Monday, April 8th, 2024

 Monday, April 8th, 2024 

   I made it to the Chi Qigong class by 8 a.m. Roger, who led the class last week,  was there, but Clyde was leading it now. He barely knew what he was doing. He knew the moves, but he couldn't execute them. Roger took over after Clyde finished one sequence. 

That made a huge difference. Clyde will take over the class in May when Roger and Janeen leave for six months in Colorado. At the end of the class, Roger said he was amazed at how well I caught on. I told him I was a dancer.

    I was never a professional dancer, just an amateur. As a child, I did improvisational dance daily. My paternal grandfather sat in our living room every day from early morning until after dinner.  , My mother said the other residents in the apartment building thought he lived there. He might as well have. He wasn't beloved, only tolerated, but he was my savior. He asked me to dance to the classical music that was constantly on the radio. I danced my heart out. I vented my fear, loneliness, and general sorrow. I don't think I would have made it without that release. I was jumping out of my skin.

    One of the Chi Qigong class participants, a professional Hulu dancer, led us through a foundational exercise. I learned that the Hulu's bent knees demonstrate humility. We were instructed to imagine a five-inch nail into our belly button toward the spine with a glowing red tip. We were to see the red tip getting brighter. I didn't feel the image. More instructions would have been helpful.

   Janeen was one of the most naturally beautiful women I have ever seen. I saw a twenty-something restaurant hostess that might have her beat. However, she was in her twenties; Janine was in her late 50's or early  60s.

   I had an appointment with twenty-six-year-old SE. Each time I meet with her, I ask her if she did some reading on her own. She would tell me she didn't have the time. I pushed her to answer the question with words like "No," or "I thought about the words," or" I glanced at one of the stories you emailed me,",  . . . . anything. "

     Darby texted me that she had returned the large trash barrel that I wheeled down to her house with palm fronds. She uses them for compost. Last time, it had been sitting there for days before I noticed it. I could load up another container of green waste to deliver to her house. As I came up from the yard after putting another load together, Elaine was in my driveway with a good-sized slice of her homemade vegetarian lasagna. Her son had visited, and it was one of his favorite dishes. I said, "Ooh! I'd love a slice," just making joyful conversation, expressing appreciation for her cooking skills. She took me literally, which I didn't object to, but I also hadn't expected her to remember. Yet, here she was delivering it. I reminded her I was delighted, but she didn't have to. She said she knew that. Most people understand I don't expect people to give me what I ask for. By the way, it was delicious. I always appreciate someone else's cooking.

  Later in the day, I got around to vacuuming up the spot where Elsa peed the other morning. When I turned around after cleaning up that spot, I found she peed somewhere else.