#1

I'm sitting outside on the deck, sheltered by a large rust-orange umbrella. 

My knee is sending messages, the brain telling me to take a pill for the pain I'm feeling, but I'm waiting to take it closer to the yoga class at 1 o'clock.

My growing collection of children's chairs in the studio have been moved, and are now peering out from under Costco work tables.

The floor has been washed twice.

There is now room for yoga mats.

I'm using one of J's mats with a long history, bought many years ago from Lululemon. Its only concession for its long life is that the colour is now a dirty-looking charcoal grey.

I'm struggling with an old and familiar feeling that I am responsible for the people I have invited to join me for this class. 

Responsible for their enjoyment or for their disappointment.

That is my job, I believe.

Strangely, I'm not worried about my own enjoyment.

A friend who has been working with me in the garden for about a month, gave me a brass #1 to keep where I see it every day.

The number sits in the bathroom near the sink.

He says it is to remind me to place myself as important, not near the end of a line- up.

How selfish, I mumble.

Still, it remains near my toothbrush.

 Can a brass number glare, I wonder.

I'm going inside now and I will move this shining number into my studio, before our first class.

To remind myself.

P.S. the class was great!