So, it's official. The Friday evening yoga class is going away at the end of this session. Lisa gave us three reasons for the schedule change: the class has always been small, and has become smaller recently; having Fridays open allows the studio to schedule more special events; and Lisa wanted Friday evenings to spend with her family. There are only two more Friday classes left.

After class, Lisa approached me and seemed genuinely concerned that I'll be able to transfer to another class. I told her that I think I should be able to.

(My choice of available level I-II classes is limited to Wednesday evenings or weekends. The times that I've taken yoga classes on the weekend, it just didn't feel right to me. The morning classes Seattle Yoga Arts offers conflict with my work schedule.)

Then Lisa suggested another option to me, and to the other Friday evening regulars: Our class has never been afraid to tackle more advanced asanas. We should be able to handle a level II-III class, she said.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do.

There are many patients who I see in my clinic on a weekly, or even daily, basis. I get to know them. I listen to them talk about their life and their disease. Then there are patients who I don't see as often. They come in every several months. I've assumed that their disease hadn't developed very far. They often become like long-distance friends to me, and it's a special treat to see their names show up on the schedule.

Late this afternoon, I learned that one of those infrequent patients - a soft-spoken guy who always walked up to my computer at the front desk when he checked in - had recently died. I learned today that sometimes the reason patients don't come in very often is that their disease had progressed farther than they're willing to admit.

During my interview, they told me their would be days like today. Until a cure is found, patients are patients for life. That knowledge doesn't make it much easier.

I continue to be a proud member of Flexcar, even though we rarely need to use the service. I continue to be excited by the new developments I read about in the newsletter, even though I wish they'd put less effort into adding useless animations to their web site, and put more effort into making it more compatible. (In other words, it still won't work with Opera.)

I am excited by the newsletter that I found in my inbox this morning. Flexcar has added something they're calling a "Flexpod" just a few blocks from our apartment. What that means in that they've taken over most, if not all, of a parking lot and placed six Flexcars in one central location (in addition to the other Flexcars scattered throughout the neighborhood). One of those six is a subcompact, something new for Flexcar - in this case, a Scion XA.

I'm thinking that I should go to the next Flexcar meeting, thank them for the subcompacts, and complain about the web site.

For several months now, Phillip and I have watched that plain, concrete, 1950's era apartment building next to the Capitol Hill library turn into condominiums. It started with that huge tree on the corner being cut down, chunk by chunk. We used to see squirrels burying food near that tree in the past - we don't see them there anymore. When we saw the formerly grey exterior being painted vivid colors, we first suspected that we were seeing a condo conversion in the works. Then we noticed that the building had been vacated, and the apartments had been gutted, and we knew that our suspicions were correct. The double front doors used to have some interesting artwork on the glass - a medieval lord on one side, and a medieval lady on the other. Those are gone, replaced by a plain glass and metal door. I thought the artwork on those doors was rather ugly (too dark, for one thing), but at least it was unique. (The vivid colors on the exterior of the building is a vast improvement, however.) Then the former site of the huge tree was landscaped, and a large sign, advertising the Vertigo, was erected. Phillip and I wondered why that sign remained unvandalized for so long. Last weekend, though, I saw vandalism for the first time: Next to the slogan "The city is your game of tag..." someone wrote "OK" and tagged the sign. Phillip pointed out to me one day that the descending "T" and the ascending "I" on the huge "VERTIGO" sign on the side of the building are crooked. We both got a laugh over that. Then, tonight, I was thinking about that building, and decided to search for its web site. I was surprised to see that the logo is crooked there, too - it is intentional. (Maybe it's supposed to give you the feeling of vertigo.) The problem is, on the side of the building, it's not crooked enough - it's not off-center enough to look intentional, and it looks like poor workership.

I wonder if anyone thought to preserve those old doors.

The latest newsletter from Seattle Yoga Arts arrived in the mail today. On the front cover are the words "Inside! Schedule of Classes - January Through April, 2007." Maybe this was the first time an announcement of classes has been on the cover, or maybe I had a premonition, but I suddenly felt that I needed to see the class schedule - the schedule that has not changed in the two and a half years that I have attended the studio. I turned to the class schedule and noticed that my Friday evening class is gone. I don't know, yet, if this is a misprint, or if Lisa is discontinuing the session. My intuition tells me that it is the latter, and I don't know what I'm going to do about next session. I'm feeling a mild sense of panic.

Last night, Phillip and I went to see David & Martin perform at the Cabaret de Paris, in the Crepe de Paris restaurant, downtown. David & Martin play light jazz and Broadway standards - what they call the "Great American Songbook." It's not my favorite style of music. They do perform it well, though, and that makes it enjoyable to me. Besides, Martin is Phillip's brother. We've seen David & Martin perform as featured entertainment in restaurants, but last night was their first actual concert. I was more impressed than I thought I would be. I was not just being polite when I told them both that I found their show moving. It's still not my favorite style of music, but I'd go back to their concert again and again.

At the Crepe de Paris last night, I was reminded that when I was in elementary school, French was a required subject. (It was New Orleans, after all.) I vaguely remember taking many French lessons, but I don't remember any French at all.

Phillip and I watched the last two episodes of the fifth disc of Lost yesterday, and were met with such a surprise twist that I immediately put on my shoes, walked up to Broadway Video, and rented the sixth and final disc of the second season. (It included a seventh disc of special features.) We have now seen the surprise cliffhanger at the end of the second season, and we're stuck. The third season has already begun showing on TV. We don't want to start watching it without seeing the beginning. It's not out on DVD yet. We're hooked. We're stuck.