The Happy Yogini

LLVS moment o' the day: My friend Patti Tower just stopped by on the fly, fresh from a 500-hour yoga teacher training, and bequeathed me her grandmother's apron collection. Oh, the sheer cotton and rickrack and lace of it all! The woman who once worked the trading floor of a multinational bank and possessed 300 pairs of shoes is paring down. The contents of her charming 1800-square-foot brick row house now fit in an 25-foot storage unit with room to spare. She is flitting from housesit to housesit, but flit isn't the right word for someone so grounded in her new incarnation, residing where her (nowadays most often bare) feet are.

What's LLVS about this is that she could swing on by, since I live so close to southern CT's main thoroughfares (I-95 and the Merritt Parkway). If I was out-of-the-way rural or inconvenient-parking urban, she wouldn't have as likely pulled her thrift-store-on-wheels up to my front stoop, one of her errands about town.