No Zumba For You

Remember this guy? He is yelling at me. On Slattern Day in the blog. With a sheet of ice out there on the roads. We heard a prediction of “five inches of ice.” How could that even happen? (Don’t tell me! There are things I don’t want to know.) Well, the less-than-five-inch sheet of ice caused me to go around the block and come home this morning, instead of continuing on to my last zumba class of the season. I was glad I could stop at the stop sign and turn into the proper lane, and my own driveway.

On my way around the block, part of my introverted mind (the neocortex, or “new brain”) was firmly attentive to the road and the brakes. But part of it was also spinning titles for this blog entry. The first, before I realized just how slick it was, was “ReZumbaed” (meaning “zumba, resumed.") Yes, I know. Not very funny. And strangely convoluted, also probably due to my essential introversion. I am reading Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a WorldThat Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain. I feel so externally validated! So comforted, so relieved. Anyhoo, that was when I thought I was resuming zumba this morning.

This quickly changed to “Re:Zumba,” as in “regarding the matter of zumba,” just as quickly discarded.  “Zumba: Epic Fail” skated by, but I didn’t want to imply the failure of zumba itself, only my personal epic fail. And then “No Zumba For You” reared its ugly head behind a deli counter in my mind, via the “Soup Nazi” from Seinfeld.

So, yes, I did not make it to zumba class this morning. Nor did I make it to the special, extra, holiday zumba class offered to Saturday participants this past Thursday, which would have allowed me to make up one of the other classes I failed (or forgot) to attend. But I forgot.

Instead, I was making a dreaded Christmas shopping trip to Target, a store I haven’t visited in over a year, I’d guess. So, of course, I go there when Target shoppers have had their credit cards hacked. Fortunately, I just missed the hacking period. I hope. It is the season of hope, right?

Little did I know, when I wrote of my “Slow Waltz” yesterday that I would be going so slowly down the literal road this morning.  Not, thank goodness, figuratively waltzing on my half-new tires. So, I will “Rezumba Quiet” (heh heh) this morning, on my couch, maybe, wrapped in a cuddly sherpa (blanket, not a guy from Nepal). 

It’s the shortest day of the year, so I might be there all day. I can write Christmas cards from inside a sherpa, right? And it's the longest night of the year. Here is some more to read, Re: Winter Solstice, at Escape Into Life, excerpts from the journals of Chris Al-Aswad, founding editor, and from a book he was reading, The Happiness Hypothesis. More stuff about how the brain works.

I mention snow angels. Around here it might be mud angels, as it’s been raining. Or sheet of ice angels. Or Sherpa angels.