creation. Since I struggle to draw a good stick figure, I was impressed. All types of music were being played throughout the streets, including an elderly one-man-band dancing and singing on a corner. Various types of food and (non-alcoholic) drinks were for sale, and various social causes were being promoted. Some of the more memorable artwork were the huge abstract oil paintings, photography letter signs, body art, delicate pottery (except for this one teapot that looked like it had a goiter), stained glass frames, trays woven together from recycled glass, scrap metal wind chimes with a beautiful tone, and one guy who painted pictures of your dog sitting in a giant martini glass. But by far my favorite artist was the one who took apart old watches, toys, tools and various other items, and reassembled them into intricate and whimsical birds, memory boxes, bracelets and other curios. I didn't buy any of the pieces, which were well out of my price range for thingamajigs. I also didn't get their card, nor could I find their description listed in the art fair directory, so I regret that I can't give the artist proper kudos in this blog. If anyone knows who it is, please reply to this post. 

When the fair closed we stopped at a neighborhood bar to have a nice cold beverage, arriving just in time to watch the Tigers' win (and spotting our neighbors, who were at the game, on TV).  Great company, fun atmosphere, tasty food and drink - I haven't spent much time in Ann Arbor, but I already want to go there again.

New thing #35: Fremont Street Flightlinez

Harnessed up and ready to go!

Fremont Street Flightlinez is a zip line ride that runs for 800 feet right over Fremont Street, a.k.a. Glitter Gulch, the casino area in downtown Las Vegas. We wanted to ride it at night after all the neon lights were in full Vegas mode, but a thunderstorm rolled in early in the evening and lingering lightening shut it down. With our plans foiled we postponed our ride until the last day of our vacation, which also happened to be our 28th wedding anniversary.

Fremont Street is Old Las Vegas, before the current day mega-resorts took up residence on Las Vegas Boulevard just outside the city limits. Shabby casinos vie for attention with street artists, musicians and hustlers along this popular tourist destination. Vintage signs of the neon museum tour are displayed along the street. You can eat a Bypass Burger at the Heart Attack Grill, do some shopping at the Harley store, and ride the Flightlinez.

To get there, Senior and I rode the Deuce, a double decker bus full of loud, drunken tourists, tired casino employees and scary locals beating the heat with a 24-hour ticket to air-conditioned comfort. The seat in front of me was occupied by a huge Samoan man. His neck was tattooed with an eerie pair of woman’s green eyes; the collar of his shirt acting as a veil for the rest of her face. She watched us nearly all the way to our stop.

It was a short walk to the Flightlinez storefront where we weighed in and signed legal disclaimers before purchasing our tickets. Then we took an elevator to the top of a parking garage and joined a line of people waiting turns to suit up in the harnesses. They had a crude yet highly effective numbering system taped to the staging area that kept the lines moving smoothly.  It was pretty funny how many people couldn't figure out directions like "stand on number 3".  When it was our turn, staff members helped us into our harnesses while chatting politely, probably to gauge how nervous the clients are before throwing them off a 67-foot-high platform. We climbed a final flight of stairs onto the launch zone. Safety was a priority and they made sure my harness and lanyard was clipped to the framework at all times. I stuffed my shoes into a bag and promised I would not spit or throw things on the tourists below or try to turn somersaults in my harness (as if!). Then they gave my line a tug and I was off, soaring through the air at speeds we were told reached up to 30 mph.

The ride was surprisingly smooth. The initial drop was the most fun, but other than that it didn’t really get the adrenaline flowing. It felt a lot like being on one of those observation decks with glass floors, looking down at the street below. Pedestrians whooped at you as you zoomed over their heads. Along the way my harness rotated in a slow lazy spin, offering a full 360° view of the surroundings. Senior trailed along behind me on a parallel line. I ended up hitting the end of the line facing backwards, feeling a small jolt when the crew grabbed the harness. They quickly slipped a two-step ladder under my feet to stand on while they secured my gear, then helped me step down off the landing pad. We took off our gear, posed for the requisite touristy pictures, and headed back down to the street.  

The zip line was a lot of fun, and if the line was shorter I would have gone again. Instead we packed up and got ready to head back to the hotel, stopping only to look at those pictures they snapped of our ride. Luckily they came out really awful so there was no temptation to purchase them. Instead we have our memories of a fun and unique way to celebrate another great year together.

