I have a lovely little yoga group. We meet in the basement of a neighborhood church.
If you can appreciate how cold that basement floor is during a Chicago winter, you will understand how loyal this group is. I tend to drop in and out, but whenever I do make class, there are A and K and C and J and E, and of course our beautiful instructor, who thanks us for practicing with her.
One evening in 2009, after class, we all rolled up our mats and walked over to A's house for strawberries and wine and conversation. Can you imagine?
It's true.
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