Tag: yoga class

Whose Shoes Are These?

Posted on by Admin

Yesterday I stood in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear when I noticed my dark grey flip flops were looking mighty black. The room was dark so I bent down to take a closer look. Black as can be and not my flip flops. These were Havaianas, a little pricier than my $5 Old Navy specials. WTF? How long had I been wearing them? I glanced around the room. What was I was expecting, the Flip Flop Fairy?

Just for a moment I panicked, like that time I realized my purse was no longer hanging from my shoulder (I found it twenty yards back down the sidewalk). I thought back to where I’d been the past couple of days. Past week.

Roxane’s. That had to be it.  Hadn’t we deposited our shoes at the entrance to her house? But that was a week ago. I emailed her, “Are you missing a pair of black Havaianas?” “Nope, not mine.”

It took me an entire two days to finally remember that my Wednesday yoga class had taken place somewhere different, where we had to deposit our shoes at the entrance. I will only know next Wednesday whether this is indeed where I will find the owner of the Havaianas.

Please let it be so.

Old Post Resurrection Hop–Be Silly

Posted on by Admin

As part of Old Post Resurrection Hop,  here’s a blog I wrote in February of this year. (I made some changes)

“Be Silly.” That’s what was imprinted on a license plate in front of me today, as I drove up Laguna Canyon Road to a yoga class in Irvine. I couldn’t help smiling. Instant love for the driver, an older man from what I could see. There were two women and another man in the car. Four heads in an old beige Mercedes tootling up the road.

No doubt they were all wearing Groucho Marx clip-on noses with attached black eyeglass rims and eyebrow tufts. Perhaps the driver was shirtless, his hairy chest covered with a spangly Madonna-like pointy bra, his legs in red striped tights. Maybe the women were dressed as Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum, the other man in a mauve tu-tu that frothed up around him.

I just knew if I pulled up alongside them at the stop sign at El Toro Road, Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen would burst from the windows and all four heads would jerk back and forth in time, with the foursome singing at the top of their lungs along with the group. If I continued alongside the rocking car up the canyon, I would see them lift their chins and sing the final chorus, “Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me,” lips stretched to the sky. And I would sing along with them.

This is a Blog Hop!

Click here to read more resurrection blogs