Reflections - Rain Made the Familiar Strange

Pansy with Raindrops

I waited eleven days. Mornings had dawned too cold or too wet for bare feet on the deck. Finally, Sunday, June 12, I got another chance to spread my yoga mat on the four-foot-wide space along the faded wood planks. Bumble bees buzzed in pansies and petunias to my right. To the left—on the other side of the sliding screen door—the tabby cat brothers munched crunchies from food bowls on the tile floor. Well, Ande and Rills did. Gilbert observed from the oak floor, a safe distance away, rather than jockey for mouthfuls.

The laptop, placed at the top of the mat, played a Yoga with Adriene [video. Her you-can-do-it voice flowed through the speaker. Across the road, the rising sun tinged green tree leaves gold. I inhaled air as crisp and moist as the first bite of a fresh picked cucumber. Adriene said, “Reach for the sky.” I threw my arms over my head, and my spirit soared to the clouds.

Then I felt a drop. And two more. 

Had rain been forecast? It didn’t matter. Sliding the screen door open, I shoved the laptop onto the tile.

The cats scurried to the other side of the room.

I tossed in the yoga blanket, blocks, belt, and gripper socks.

Ande and Rills tip-pawed back. They sniffed the laptop and stared at me as if I’d done something unusual.

Since only sprinkles fell, I turned sideways on the mat, watched Adriene through the screen, and kept moving. “Forward bend . . . halfway lift . . . soften and bow.” 

The tempo of drops increased from sprinkles to showers. I’d never done yoga in the rain before. This could be fun, a new adventure. Raindrops caressing my face, I stretched into a runner's lunge. My hands and toes slipped. Maybe if I owned an expensive fabric or bamboo mat, that wouldn’t have happened. My inexpensive plastic (polypropylene) mat gave bare feet a solid grip when dry. When wet, it became a slip-and-slide.

Reading digital headlines inside, Spence didn’t know or need to shout, be careful. Slower than a wood turtle, I shifted on the mat.

The storm intensified. Pansies bobbed behind me. Raising my derriere skyward for downward facing dog gave rain the advantage. It pelted my clothes soaking everything through to my butt.

Adriene had introduced the detox flow exercises as “a good wash, a good war-sh.” She was right, except I didn’t bring soap. That’s not why I chose this routine. All eleven of her videos that I bookmarked fit my advanced-beginner skills and my thirty-minute or less time frame. I wanted to work on balance and keep arthritic joints moving without being an exercise martyr. If the routine actually rid my body of toxins in the process, I wouldn’t object.

Rills and Ande Investigating Adriene on the Laptop

Bored with me doing yoga in slow motion, Rills ran to the sofa and headbutted his buddy Spence. Ande chomped a couple more crunchies then, tail held high with the tip curled, wandered off.

The rain drifted away too—in time for eagle pose. I sighed in relief. I wouldn’t have to balance on one foot, bend my knees, and double twist my arms in the rain. The slippery mat remained, however. While Adriene chatted on the laptop inside, I kicked the yoga mat behind me outside. It scrunched against the flower pots, leaving a dry rectangle—perfect. I contorted into an eagle pose in the rectangle. Twice

Wet but proud, I bowed my head for namaste. A mourning dove cooed. Sunshine warmed my bent neck. A hummingbird buzzed in and out of the petunias.

Straightening the scrunched mat, I spread it on the original space to air dry while I toweled down and changed. The mat didn’t dry. Rain resumed.

I’d gotten a yoga wash. The yoga mat might as well get a wash too. Over the decades my feet ground sweat into its purple texture. Though I’d stuffed the mat into the utility sink a couple of times for cleaning, that splashed the floor and me. It left brown blotches where I stood for mountain pose and downward facing dog.

The rain stopped yet again. Grabbing the bathroom cleaner and two rags, I hustled to the deck. On hands and knees, I sprayed and scrubbed. A satisfying white foam formed under my rhythmic rubbing.

 The cat boys charged back to check what I’d gotten into now. Noses twitched. They glared at me as if I had exhibited strange behavior.

They had a point about the smell. The cleaner clashed with the sweet fragrance of multiflora roses dominating the roadsides that week. I poured several buckets of water over the mat to rinse the offending odor away. Did I get any thanks? Nope.

Cat claws dug into the oak floor—scratch, scratch, scratch. I guessed my actions had exceeded the safe-crazy range. All for the best. They wouldn’t have tolerated my flapping the mat to get rid of excess water. I draped it over an Adirondack chair on the covered porch to dry. 

Though we had no more rain, stepping on the mat the next morning reminded me of walking through dewy grass. I attributed the dampness to the cats. When I practiced yoga inside, they took turns joining me on the mat. Claws out, the cat of the day would knead the purple plastic before curling into a rest pose—no matter which pose I did. And their kneading left divots that allowed rain to saturate the mat’s interior foam. I hung the mat over the deck rail in Monday’s bright sunshine.

Not wanting to brave outdoor temperatures in the fifties Tuesday morning, I spread the mat in the loft. I stepped on hoping it would be dry. I got my wish and more. It felt thin. Half as thick as it had been with decades of accumulated sweat. My feet gripped the grime-free surface. I formed what Adriene would call “a big, beautiful mountain pose.” Grounded. Balanced.  Relaxed. I closed my eyes and imagined being that mountain.

The next time I stretch for Adriene’s yoga wash or wash my yoga mat, I don’t need to slip and slide in the rain. I can do either on a sunny day. But I’m glad I had those wet adventures once. They gave the cats new experiences to observe between naps.

Deck Flowers in the Rain