Today Miss Y, the Backbend Queen (BBQ), Pippi and I did our usual late Thursday morning practice (I know, I know, it's a moon day). First I was superstiff, probably due to the high mold count and taking yesterday off and riding the bike all over, sleeping at the BF's house (it has no windows) and getting a long overdue chiropractic adjustment (Is it just me who finds it *really disturbing* that when you pay to have someone put electrodes on your skin and run a shock through them, it's "relaxing" -- but when it's free and done against your will it's called torture? I always think about that when I'm lying there face-down). So I was stiff at first and then it was a relief to stretch until somewhere around Marichiasana D, when everything started to hurt like hell and my practice went backwards and when I finally got to the closing sequence (I did just primary today and did not try to come up from backbend, thank you), I felt like vomiting. But I didn't. Even though I wanted to.
I was putting my shoes on when BBQ's four-year-old came over and asked me if my hair is changing.
"Yes it is," I said. "It's becoming less red and more gray" (I'm growing it out, and it looks like super-scheisse).
Then he pointed to the whitest of the grey areas, at my right temple, and said, "Treasure."
What? I asked.
"That's treasure," he repeated, and pointed again, almost touching it.
Treasure. Never thought of getting old quite like that before. From the mouths of babes and all that. I likes it.
But not enough to have one.