My mom, Irene, from way back when: “Don, why do you just sit there like a bump on a log?”
Sherry, today: “Don, when your rear moves from one chair to another, it’s not a form of exercise.”
What’s wrong with sitting anyway? I tell Sherry I’m thoughtfully meditating about mindfulness.
Of course, that’s a fib.
I’m actually sitting, in one of my seven favorite chairs, cogitating about the chore of getting up. Johnny, my super trainer, instructs me when I get up to not use my hands for a boost. “Work your glute and thigh muscles,” he says.
So much to think about before I stop sitting.
And then, where am I going to go?
Memories