Kansas City is home to a national treasure.  Uh, besides me.  It’s the National WW1 Museum and it’s quite impressive.  I’d lived in Kansas City for over 10 years and never made a pilgrimage to its hallowed ground until last fall.  Now, however, if I have an out of town guest — it’s a mandatory visit.

My friend Cris was in town over the weekend.  He enjoys history a lot more than I do, so I knew he’d lose his ever lovin’ mind at the museum.  From the minute you walk in the door, it’s an audio/visual feast … complete with interactive displays that put you in a soldier’s boots.

How did Kansas City score this national gem?  Simple.  Sheer drive and determination.  After the war ended, KC went on a community-based fundraising drive in 1919 to build a memorial/museum.  They raised a whopping $2.5 million in just ten days.  This staggering accomplishment only reflected the public sentiment for the Great War that had dramatically changed the world.

One of the things I enjoyed the most was the sheer number of volunteers at the museum.  They were quick with an aside, a story or a valuable piece of information you might not have known without their insight.  And you can take as many pictures as you want.  Bonus!

Don’t miss the smart orientation movie when you arrive either.  It points out two very important things: 1) no one is quite sure how the war started and 2) peace is only war kept in check.  How true that is.

Cris and I were going to go to the Museum on Saturday.  It was rainy and dreary outside.  The perfect day to go museum hopping.  Turns out there was an all-day outdoor rock concert going on nearby.  We immediately aborted the mission.  50,000+ head bangers cavorting in mud is not my idea of a good time.

Respecting and appreciating history is.

I will be the first to admit … I am a massage junkie.  A massage whore.  A massage aficionado.  Nothing makes me happier than 90 minutes of oily bliss.  I get one at least twice a month – sometimes more if finances permit.

Back in college, I took two semesters of massage therapy training.   Didn’t care for it in the least.  I did, however, find that I enjoyed getting massages a helluva lot more than I did giving them.   My tense muscles were spoiled by all that attention and ever since then they’ve cried out for more.

I have four or five therapists I keep on a random rotation … because if I want a massage I want one RIGHT NOW.  Forget scheduling.  Forget planning.  I want to call someone and say, “I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.  Break out the hot stones!”  Sometimes I need to be beat up.  Other times I just need general relaxation.   Other times I’m just ridiculously stressed and need all the tension gone from my shoulder blades.  (You can tell when I’m in a mood.  I’m hunched over more than a crippled Neanderthal.)

Since I travel to a lot of massage therapy schools, I’m likely to schedule a massage every day over lunch.  Who needs to eat when you could get a 30-minute rubdown instead?  I’m no fool.

Once I went to Kansas City’s “premiere” massage therapist.  She charges $200 a session.  (Uh, someone got me a gift certificate.)  For $200, I would expect Van Halen to be playing in concert when I’m done.  Seems she works on a lot of famous people and well-known athletes.  The massage was impressive, but only because she walked on my back for a while and bended me in positions designed only for pretzels.  And there was a long stretch of time where she wasn’t touching me at all.  I believe that part was called faith healing.  I’m not sure, but I think she left to go get a latte’.

I’m apparently not the only one who enjoys a good backrub.  Massage therapy is a $20 billion industry.  Yes, with a “B”.  So if you’re ever hard pressed to get me the perfect gift, now you know what trips my trigger.