Running Red Momma

My daughter and I went to the ballet to see Romeo and Juliet. As I watched the ballerina, I was reminded of how much I had wanted to be a dancer when I was younger. Sadly, I couldn't jump rope without killing myself. Jumping Jacks were undoable. I wondered which way was it? Did the clear lack of coordination stop me from ballet? Or, could have ballet been the teacher to create more grace on my part? Yes, I was the kid in gym no one wanted on their team. Don't act surprised now. As I watched her hands/fingers help her dance, they told a beautiful story. They expressed: gratitude, delight, sorrow, regret, joy, beauty, longing and pain. Do you know what my hands can say? They can say stop that, shut-up, you are bugging me, or I'll give you something to cry about. Compare those two lists. Hmmmm. Do you think I could increase my vocabulary? Maybe if I knew how to dance, I would have nicer things to say.

The usual rush and pull of the holidays has gone.  I am still looking back at some of the lessons we learned. The combination of daughter in ballet and a new PBS premier of Nutcracker created the perfect date. We waited for a lull in the holidays to view the recording. Much later, as we sat there watching the Nutcracker prince defend himself against the mouse king, my daughter whispered to me: "It's kind of weird,that guy, I can't watch it."  I have always tried to demonstrate my comfortability with the human body. I don't want my kids to have any hang-ups.  So, I tried to explain about the typical costume of a male dancer. His outfit was compared to a football players uniform, of course. However, that Nutcracker seemed enhanced . He was beyond the normal of ballet.   Sheesh, as the big screen lit up the room, I had a hard time looking at it as well.  Those tights just display everything for gosh sakes.  Why does each part need to be so clearly exposed? Why can...