Yoga, Death and Writing

This morning's yoga class was led by my favorite teacher, Frank.

Frank always makes me feel like floating away on a cloud of yogic bliss.

So why didn't he have that effect on the man in front of me?

Bless his heart, the man was really trying, but he's built like a pro football player, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Not a football fan myself (can't figure out what all the slamming into bodies is about) I can't tell you what position he would've played, but it would be the dude who makes grown men cry for their mommies.

I suppose that type of crazily large and athletic body doesn't always lend itself to balancing on one leg with your hands in prayer position.

Then, I spoke to my best friend in Florida (we've known each other since we were ten) and she told me that her sixty-five-year-old sister passed away this morning.

She'd been in hospice several times during the year, so it wasn't a huge shock, but still. It always feels shocking when it finally happens.

As we spoke, it turns out that the dynamics between the sisters (there were four) would make the Jerry Springer show look like a meditation retreat.

Finally, I sat down to work on my story, and I gotta tell you, truth really is stranger than fiction.

R.I.P. to my beloved BFF's sister.

I love your whole family with all my heart.