Gifts

Last night as I finished teaching my class and was hurrying out the door, a student stopped me.

"Here," she said, "Here's some more," as she poured a handful of cough drops into my palms.

She had already given me a few at the end of class on Monday, when I was coughing and sniffling through most of the class, suffering from allergies that seemed to have morphed into a sinus infection/cold/cough over the past few days. I was doing a little better last night, but still coughing a bit, and this seemed to bring out the mothering instinct in my students. The woman who gave me the cough drops was young, probably in her early 20s. Then an older woman (perhaps my age or a litttle older), said, in her eastern European accent, "Professor--do you take anything?" I told her the name of the allergy remedy I was taking, let's call it "Laur-at-a-deen," and she said, emphatically, "My son has the same thing. You have take the D, Laur-at-a-deen D. He takes that and then he is fine." I was trying to dash out quickly because I was meeting a friend that I travel home with and the students could tell I was rushing so they were both speaking really quickly. Which made it all the more endearing somehow, how they were trying to get me to stop and listen to them, not so they could ply me with questions about their grades or their papers, but so they could take care of me.

Then, tonight I went to yoga. The teacher was one I really like, and the class is a good class, difficult and nourishing. At first I felt fretful, bringing everything from outside with me, impatient with the slow beginning, the simple stretches, the small movements. Then it got more difficult and I thought, no, this is too hard, my wrists can't take this holding of plank pose. Then, as usually happens, without realizing it, somehow I am in it, it is neither too hard or too easy, I am just doing the movements and sweating and totally happy.