I’ve had the unforgettable Zoom moment. Late Sunday afternoons, I sometimes do yoga with a group of friends on Zoom. In my bedroom, a trunk corrals my rolled up floor mats, bands, belts, balls, pillows, and other exercise equipment. At the foot of our bed is a long seat where I prop my iPad. A few minutes before class, whether Pilates, yoga, Qi Cong, or body mapping, I find the Zoom link and open it up; then I roll out my mat, gather equipment I might need, and make the bed.
I adjust my mat so that the middle of it is centered with the middle of the headboard. Hyper-focusing on a point in front of me to maintain balance when standing on one leg is easier to do when my bed is made, and I can stare at the Zen center of the middle-most pillow of the eight on the bed. Making our bed is like building a sculpture every morning. Bill goes along with it; I’ve removed all pillows from the couch where he sits in the living room to offset this morning pillow task.
I was following this early bird strategy one Sunday and logged in ten minutes early to my yoga class. I was surprised to see the instructor already in her box and another friend in hers. Like a tail-wagging dog greeting its owner after a long absence, I leaned over waving and smiling and saying “hi” to these human forms. Smiles and “hellos” came across the screen. I glanced at my own box and realized that a good portion of my screen was filled with cleavage, for in the excitement to see my friends, I had leaned over into the screen rather than sat down in front of it. I quickly lowered myself onto the floor to be level with the screen.
No more had I sat down, than I heard a man’s voice. My yoga instructor teaches from her bedroom, and her husband’s words “…the camera’s not on, is it?” came from stage right just seconds before he entered the screen. Stark naked he crossed behind her to get his shorts from the other side of the room. “Yes, it’s on…” or words to that effect were being spoken as he entered the scene.
I hit the mute button, rolled my body off screen, and flattened onto the floor as I listened to the argument unfold on stage. I think my friend was too flustered to change the connection, for the audio and video stayed live while they argued over the mishap. Meanwhile, off-camera, I erupted with a gut-busting laugh—the kind we used to have sitting with friends and telling stories, where a couple of us would be left wobbling like jelly and unable to speak. I had forgotten how good the turbulence felt from an uncontrollable laugh that shakes the whole body.
No amount of hyper-focus on an autostereogram-like pillow, reminiscent of those dotted wall posters from the 1990s, will let me unsee the sight or unfeel that deep chortle.
