Like sex ... or a cult

My brother called tonight, and among the conversation was the news that he and Molly have started taking a yoga class.

Mom is now praying for both their souls (and mine). She also didn't like the idea of kick-boxing. Or Pilates.

"You're not doing the mediatation stuff, are you?" I asked. "No -- we just stretch," he said. Stretching's good, I think, and whether you want to call it "that one stretchy-thingy" or "Downward Dog," if it helps keep you moving and limber, I say go for it.

I'm glad to know that I'm not the only Case child who has made the prayer chain this year.

I confessed to my brother that I had not yet told Mom that I'm reading the Harry Potter books.

"Don't," was his advice. He's getting articles e-mailed to him now that equate people who do yoga with people who are cannibals or talk daily with the devil. "Apparently," he said, "according to these articles and the people who've commented on them, once you start doing yoga, you just wake up one day and find that you've sold your soul to Satan and have been sacrificing children and puppies all along. And you just thought you were stretching." Huh.

I talked about Harry Potter with Amber earlier in the week (she's already read them all), and she said that admitting to the people she's around these days that she reads the books is like admitting that you're having premarital sex. You'd probably get the same kind of intervention.

For my mother, it would be similar -- equittable to either telling her that I haven't waited, or that I've joined the Hari Krishnas or somesuch. I have waited, I haven't joined a cult ... but I am reading the Harry Potter books. And I've dated several men who, I'm sure, turned the last few pigmented hairs on my parents' heads white. There's probably a slot open in the prayer schedule, if any of you would like to sign up.