We're Climbers

That's right. We Ericksons might not be tall human beings, but we sure like to be on top of tall things. This winter we've been climbing stuff.

Dave Dave can't even see, and he's climbing stuff.

Anna Rose has never even seen Rocky. Not once.

Even the dogs…

Our dogs like to climb things.

Not to be out done.

(Lia's climbing footage…suspiciously missing…)

Hot Yoga - an Expose

Lia has been trying to get me to do Hot Yoga for months. It has quote, "changed her life." I know I just quoted twice. It's for emphasis. You see, Lia loves hot yoga. And I appreciate that she wants to share something that she loves with me. Really I do.

"So what do you do exactly?"

She describes it. The thing is the ecstasy in her voice doesn't match up with the words coming out her mouth. She tells me how you stay on this rubber mat for sixty minutes in a room that is 115 degrees while putting yourself in painful positions…oh, and you aren't allowed to leave. In other words: torture. But her voice is so enthusiastic. "You just have to try it. Promise me."

"OK," I promised.

So I go on line to see what hot yoga looks like. Here is what I saw:



Oh boy.

Over Christmas my father-in-law showed me this famous illustration of what the slave ships looked like for the Africans who were transported across the ocean. You probably have seen it. Here it is.
 

Now, please don't hear me say that these yoga peeps have it as bad as the slaves did. Hot yoga's only an hour or so, and they choose to be there (unless they are dragged there by their wives, not that I'm speaking from experience or anything). 

So last Sunday I get dragged. The room is packed. It's hotter than the tarmac in Dubai. The girl two rubber mats away is touching the back of her head with her toes. This guy strips down to his Speedo. I turn to Lia, and I tell her I'm out of here. 

She says, "Relax."

Relax. Right. My heart's racing. I can hardly breathe. There is so much stretchy clothing around me. I'm freaking out. The instructor says that the max for the room is 70. We are at 74, not that I am counting. There is definitely not enough oxygen for 74 of us, I think to myself. I panic. I tell Lia that I'm leaving. The instructor shuts the door. She says that whatever you do the one thing you cannot do is leave. I tell Lia I'm leaving anyway. She gives me the trust-me look, or it might have been the do-not-let-me-down look, I can't tell with the sweat blurring my vision. 

I'm just saying.

Somehow, I stayed. I survived. I didn't pass out. It was…a miracle. 

Lia says, "It will be better next week."

NEXT WEEK!

Thank God I promised Hugh I'd run with him. 

I have a week to come up with another excuse. Any ideas?

The Results

 She's what?

Here is the entire genetic history.

Which certifies her as a bone-fide Mutt. The test also found traces of Chow, Cardigan Welsh Corgi, Sealyham Terrier, American Staffordshire Terrier (Pit Bull), and Dalmation!

However, the three most dominant breeds are Australian Shepherd, Boxer! and German Shepherd. If you see it, you have better eyes than us. 

And so, the winner of the Guess That Dog Contest is Kevin Smith, who guessed Australian Shepherd, Chow mix. Others were close, but we decided that retriever guesses were nullified by the breed not registering at all! I know, can you believe it?

Congratulations, Kevin. A signed Clay is coming your way. 

DRUMROLL PLEASE!

This morning I picked up the results from Summer's (dog on right's) genetic history. They confirmed what we expected: she is a mix breed!

However, there were a few surprises in her past, a few breeds that rose above the others in her melting pot of a gene pool. 

We will reveal the results here tomorrow at 4pm. So that means you have a little more than 24 hours to submit your guesses. 

Ned will send the winner a signed copy of Clay. 

Good lick, I mean luck!

Here are photos from this weekend. (Neither will be used in next year's Christmas card).