New thing #34: Sunless tanning

Stalking the Perfect Tan
a Doonesbury classic by G.B. Trudeau

Senior and I were headed to Vegas. Since temperatures over 100° were predicted, I planned on packing shorts. Then I took a look at my legs and the burgeoning roadmap of tiny blue lines slowly taking over the surface. It was time for some camouflage.

I considered my options. I briefly contemplated sunbathing, but I’ve been a sun block devotee ever since my mother (the sun worshipper) started sprouting little precancerous horns called solar keratosis. A tanning bed is definitely not the route for me. I tried them back in my younger years and hated it. Laying down in a smelly, bright coffin that was the repository of hundreds of other persons’ sweat beads always creeped me out. And I’ve never really liked tan in a can, because it’s smelly, sticky and doesn’t last. So I decided to try a spray tan.

There’s a place near me that has the VersaSpa sunless tanning system. It’s a booth with two nozzles that move up and down on a track, covering you in a fine mist. The three-step process included sprays of a pH balancing conditioner, a sunless, skin-bronzing formula, and an anti-aging, skin firming moisturizer. I spent about 15 minutes waiting for my turn alternating between chatting with the manager, who spends most of her day cleaning up other peoples sweat beads, and worrying about the expired inspection tag on the fire extinguisher next to my chair. When it was my turn, the manager demonstrated the process and explained how to use the various tools (hairnet, barrier cream, alcohol wipe). The automated system repeats the instructions as you go through each step, so it’s pretty idiot-proof.

I considered using the booth au naturel, but decided I wanted tan lines so I could see the contrast (not to mention that I’d recently seen this cartoon which hit a little too close to home). The Spa was a little slippery from the last wipedown, so extra caution was needed as I stepped inside. I rotated through the various front, back and side poses on command, looking like an extra in the Bangles’ “Walk Like An Egyptian” video. It only takes a few minutes for the whole process, and about 12 hours for the color to develop. I’d chosen a medium tint, but in hindsight I’d go darker. While I was happy with the overall color, I was still a long way from the George Hamilton Cocoa Butter Open.

The sunless tanning system was pretty cool, and it did what I wanted. I was able to sit by the pool (covered in sunblock) without resembling a fish belly. But overall I discovered is that spray tanning is smelly, sticky and doesn’t last. So it’s probably better to save twenty bucks and go back to the can.

New thing #33: Published!

There were a lot of things I wanted to emulate about the women I met twenty years ago when we all lived on Lincoln Avenue. These women were funky and fun and smart and bold, and we had endless good conversations over endless glasses of wine. To this day I can remember D, with her great sense of style and sharp wit, casually mentioning that her poetry had been published in a magazine. I thought this was one of the coolest things I had ever heard, and I hoped that one day I could say the same thing.

Flash forward to this month, when I made contact with a reporter for our local newspaper, The Oakland Press. She invited me to write an article about my blog project, and with her help, I can now say, "I am published." It's not as cool as D's poetry, and they made some minor edits to my work (there's no way I would have put my age in bold font in the title!), but it's a start.

So if you missed yesterday's newspaper, you can click this link to jump to the article about my blog. Then you can click the link in the article to jump back to this actual blog. Where you can click the link to jump back to the article... well you get the idea.

New thing #32: Glowing in the Dark

For a period of time our customers, concerned about the nuclear crisis at the Fukushima power plant, required our lab check all the components coming from the affected region. This was accomplished with Berthold LB124 Contamination monitors (CoMo). Now that the requirement was lifted, one of the monitors was being shipped to our office in Michigan. So on a recent trip to Germany, I was offered training on how to use it. In order to make the training more effective, what could be better than actually testing some radioactive material to see how the monitor would react?

Luckily the local university had a stash of cesium-137 on hand, so our colleague Effie loaded the CoMo into a blue plastic shopping basket and offered to take us there. We headed across a footbridge to a cobbled parking lot that had seen better days. Deftly skirting puddles from the recent rain, Effie apologized for her "small, old car". It turned out to be spotlessly clean and decked out with Deutsch flag mirror covers to show support for the upcoming Euro 2012 soccer quarterfinals. After a scenic drive up the winding roads through a nice residential part of the city, we arrived at the University of Coburg and met our guides, grad students Sabine and Anna. They gave us a short safety lecture ("don't touch anything") before leading us into a building decked out in the traditional academia décor of metal furniture, low ceilings and worn Formica floors. We entered a restricted access lab through a door marked with a hazard warning sign proclaiming that radioactive material was present.

