Despite the fact that I shed my Catholic upbringing long ago, I still treat Sunday like a rest day. Perhaps it is because I cannot kick my Sunday New York Times habit. I appreciate sleeping in a little later than usual, pedalling myself downtown to pick up the paper and various items for a breakfast-type meal, and coming home to lounge for hours while reading.
Having to teach on Sunday always throws a kink in that rest-day plan. Sunday has the esteemed position of being the one day when I don't feel like teaching. But imagine the uproar I would create should I shut the studio doors on a Sunday. Just as I treat the Sunday Times-fest as a ritual, so do my students with their practice.
16 students today. One newbie, who carried herself in a bit of an off-putting way. I don't know any other way to describe it. I felt like I had to entertain her, in a way. Despite that, a solid class. Perfect temperature, perfect humidity. No room for complaints! Lately I've been teaching well within the 90-minute parameters, which feels good. I did notice a few folks tending towards overindulgence in their own weakness and suffering. When I see that now I do my best to extend compassion.
The newbie asked for a schedule when she left. I reckon I kept her entertained enough.