My, was that an incredible game last night. I'm referring to the double overtime victory the Bruins pulled out in game four of their playoff series against the Sabres. These days, I watch more basketball than hockey, but nothing beats the NHL playoffs for sheer excitement. And who scored the game winner last night? Satan! Seriously, it was Miroslav Satan. His parents, as a gag or in an effort to illustrate the duality of man, should have named him Jesus. Anyway, it was a great, great game and when the deciding goal was scored, I let out a WHOOOOP!! and clapped enthusiastically. I almost got up and did a jig, but absent jug band accompaniment, I couldn't summon the will.
Still plugging away at Drood, which I've been reading slow in order to savor it. And, at work, I'm about halfway through The Picture of Dorian Gray. Almost every sentence is quotable. Also been reading selections from Jim Marr's Rule By Secrecy, a primer on secret societies. I've read it already, but it lends itself to subsequent attention.
Baby Boy Z was frisky when I came home from work, so I had to erect barriers to prevent him from coming in the room while I did yoga. The barriers were flimsy -- if he really wanted to, he could have stepped over the duffle bag or squeezed past the chair -- but the message was clear: no puppy dogs allowed in the room during yoga. He didn't come in the room, but he whined and cried a good amount of the time I was exercising. I'm not going to lie to you: I had to fight the urge to stop doing yoga and start horsing around with Z. It was tough, but I made it through the session. As soon as I was finished, though, the two of us had some quality play time. And we lived happily ever after.
Getting late. Must follow the muse in whatever guise it reveals itself.
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2 comments:
Nobody gives Baby Boy Z quality play time like you, Kevin~
But seriously, what is your aversion to doing yoga while a dog with stinky fishy-breath looms over you while in Happy Baby pose? Who in their right mind would want to maintain a Warrior pose while a frisky, wiggly pit bull stands there with a frayed rope in his mouth? Are you made of STONE, MAN????
Really, it was a no-brainer: I should have realized playing with Baby Boy Z is more nourishing, in every conceivable way, than doing yoga. Even with his stinky fishy breath.
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