Not Your Grandma's Holiday Treats

by Avery Chenoweth


We begin at dusk. The workshop and its tongue-in-grove walls glow in the light of the  spheres, a bevy of lamps that bow gently as if observing what’s about to happen. The windows reflect the afterglow of day that rises behind the woods. The vesper hour is flowing around the farm, bringing stillness throughout the Victorian house. You might think we’re going to watch Grandma make ginger bread cookies. And tell Hansel and Gretel to take a seat. But nope. Today, it’s massage bars.

Eva stands at the workshop table, in her white coat, blending her proprietary mix that may not include chocolate chips but many other goodies--like essential oils and shea and cocoa butter--to make a tray of massage bars. As a local observer--very local, given that I’m sitting here--I was following her methods. My mission? To help wrap soap bars. But first, she began making the massage bars--which are a perennial favorite, known well to our regular customers.

Eva stirred, poured, stirred again, set the timer, got to work pouring, and distilled the slurry, which filled the workshop with the alluring aroma of hot chocolate, orange, and who knows what else. She walked me through it, then I said something, apparently, and she laughed--a convulsive invocation of delight, much of which, I am sure, will convey through the bars and into the pores of our customers. 


My wife uses them like a worry stone--next to her desk at work, she palms one while mulling over ideas, and then replaces it to its dish, without leaving prints on papers, or moisture on keyboards. The bars fit in the palm of your hand and melt on contact with the skin to slide down a pathway on your skin. Women, who try them out, are curiously reluctant to put them down. Lovers, husbands, wives, and massage therapists--some professionals, some avid amateurs--reach for our massage bars to melt them into the pores of loved ones, whether by the fire, with a glass of wine, and snow falling across the panes. Or, uh, not, right? Somewhere else, maybe?

The ideal stocking stuffer for the home, office, or the spa--please contact us about all the packages we offer to keep your sense of pleasure fulfilled and replenished.  

The lights brighten against the darkening windows, the bars are now setting, and Eva is done for the moment, while outside the Winter is now on. 

Eva KingComment