Only in Arizona

We sure do things differently around here. My friend, Glee Barstow, yoga instructor for Bikram aficianados, erotic artist and life coach (in case you have trouble living in this stressed out world), told me she was picking me up for an incredible yoga class.

“Why is it incredible?”

“Because the ancient wisdom of the walls will impart inner knowing while you get to a sublime state with your breathing. It’s mind, body, spirit.”

I believe there are many benefits yoga can facilitate including flexibility, stress relief and enhanced health. Whether it will take me to sublime states is another story. I didn’t even try to get information from her because she told me what time to be ready with the unnecessary instruction of, “Wear loose clothing.”

After a brief ride downtown we parked the car in the lot near the Capitol building. “What are we doing here? Is this another one of your crazy schemes?” I’m already stressed.

“Jean, stop asking so many questions. You’ll turn into your mother.” That shut me up. I love my mother but the thought that I could turn into The Grand Inquisitor is frightening.

After a brief pass through security and an elevator ride, we entered a cavernous room covered with yoga mats, high ceilings and an instructor with a long braid sitting in the lotus position. I couldn’t imagine why we drove here for a yoga class when there are studios all over town, especially in Scottsdale. And why the Capitol building, home of insane legislation and wild bargaining?

It seems our state Senate dumped the Capitol press corps which had rented the room for decades (why have convenient coverage and easy access to politicians, sponsors of major bills that effect the residents of the state?) and turned it into a yoga studio! I cannot make this up! It soon filled with women in leotards, tights, loose clothing and someone who slipped off pumps that matched her lime green shorts.

“Glee, what are we doing here?” I hissed.

I thought you’d like the political vibes. They do this twice a week and it’s only five dollars.”

Namaste.

I Thought I Had the Oldest Shoes

My well-informed husband, Maury, left me an article on my place mat this morning with a note attached to it. “I’ve perused the floor of your closet and YOU have the oldest shoes in the world.”

Ha ha. Very funny. I read the story with amazement. Archeologists in Armenia found a size 7 5,600 year-old lace-up shoe in a cave. Of course I’m fascinated. My foot is bigger but this has been perfectly preserved with grass inside. It’s 1,000 years older than the great pyramid in Egypt and 400 years older than Stonehenge, which Maury dragged me to in freezing cold rain so he could wander around the ancient stone structures and murmur, “Why? Why?”

I admit I do keep my shoes for eons, a bad habit I can blame on my mother who’s obsessed with her feet, but they’re not that old. So what did the ancient well-dressed woman who didn’t live in Scottsdale wear to complete the outfit? A wild boar-skin skirt? Lion teeth accessories? A  bear shrug?

I’m cleaning out my closet this minute!



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