This woman stepped into the crosswalk in front of our car last weekend, tall and proudly balancing a large flat of wheatgrass on her head, like an East African Kikuyu woman carrying her groceries home from the market.
"Stop the car," I instructed my friend, opening the door while it was still in motion. This woman and her partner were hoofing rapidly down the street, the wheatgrass bobbing and waving to the rhythm of her stride.
"Excuse me, excuse."
They turned around in unison. The wheatgrass stayed put as if glued to her head. She was delighted to let me take her picture while doing yoga poses, karate kicks, wheatgrass holding firm, never threatening to fall.
"Here, you try it." She took it off her head and placed it on mine. I dodged and darted, weaved and cavorted like a bobble head trying to find the balance point, barely able to take my hands off it.
"It's all about the core. Steady your core." She instructed, and demonstrated, a Pilates Goddess.
I did get a few hands-free struts in and promised that I'd practice. She says she does this every week on the walk home from the farmer's market, only with her wheatgrass, just to see the reaction. I told her about my Florida wheatgrass link. She requested that you "friend" her:
Emmazon. And that's the truth.
From Dan/Kathy:
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