a pox on your yoga mat

I did some yoga today, it's the first time since we arrived that I've managed to get myself into gear, find a class and get myself along. Now, I love yoga, did it for a year under the tutelage of the wonderful Gloria, an Argentinian ex yoga student who taught various classes in Canyelles and in & around Vilafranca. It was the full-on yogic experience with Gloria, which was just great for me. Classes were in the municipal gym, in a very large and airy room. You went in, took off your shoes, spread your towel out on a mat and waited there in your comfy clothes and (clean) socks (coming to that in a bit...) while Gloria put on some lovely relaxing music, lit an incense stick and did the roll call. Then class would begin, sometimes stretching, sometimes getting rid of the bad karma we had collected since the last class, sometimes simply jiggling about a bit. There was always a rhythm and a pattern, you always felt as though you were being prepared for the class coming to some sort of crescendo, whether it be for a posture, or some balancing, and we also did quite a bit of pair work. Gloria was great, helping us with breathing techniques and making us think of our bodies in relation to the movement we had made - she even made us chant... I'm going on a bit I know, but there IS a point!

So today I was really looking forward to it, learning some of the names of the positions I know so well in Spanish and getting the old bod moving a bit, feels so nice after an hour of yoga... anyway, even though it was nice, it wasn't quite what I expected. I'm really not sure what I'd expected, but this was more of a paramilitary yoga workout than reaching for inner peace. Fifteen of us crammed into a tiny, windowless room. The teacher, a guy who looked as though he'd be more at home teaching 5-a-side football, put us through our paces like we were in combat training. No towel on the mat. Faces on the mat... and it's here I finally get to my point. In Spain, when you go swimming or take part in some other sport, HYGIENE plays a significant part in the activity. When swimming (indoors) you need to wear sandals and a hat. Not here. I'm so much in the habit now that I get funny looks for walking to the side of the pool in my flip-flops, but it feels Wrong not to. And the floor is slippy. Hats, I know we look silly when we wear them but there is a good reason and everybody looks just as silly so you don't mind really. In the yoga class people were barefoot and it clearly wasn't a problem for them to lie on the mat without having a towel there. A lovely, clean towel you brought from home. I don't know, am I being pernickety? I came out at 6.30 and immediately took a great big breath. I was feeling better in body but needed a lungful of our lovely rural air... breathed in through the nose and ahhhhh, the sweet, sweet smell of freshly cooked fish and chips filled my head. Not quite what I was after, but I went and got some for tea anyway... and had a shower ASAP afterwards!

Other news. My police check is through and it looks like there might be 5/6 weeks work for me in one school nearby – hurrah! – but I don't know much about it yet. Excited all the same. And our Oscar has got chicken pox, bless the poor spotty bugger. So far he only has a few spots on his torso, we're hoping it won't get much worse. He is off his food but otherwise seems in good spirits. Elly is good, loving school and making up for Oscar's lack of appetite by eating anything that isn't nailed down. Fab. It was just a snacky tea tonight, a boiled egg and soldiers followed by peach chunks, which last month would have been a chore to get her to swallow. Today it was gone in a flash, followed by demands for more soldiers with jam on. And then some more soldiers, please, this time with Vegemite on. All of which turned out to be a diversion, a way of distracting our attention while little brother upended his egg-in-a-cup and spread it into a perfect semicircle. Thankfully we'll be over the worst of it soon, just as soon as he is.

Googling any kind of pox is bound to turn up some slightly off-the-wall results, and chicken pox is no exception. Most disturbingly, it seems a person from Ashford saw some profit in it, as did someone at Zapf Creations. The other bizarre thing is the amnesia it creates in adults, such that when your poorly kids grow up and have kids of their own, you can't remember them ever having it. At least that's the case with my parents, and Mick's, and pretty much everyone either of us talk to. It seems the only way to be sure is to wait a fortnight and see if you come down with shingles, which is a sure-fire way of remembering, if ever there was one. It also gets you to thinking about highly contagious diseases and, inevitably, full-circle to unprotected yoga on a mat of indeterminate cleanliness...