Where’s the Padre when you need him?

Yoga in the street
Yoga in the street

We have a new yoga practitioner joining us in Mayra’s morning class: the priest from Todos Santos. I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming. I certainly didn’t. Yoga gets a bad rap from some religious groups as being ungodly or, even, evil, so to find the local man of the cloth doing downward dog by your side can be surprising. All us lapsed and fallen Catholics are pleased to see him. Father Francisco is a new practitioner so when he shows up class has a sedater pace. There’s nothing wrong with taking the time to do your work in easier poses at a slower pace so you’ll hear no complaints from me.

Yesterday the schools of Pescadero did a big physical fitness event outside for the whole community. Mayra guest taught some yoga right after the Zumba. The event was on our way home so I joined in and Zumba’d with my neighbors and their kids. There were scores of people dancing in the plaza. I didn’t know we had so many kids in town. After Zumba I followed along to Mayra’s yoga class, too. An hour later I finished my walk home feeling pretty well worked out. As if that wasn’t enough exercise for one day, a few hours later we headed over to the palm beach for an evening swim. We found a baby horse and her friendly-ish mom. Mom was kind of snappish if she didn’t like you. She liked me well enough until she didn’t but by then the flies had found me and I left the horses and swam. Palm beach has weird currents and a strong undertow. Waves came in all kittywampus and collided coming and going. Disorienting is the way I describe it, especially when I don’t wear glasses. Staying on your feet takes work. When we all had enough, including Olive and Elvis, we headed home for a late night of leftovers. I was pooped.

Today the padre did not show up to yoga. Mayra took the chance to work us through all the arm stands and one legged postures she could fit into an hour. I wanted to call a taxi to take me home. I am now prostrate wondering where to take Burt for dinner. He’s working in the hot sun and shouldn’t have to cook tonight but I can’t lift a finger. I hope Father Fransisco is there to show mercy tomorrow. I might have to call the pope.

El Caballito en playa las palmas.
El Caballito en playa las palmas.
No clouds is boring so I added Olive to the sunset.
No clouds is boring so I added Olive to the sunset.
Another crowded beach, playa de las palmas.
Another crowded beach, playa de las palmas.
The walk through the palm oasis.
The walk through the palm oasis.
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Was it a Full Moon Where You Are?

Sierra de la Laguna at sunset. Picacho.
Sierra de la Laguna at sunset. Picacho.

Well, of course it was, silly. I hatched a great plan to have our Valentine’s Day date out in the desert where we could see the sunset over the ocean and the moonrise over the mountains. I hoped to taken some pictures of the mountains lit by the setting sun as the moon peeked out. Alas, the moon was about 15 minutes late to the show. I should have come out the day before. And I should have remembered the little adapter that attached the camera to the tripod. The lovely pink haze was dioxin laden smoke from the dump burning. Pretty isn’t it? All my moon pictures came out over or underexposed but the mountains had already gone to sleep so it didn’t matter.¬† It was a fun date anyway.

Afterwards we returned home to the gNash and dined on homemade ravioli’s out of the freezer. It was a pretty good day. Later this week the 11th Annual Festival de Cine starts and I might be short on time or energy to blog. The volunteer coordinator is planning on using our overly reliable butts to do anything that needs doing. Today I had to let her know that Burt is a man of action and not an accountant just so she wouldn’t expect him to do any heavy money changing. Rules combined with money gives Burt hives. Today is chore day. Off to water and pick up dog poop. Life in paradise.

Desaturated desert and Sierra de la Laguna.
Desaturated desert and Sierra de la Laguna.
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I’m a Little Teapot

IMG_9073
Revamped picture from a couple of weeks ago

The Gypsy Carpenters visited the Bridge to English program at the Palapa Society again yesterday. We’ve developed a syllabus of some simple tunes where we can help with English and singing¬† development. Over the course of three hours we visited 8 classes. The kids are grouped by age and English skills. For each class Burt plays along while I warm the kids up with a seemingly random but actually deviously effective series of vocalizations meant to reduce inhibitions and get them breathing, working their vocal chords and lips, tongues and teeth. There’s a lot you can do with sing songy vowel sounds and lip flapping raspberries. I even threw in a few forceful NOs (there’s the devious bit).¬† From there we did the Hokey Pokey. Doing the math it came out to 24 Hokey Pokeys over 3 hours. One slow, one faster, one with the kids naming body parts. The kids never failed to ask me to put my right hip in, put my right hip out, out my right hip in and shake it all about. I guess you’re ever too young to appreciate a good shake of the old money maker. From there it was onto whatever songs we had chosen for the particular age group. The littlest got I’m a Little Teapot. All ages got On Top of Spaghetti. The oldest and middle kids sang Three Little Birds and Bad Moon a Rising‘. It was quite a pace and I worked hard to keep moving and get in and out of each class in 20 minutes so we wouldn’t cause scheduling problems. Despite the packed agenda I never knew twenty minutes could be so long. When you’re on the 15th run through of the first verse of I’m a Little Teapot (with dance moves) time slows down. We came home utterly spent and pondered the miracle that there are people that can do this all day, every day for most of their lives. I am happy to do this once a week. The other six days I need my rest.

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