Yoga is difficult for the one whose mind is not subdued.~Bhagavad Gita

This week I felt good enough to go to a yoga class. (I go to Tosa Yoga on North Ave.) It felt incredible. I couldn't do all the positions, or do the rest of them as deeply as I'd been learning to, but it still felt good.

I went on a day different than my usual class, so I didn't know anyone there. It soon became evident that the woman next to me was pretty new to yoga. And she didn't like it. It was an altogether odd feeling to be so immersed in the pleasure of an experience, only to hear someone at the same time declare they hated it.

I love the awareness of body that yoga offers. To me, it just feels healthy. To feel muscles often abused or ignored respond slowly is invigorating. It's similar to sex. Sex can be exercise, repeating motions, focusing on the end result. Or it can be yoga, focused, aware, unhurried, encompassing all the body. I'm sure there are more things sex can be, but that's not what this posting is about.

At the end of the class, as we did our shavasna, I imagined the stress leaving my body, and fell into a peaceful meditation. Suddenly next to me I heard a growl. 'This is NOT relaxing!' I am still befuddled at the polar extreme between myself and the other student. And I still wish for her a less tense experience.

Regardless, I'm grateful to be in this class. And I hope to continue to be.

Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.~Mark Twain

I found that to be very true last week.

Matt & I joined Weight Watchers eight weeks ago. We started exercising again, he running 20 miles a week, me doing a little bit of everything. Walking, workout videos, weights, stretching, yoga. At the gym in DeKalb years ago, the guys there called me 'Gumby'; I was pretty flexible, and loved how it felt.

With the weight loss and the increased activity, we both have been feeling better in general. I've often goaded Matt to stretch more, though. He may be younger than me, but that means I should be able to offer him the wisdom of my years. Right? :)

Last Wednesday, after feeding J we played together on the living room rug. I had my workout clothes on; I was psyched to do a combo weights/cardio workout from The Firm. J got a little cranky as nap time neared, so I started to get up, carrying him. My lower back popped. I was blinded. A million 'I wish I'd have known's' to those who have had back problems.

I managed to inch over to the couch and lay J on it. Once there, I realized I had no idea why I wanted to get there. I could barely move. Ten minutes later I'd gotten J into his crib. I emailed Matt about my mishap(he's so rarely at his desk but always has his Treo), saying I'd call the doctor & let him know how I was. Two minutes later I emailed 'Please call me'. I knew I couldn't get J out of his crib, much less drive myself to the doctor.

Five days later, I'm much better. I'm not even taking the muscle relaxers anymore, just Aleve. I've walked twice. I may even try to work out again tomorrow.

The kicker is that I've focused so much on stretching & yoga to make sure I avoided all injuries. Matt does a few hamstring stretches a week. And who got hurt? It's Murphy's Law...

If you think dogs can't count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them.~Phil Pastoret

Our dog Churchill was not allowed upstairs the first two years we had him. It gave the cats a place to escape. It helped that Churchill is afraid of stairs.

Once J came, we figured it'd give Churchill a whole nother layer of house to explore and find some companionship it. Now he only goes up when we call. He seems glad to be there, but just as glad to go back down.

Two nights ago, in the middle of the night, I heard the floor boards creak. I looked in the doorway to see if A was coming to us; maybe she'd had a bad dream. I saw no one, though. A few seconds later, I heard the familiar jingle of Churchill's collar. "What are you doing up here,Churchill?!" came from me. "Go downstairs!" I finished. I heard the jingle disappear down the hall.

A few moments later, I heard something else. A beep every three minutes or so, that was guaranteed to irratate my sleep. I asked Matt to go check it out.

Turns out the smoke detector in the hall leading to J's room had a battery running low. As Matt came back upstairs, he found Churchill-laying in Arcadia's doorway, facing out. Protecting her, perhaps?

He's not come up since. We sincerely wonder if he knew that sound wasn't right, and was either warning us or was ready to protect us.

Either way, what a pooch!