Boy, I wish I could nap.
I watch my guy on a soft slow Saturday afternoon, slumped on the large armchair in front of the window. If his eyes were open, he’d survey the soft fluffy clouds floating over the azure blue waters, and he’d note the gentle movement of the white sailboats as they lazed across the Bay.
But his head is leaned back and his mouth is open, releasing a sonorous hum of a snore every 30 seconds.
Instead, I see the hummingbirds sprint from tree to feeder just beyond the window, and I stretch my achy tired muscles.
I awoke at 6, walked the Bay path at 7, attended yoga class at 9:30, and joined a friend for a 2-hour hike at noon.
My body screams at me, “You are not a 20-year-old girl anymore.” But I laugh out loud at such nonsense. At 20, I couldn’t walk for a half a mile, much less five. I thought yoga was an Indian mystic, and “hike” was a football term.
No, I am not 20, but I am active, energetic, and three times the age when I used to think playing tennis for 40 minutes was overdoing it.
So why the heck can’t I nap?
I beg my body, GO TO SLEEP.
Relax, I cajole my brain – nod, nod into blissful oblivion.
Babies nap, 30-year-olds nap, Daddies nap and dogs nap.
Why can’t I?
I peer at my guy, sleeping the nap of the fortunate.
I head for the hallway closet and take out my yoga mat.
A headstand sometimes makes me sleepy….