Next yoga class?

This morning, as I joyfully awakened to take Scotty to work (no bus to ride on Sundays), Scotty asked, "when is your next fat lady yoga class?" I told him next Wednesday. "Too bad," he says, "you looked so happy when you came home, I was hoping it was more often."
So we talked of my quandary of too much time away from the family... "We'd rather have you here happy," he tells me, "Use my tip money for as many Yoga classes as you want to take, it's a worthwhile investment." Is there any sign greater?
I'm sure that one less hour of me quietly tortured on the sofa's corner, especially when replaced by something calming and opening and quiet, is a good thing for the witnesses thereof, too. I've not ever had a peaceful antidote to depression; mania is such a high, I just bypass that whole middle ground for flying. Which is exhausting. And habituated. I find myself waiting for it to take me away from here. I suppose the cycle of depression is then fed when I sadly realize there's no high my brain can give me that will change my here & now.
The opposite of Yoga.
I found Yoga a peaceful way of making right here, right now, a whole, complete & perfect experience.
If one hour can generate this non-maniacal burst of, of, well I'm not sure what to call it, calm excitement? What could some time dedicated to this practice every day do for me? My family? My dog? The whole freakin' planet?
Here's a vision, dream with me:
Charlie and I walk a mile to the park (which we already do). While he's off-leash, sniffin' and poopin' the space(which he already does), I can listen to my (downloading right this minute, I hope it's amazing) Amazing 10-Minute Daily Yoga and stretch, while I bag up his poopies (which I already do). Sounds like win/win to me! I'll be calm and open and ready to chuck those balls (which I do, not often in right heart) ♥
I feel different. Healing. Another whole new thing, and it's good. Really, really good ♥