So when the family doctor mentioned that the levels in the Captain’s blood indicated that various but important internal organs could freeze up like Bill Gates’ Windows, we were faced with the choice of updating his will or changing his diet.
As a final insult Doc threw in the kicker, “You’ll want to get some exercise every day. And I don’t mean the kind you get pulling the release lever on the recliner.”
The Captain sighed mournfully, hovering on the brink of starvation and eyeing Famous Amos like they were twins parted at birth. “I’ll leave my knife collection to the boys in case they’re right about that graveyard up the street.”
What can I say? Once you’ve had Southern food, a zombie apocalypse seems palatable next to the thought of giving up biscuits and gravy forever.
But I checked the man’s life insurance policy and decided that he’s worth more in flesh than in funds. True love and a nice dose of greed conquers all things.
So in the name of health and paying it forward, I loaded up the Yoga program on the family game system and demonstrated the various poses. I looked like a napping Labrador in the Downward Dog position. That is, if the Labrador had consumed more breakfasts than his own more often than not, which is a reasonable assumption if you know a Labrador.
Soon the Captain of my Dream Boat decided that since he is under doctor’s orders to reduce his ballast, he can use exercise for an excuse to hold on to the remote, and he latched onto the Feng Shui of yoga and jumped on my workout bandwagon with both love handles.
The difference is that I wear clothes.
I don’t want to be indelicate, but this man gives a whole new meaning to the term “sun salutation.” It’s enough to make you pray for an eclipse.
I rounded the corner into the living room just as he started another pose. There’s not a swimsuit model alive that’s assumed that position and made it to pay day.
“OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“I’m supposed to touch my toes.”
The dog put one paw over his eyes and limped out of the room on three legs.
“Yoga is the ancient Eastern art of obtaining balance. To ensure your Yin and Yang compliment each other.”
“Well don’t look now but you’re about to get rug burn on your Yang.”
“You don’t appreciate the peace that comes with reaching the inner you.”
About that time, Son 2 came through the back door, happy in the knowledge that a math teacher with the flu gave him an extra video game hour in his day. This kid is 19, and he’s so cool he sweats perma frost. At that moment he had achieved Nirvana and was one with a Klondike bar.
As usual, the cat came in with him, purring around his legs like they were from the same litter. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the semi-regularity of his hygiene routine, but felines follow him around like he wears catnip skivvies.
There are times when it seems possible to stretch an instant like an overstuffed garbage bag, and more action than seems possible happens at once.
The Captain snapped into a position that caused his Yin and Yang to become one just as the Klondike bar in turn became one with the floor. My maternal superpowers kicked in and I flung the nearest article of covering, a tasseled blanket from the couch, over the offending object. (Not the ice cream bar.) This move was interpreted as an invitation by the kitty who, as the instinct of a thousand generations kicked in, sprang into action, claws in attack position, intent on consuming the dancing tassels.
In high school, I wasn’t the type that dabbled in theoretics or quantam physicals. All I remember from my science class is the little ditty that says, “For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction.” It seemed like it might apply to big brother somehow, so I tucked it in the snack cupboard of my mind to apply later.
I didn’t realize it gave felines the power to fly.
Everything that happened after that is a blur. But the phrase "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" keeps scrolling past my mind's eye. I guess sometimes it’s better for Yin and Yang to have separate dressing rooms.
Hubby made a vow never to do sun salutations without pants ever again. And now we all have inner peace.
Except the cat, who still puffs like an electric pompom whenever we turn on the Yoga video.
Visit me at Mind Over Mullis and help me cut a swathe through the jungle--the one below my knees.