I’ve stretched my body more lately. To make my joints more flexible, my alignment more comfortable, my muscles more toned. Doing yoga asanas, that is. Or my middle-aged out-of-shape reinterpretation of them.
It’s been a little over 10 years since I stopped going to yoga classes on a regular basis.
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LESSON #1
“Keep on meeting the edge.”
~ said Kathy, who moved away from the city to live on an organic farm
• • •
I had always enjoyed taking yoga classes, but my favorite instructors, who each had her own way of explaining life on and off the mat, stopped teaching.
The only woman I could find who did not do hot yoga, which I think is nuts, was more about selling her book and CDs than teaching yoga. She was quite the personality kid, which annoyed me.
So I stopped attending her classes, thinking I’d continue my practice on my own.
• • •
LESSON #2
“When in doubt, don’t.”
~ said Donna, who got a newspaper byline and is living her dream of being a writer
• • •
But you know how things like that go. Procrastination + laziness took over– and eventually the idea of daily yoga practice floated out of my monkey mind.
However, this fall I acknowledged that I’m getting older and that I’m beginning to walk more THUNK * THUNK * THUNK than flow * flow * flow. Which is to say my daily walks are morphing into daily moseys because I’m going slower and slower.
Re-enter daily yoga practice.
• • •
LESSON #3
“Well isn’t that interesting?”
~ said Cathy, who had a hip replacement then decided to retire with her husband to somewhere warm
• • •
I’ve yet to commit to a specific time and place for my stretching, but if memory serves, back years ago when I was really into yoga, I used the late afternoon as my practice time… which I suppose I could do again.
And that, my gentle readers, is what’s up with me today in my quest to age gracefully + not keel over by the side of the road.
Ever onward, I say. Each of us moving forward in our own way.
I’m torn about what to buy. I want the Middy and Bloomer outfit for when I jump rope, but am equally desirous of the Zip-On Suede Jacket which allows me to hold a squirrel on my arm. [Catalog 1931B]
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• Perusing these catalogs I remembered that in my jewelry box I had my official Girl Scout membership card showing me to be a member of Heritage Trails Troop 239.
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Although yellow has never been a flattering color on me, I’m taken with this apron, covered in proficiency badge designs, that would ensure I looked pretty as I worked around the house. [Catalog 1952S]
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• My pin, the official jewelry of all Girl Scouts, was stolen when thieves burglarized our house when I was in sixth grade. However, the thieves left me my card. Jolly good of them, wasn’t it?
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No problem deciding what I want in this catalog. I’ll take a reversible caper cap and a pair of flashes to keep my knee socks up. [Catalog 1973]
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• Looking at my Certificate of Membership Card, I see that I never signed the thing, which clearly states: “Not valid without signature.” Obviously I’ve lived a falsehood when I say I was a Girl Scout.
~ • ~
Well, look at that, will ‘ya? I never signed my Girl Scout Certificate of Membership Card. Such a free spirit I am, even back then.
~ • ~
• The shame of not doing my best is almost too much for me, and confirms I don’t have the right to shop for any of the above items. Pity that. I just know I’d look fetching in that apron, while wearing flashes on my socks and a squirrel on my arm.
THE SPECTACLED BEAN 