Wednesday, November 14, 2012
moving through the day
Yoga is surprisingly addictive. I notice this only now -- two and a half months into my yoga adventure. Like many others, I'd been hooked before on some form of physical activity. Bike riding. I had to, had to, had to ride. That always fizzled when the weather turned. Gym -- I used to be a gym goer. I never really liked it, but I went, daily even, hating the idea of no gym. So I understand that I belong to those who have an "easily hooked" type of personality. (In case you have lingering doubts, I offer you daily Ocean posting as a further example.) Still, I didn't think I'd like yoga this much. That once the movements, poses, breathing routines became familiar, I would feel indulged every time I went through the routines. And that I'd make room for them even on a day like today -- a teaching day. So that I had to do the early class or no class at all. Though after breakfast. (Maybe because I love my breakfast routine as much as I now love yoga. Can you tell?)
Going to yoga, I notice that it is a quintessentially Novembrian morning: very gray.
Which eventually turns into a cornflower blue morning (this on the way to campus).
And then a gold toned evening (from Rosie's saddle, going home).
Other news?
Well, there is the matter of Isis. The cat is now fully committed to being by my side whenever I am working in the kitchen. He may be sleeping on the bed upstairs, but if he hears me rattle kitchen utensils, he'll wake up, run down, sit back and wait for a handout. Like this.
Dogs will yelp and drool and the insistent types will scramble up to grab something off the counter. Isis will sit and wait. And wait. Until my feelings of guilt and admiration and impatience -- all scrambled together -- will cause me to find something in my kitchen riches for him to enjoy. (He used to love cheese curds until I introduced him to salmon and, more recently, ground turkey from the chili.)
Ed tells me this is my doing. Maybe. But I feel no guilt in showing the dear cat the finer sides of food. Life is more than Friskies.
Other news? We made it to Paul's today, just before it closed. I needed that blueberry tea (in a blueberry mug). It had been a long day and tomorrow, workwise, will be even longer.
Going to yoga, I notice that it is a quintessentially Novembrian morning: very gray.
Which eventually turns into a cornflower blue morning (this on the way to campus).
And then a gold toned evening (from Rosie's saddle, going home).
Other news?
Well, there is the matter of Isis. The cat is now fully committed to being by my side whenever I am working in the kitchen. He may be sleeping on the bed upstairs, but if he hears me rattle kitchen utensils, he'll wake up, run down, sit back and wait for a handout. Like this.
Dogs will yelp and drool and the insistent types will scramble up to grab something off the counter. Isis will sit and wait. And wait. Until my feelings of guilt and admiration and impatience -- all scrambled together -- will cause me to find something in my kitchen riches for him to enjoy. (He used to love cheese curds until I introduced him to salmon and, more recently, ground turkey from the chili.)
Ed tells me this is my doing. Maybe. But I feel no guilt in showing the dear cat the finer sides of food. Life is more than Friskies.
Other news? We made it to Paul's today, just before it closed. I needed that blueberry tea (in a blueberry mug). It had been a long day and tomorrow, workwise, will be even longer.
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One of my cats opened up his heart to my husband after my husband mistook a can of salmon for cat food. Yes, a cat's life should have more than Friskies. And that blueberry tea is tempting. I'll have to take the kids to Paul's one of these cold winter days.
ReplyDeleteSomewhere, on some Persian cat's stainless steel fridge door, is a magnet that says: Life Is More Than Friskies.
ReplyDelete