Patch Passport: A Little Bit of Paradise At Chazio's

The Thursday Patch Passport takes you to a local spa where you can feel like you are a million miles away from the daily stress of life. Come along and relax...

I sat in the midst of my visit to Chazio's with my head upside-down and hair wildly askew, resembling an overgrown Chia Pet.  But this felt relaxing, really.  And the results came out looking pretty great, or as my husband termed it, "hot."  I had walked into Chazio's Hair Salon & Nail Spa in Lake in the Hills an hour and a half ago, spotting those familiar red letters that proclaim "Chazio's" to everyone who drives into the plaza at the northeast corner of Randall and Algonquin, which is anchored by the Dominick's.  I had driven by several times but had never ventured in for services. When I did, I found myself amid a parade of fluted ionic columns that garnished the neutral tones and open floor plan without appearing too kitschy.  I …

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Out and About

Taking Flight Over Lake in the Hills

Patch writer goes for a ride with her 1-year-old son in a Vintage Piper Tri-Pacer.

The roar of the propeller made such noise that we needed to talk through headsets. "All right, you ready?" said Bob Gwinn, turning to me. I glanced back at my 15-month-old son, strapped into his car seat, looked down at the control in front of me, its shiny silver letters reading "Piper," and then over at Bob, who had invited me to share in this lunch break thrill. "All right, we're going!" I said. Bob Gwinn adjusted the rudder pedals, pulled back on the throttle, and we started down the only runway in the village. A few seconds later, we felt the lightness of flying through the air. "We're airborne!" I shouted, looking back at my son, Chandler. His mouth had opened to form a small oval, and he peered out of the windows, pointing …

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Out and About

Verdict Still Out on Acupuncture's Healing Powers

Erin Chan Ding says procedure offers relaxation, but she is still skeptical if treatment heals.

The needle measured 1 1/2 inches long. Half an inch of it would go into my skin. I lay on a massage table, a cushion below my knees, an aroma of herbs and lavender and incense wafting through the room. I tried to relax, but when I peeked at the needles, a frisson of anxiety shot through me. My feet began perspiring. Acupuncturist Linda Meyer held the first needle, approaching my forehead. I felt a pinch, a slight pulling and then, well, nothing really, except a greater awareness of my body, like I could feel blood rushing through my veins and arteries, everything doing what it was supposed to do. The tugging felt greater when Meyer inserted needles in each of my hands at the point between my thumb and index finger, but the initial puncture…

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