This weekend, we went to visit my sister. She now lives about an hour and half outside of Toronto (on the wrong side of Toronto if you’re coming from Montreal). She has just graduated from naturopathy school and once she passes her board exams, she will be an ND!
Now, my sister and I are very different people. My idea of taking care of myself hinges on the belief that the less time I have to spend on myself the better. My ideal is to be able to have a life where I can jump out of bed and into my crumpled up clothes on the floor and start my day with not so much as a brush through my hair (altghough I would still brush my teeth- I am not that gross). Sis, on the other hand, feels the opposite way. Taking care of herself means giving herself periodic facials and manicures and pedicures. She actually owns one of those huge hair dryers that I have only seen in salons. With the result that she is technicolor beautiful. I mean glamourous movie star, sticks out like a sore thumb in small town Ontario beautiful. I, of course, am more like that black and white movie on tv.
But this is why I love visiting my sister so much. Of course, it’s because I love her and miss her (really, sis). But there is also the added bonus of her house resembling a health food store and a free mini spa all rolled into one. I never bring any toiletries when I go to her house (except my toothbrush, of course). When I am in her shower I get to try her seaweed shampoo and her lavendar shower gel. I get to squeeze out some facial cleanser called obsessively clean by Kiss my face. I get to rub my body all over with coconut oil and try out all her different moisturizers and marvel at the amount of spritzing bottles with floral scents in them that I have no idea what they do.Or maybe their function is simply to spritz. Who knows? And then I sit there and stare at all the hair products that I am pretty sure I would never be able to figure out how to use and highly doubt that even if I did learn how they would make a significant difference to my short, cropped bob and my pathologically straight hair.
Going to my sister’s house is like entering a world of femininity that I somehow missed. Where did she learn all of this stuff? Magazines? friends? Did they teach a course on how to lather yourself with products in high school and I happened to skip out that day?
And then there is her kitchen. She has a whole cupboard filled with supplements and vitamins and other wondrous bottles that do subtle things for your digestion and pancreas and stop your body from rusting by making more anti-oxydants and…can you tell I am out of my depth? The only nutrition info that I seem capable of remembering is: Green vegetables good. Sugar bad. But my sister (of course, this is her chosen profession) can tell you exactly what supplement you need for what. And she will have it in her magic cupboard.
Now, you would think that my sister is the healthiest person on earth and that might make you want to vomit if you are anything like me. But no. That is the great part. My sister likes to party with the best of them. She drinks and she smokes. When I told her one morning how she must be so healthy after taking all the supplements she told me that after the amount she drank and smoked the other night, she needed to. It balanced her out. How is that for some absolutely fabulous logic?
I love my sister.