Men and Their Toys

We have  a new yoga instructor for our Saturday morning class.  Early in the summer, Elaine, our former 76-year old  instructor announced that she was giving up the class because she didn't want to have to commit every Saturday to this class. When you're 76, isn't every day Saturday? Can't you pretend like one of those Saturdays is Monday and that's your "yoga work day"? Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe no matter how old you are, Saturday morning is always Saturday morning and who in their right mind would want to commit all of their Saturday mornings to anything other than sleeping late, drinking coffee, cleaning your house and doing the laundry and ironing? Who would want to teach a bunch of tired, creaky, stiff people with butts formed to the shape of their office chair? 

Our new instructor, Elizabeth, didn't begin teaching until late in the summer.  Not that I noticed since I got to spend so much quality Saturday time with the shhhhhh....BFD.  Part of me misses Elaine because she was into the "this is Saturday and you've all had a long week at work so we're just going to have a laid-back, easy stretch yoga class."   It was easy; I didn't have to push too hard.  But the part at the end when you "play dead" went on way too long.  I wasn't really tired or sore and it's hard to pretend you're relaxing and recovering when you're not and are really just making a mental list of what you want to do when you leave.

Elizabeth, our new instructor, is young and doesn't seem to care that we've all worked hard all week; we're tired and stiff and we're only here because of guilt.  We would rather get up and drag our sorry office chair butts to a Saturday morning yoga class than sleep late and live with the post-butter and syrup slathered pancakes guilt.   She works us hard.  This morning we did the bound warrior.  It looks simple in the link.  No, not the partially naked woman ....the pose below it.  Be patient.  It's not.  Try it.  And then clap your hands for me.  I did it.  Once on each side.  That's twice.  And Dean told me he even completed it .... on one side.  I know.  Who knew.  Amazing.

At the end of a yoga class of other "really? my body should be able to do that?!" moves, when Elizabeth says  "lie on your back with your eyes closed and your feet splayed out in this dim room with soft music, and pretend like you're dead" I'm happy to oblige, because I am so sore and tired I can't even muster the energy to make a mental list.  And she doesn't give us much time to do that anyway.  Before you know it we're up and dragging our sorry, but guilt-free butts home. 

But I digress.  What I intended to write about was what happens at our house before we put our chair butts through tortuous moves on a Saturday morning.  Here's what I did yesterday morning before yoga.  I slept in, read the paper and drank coffee.  Yes, caffeinated. Before yoga. Where you go to unwind and relax and find your chi or be in the present.

Here's what Dean did.  Before yoga.  He got up at the insistence of Shadow who has not figured out yet that Saturday morning is different than Monday morning, or Tuesday morning, or Wednesday morning ... and whose doggie clock still goes off at 5:30 a.m. at which time she begins pacing back and forth from bedroom to hallway, click, click, click go the toenails, back from hallway to bedroom ... click, click, click.  Stand and stare at Dean.  Back to the hallway ... click, click, click, click.  Back to the bedroom ... click, click, click, click.  Stand and stare at Dean.  Sometimes Dean gets up.  Sometimes I yell "SHADOW!  LAY DOWN!"  Sometimes Dean even yells at her but mostly he just sighs and gets up.  Once they returned from their walk, he put on his "I mean business" coveralls because Friday night he received this:

It not only blows those pesky leaves and debris away but it sucks them up and uses its

metal impeller to DESTROY them! 

So yesterday morning, before yoga, while I was basking in the sun at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper, he was outside doing this.

I had several titles for this blog post.  One of them was "a man in love" but when I asked Dean to gaze upon his new friend with the love and affection I knew he was feeling he did this

and made gun noises.  Geez.  Boys.

This morning he has taken it to Ryan so he also can experience the unbridled joy of destroying innocent leaves.  There's a saying that women marry men who remind them of their fathers.  Be careful Ryan.  Be very careful.  You may begin to feel an uncontrollable urge to wear sandals with white athletic socks.  If you do, seek help.  Seek it quickly.

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Men and Their Toys