I definitely experienced a flashback to elementary school at the sight of that sign. Back in the late 1960's, along with the annual fire drills and bus safety exercises, we would prepare for nuclear attacks. A relentless siren signaled our teachers to lead us to an innermost hallway, where we would crouch down low to the floor while covering our heads with our hands and arms. Even at a young age I wondered how this was supposed to keep us safe from a bomb blast. And I couldn't understand why anyone on the other side of the world would want to threaten my sleepy little town. To me, a country kid with no exposure to other cultures, it fostered a vague sense of mistrust towards foreigners that lasted until I became friends with an exchange student in high school. I feel so fortunate that I was able to broaden my horizon in the years since elementary school, since it's allowed me to meet and become friends with some really amazing people of all different backgrounds.

Back at the lab, Sabine and Anna showed us how to use the CoMo. It's an orange plastic box with a handle, roughly the size and heft of a steam iron. First you run a background sample to determine the amount of radioactive particles in the room. We are constantly surrounded by low levels of radiation from the sun, the ground, and human sources. The monitor registers these background levels so it can subtract it from the final measurement. Once you’ve got your baseline, you can test your parts. We swept some components that we brought with us from our lab. The monitor barely budged. The same was true when we measured our cellphones and wristwatches. Then Anna pulled a sample of cesium from a protective case. The actual amount of radioactive material in the sample was barely larger than the period at the end of this sentence. As soon as she placed it near me, the warning lights and bells on the CoMo began to sound. There was no doubt that it was working correctly, and even though I knew it was coming, I was so startled that I almost dropped the meter.

After the cesium was safely put away and the CoMo had been reset, I asked Sabine what I should do if I measured something back home that set off the monitor. She looked at me and blinked, and then said simply, “Leave.” Now that's good advice! Shut the door; get outta Dodge. And maybe call 911 on your way out. But don’t hunker down in the hallway with your hands over your head.

New thing #31: Intuitive counseling

I consider myself a spiritual person. I believe in a higher power and an afterlife. I think karma will kick you in the butt if you don't respect it. I also consider myself a skeptic. So even though I do believe that there are people who have a psychic gift (just as there are people who have other talents), I think that most of the professional psychics are more therapist and storyteller than anything else. But that didn't stop me from wanting to experience a reading, hoping to get that shivers-down-my-spine feeling when a total stranger seems to know me better than I know myself.

The Girl made me an appointment with an "Intuitive Counselor" at the Boston Tea Room in Ferndale, a funky little town sandwiched between the hipsters and the 'hood. We headed down to the basement of a creaky old downtown building where pipes lined the low ceilings. Once you stepped inside the shop you were transported to a soothing, colorful little haven with soft music and a harmony of scents. I was offered a cup of tea, then escorted back to meet Charise, who would be doing my reading. She sat in the back corner, sectioned off from the rest of the room by a folding screen. Alas, she didn't look like a fortune teller. Instead she was a smart young woman with an easy laugh and a bright smile.

Charise started with a palm reading, giving me a fairly generic description of my personality. Her forte is medical intuition, and she gave me a startlingly accurate rundown of my minor aches and pains, along with some recommendations for alleviating them. She matter-of-factly told me I'd been married a long time, had 3 pregnancies but only 2 children, and took a big vacation every 3 or 4 years. She was right on target until she stated that I probably have a hard time turning off my thoughts to fall asleep at night. I'm usually unconscious before I hit the pillow.

Next she handed me a deck of Tarot cards, which I shuffled and divided into 3 piles. She laid them out in intricate patterns while describing what they predicted for my husband and each child, my mom, one sister and her sons. She seemed to get more juice about all the males in my life, and less about the females. She talked about my where my job was going (nowhere), when we would sell our house (this fall) and when I would rekindle a friendship (next year). She told me that a 'little ghosty' lived in Waconda but was nothing to fear and (conveniently?) wouldn't make himself known. I worded my questions carefully. Every once in a while she would startle me with a comment that was dead-on, and I'd stop to think if I'd said something that would lead her to that conclusion. These nuggets were mixed in with some broad, all-purpose advice that I'll take to heart.

I'm still not sure I'm a believer, but all told, the reading lived up to my expectations as a combination of therapy, storytelling and a few spine-tingling moments.