‘Alternative medicine’ practitioners followed varied paths to their treatment specialties

By Bill Newcott
Photograph by Carolyn Watson
From the Winter 2022 issue

Winter-2022-issue

“You feel that?” whispers Liz Guida. “It’s different, isn’t it?”

I am lying on a table in a softly lit room, immersed in gentle piano music. Guida has her hands on my lower left leg, and she isn’t letting go.

She isn’t rubbing it, either — which comes as some surprise because this table, this darkened room, that mystical music all whisper: “massage.” 

Instead, Guida leaves both hands perfectly still, positioned on a calf muscle that’s been giving me trouble ever since I tried to stride up a steep hill in Pittsburgh a few weeks ago. 

And there they stay. The seconds pass by. Then, it seems, minutes. And she’s right: It is different. I’m feeling the same amount of relief I’d expect from a rub-it-until-it-hurts deep-tissue massage, but without the wincing.

“That’s pretty remarkable,” I say.

Guida just smiles softy. Yes, she knows. 

 

A home burns and lives are upended. But amid such loss, one’s heart is seared with a deeper appreciation of what’s truly important.

Story by Jessica Gordon
Photograph by Chris Colpo of the Lewes Fire Department
From the Winter 2022 issue

Winter-2022-issue

I am holding my breath, staring wide-eyed, unblinking. My heart pounds in my chest as if it’s trying to escape the confines of my rib cage. The rapid, rhythmic pumping of blood is all I can hear and my entire body trembles, like an earthquake has taken place in my solar plexus. 

Blink. 

Breathe. 

Count: One. Two. Two. 

 

Look closely, and you’ll discover a blooming trend of backyard botanical showplaces

By Bill Newcott
Illustration by Carolyn Watson
From the October 2022 issue

october-2022-issue

Welcome to Florida,” says Gary Smith, ushering me along the winding brick walkway that meanders from his driveway to the front door of his house. 

Indeed, instead of Milton, this could just as easily be Miami. The walk is lined with pointy needle palms and shrimp plants (Justicia brandegeeana to those in the know), with their curly, pink, crustacean-like flowers. And reaching tall above them, swaying in the morning breeze, stand two windmill palm trees, the kind just about every home in Orlando has out front but, in these parts, are as rare as manatees.