My mom goes in stages in her life. As the resident dog, I get to observe from a safe distance, mostly my crate, because her enthusiasms take her out of the house more often.
Last year my mom got into fitness in a big way. Declaring the Year of the Body, she went to all kinds of weight lifting classes. This year she found a trainer who taught her to be fit without all the weight lifting and anyway, her schedule is too crazy for classes.
So this year my mom declared the Year of Creativity or (more realistically) doing things for which she has no talent. As a dog, I feel it’s not my place to comment on the vast number of things my owner is not good at. I’m just happy she has marketable skills so we are never short of funds for crunchies and dog walks.
But the mom is determined to expand her horizons. In the fall she took up pottery. If you look in earlier posts in the “Pottery” category, you will see she is not going to be one of those aging potters who celebrates her eightieth birthday with a new designer vase. And just before Christmas she stopped by the gym one night and walked into a hip-hop class. She was hooked. Fortunately, I am not allowed in the gym, so I am not forced to watch her try to be coordinated, the way I have been roped (literally) into weekends at the pottery studio.
“It’s not very fast or furious,” she assures me. “It’s a workout class. The instructor offers three versions of everything: easy, realistic and impossible. We have to learn combinations and move to music. That’s supposed to be good for my aging brain.”
Yeah, right. My mom’s brain seems to be just fine when it comes to seeing through my repertoire of treat-seeking ploys.
“I’m getting better,” she told me last night as she fed me a late night snack of well-cooked rice (see previous post – let’s not go there). “At first I kept getting lost and now I can almost follow when she teaches us a new set of eight counts. And we can improvise. We’re not trying out for Chorus Line, after all.”
Not hardly. As we went on our evening walk, my mom was humming, “And a 5, 6, 7, 8 … and turn to the RIGHT!”
Whatever you say, mom. As a dog, I’d vote for, “And a 1, 2, 3, 4… and turn to the FOOD.”