How to sew the strap on ballet slippers.
R has decided to drop gymnastics and take up ballet.
She had 3 words to report back after the first "drop in" night for the beginner teen/adult class (which they said she could attend even though she's 12):
"Sign me up."
So I will. Clearly, both my daughters have an interest in dance that goes beyond what I felt for the art form as a child.
When I was little - maybe 4 or 5 - my mother signed me up for a ballet class. I fought extreme shyness every lesson in order to go, but not because I wanted to dance. Instead, I went back for the brief storytime that was a part of each class, when the instructor would tell an installment of the Nutcracker to all the squirmy little girls gathered in a spill of pink tulle around her on the floor.
What I didn't realize was that the story was just a hook to get us to come back. I didn't expect that it would actually end, and that there would be no Sheherazade-like continuation of the entertainment. Once Clara came home, and I saw that it was going to be all dance and no plot from then on out, I refused to go back.
I think I've learned since then that sometimes life is the story, though. If only you look for it. I mean the students, and the teacher, and the chalky smell of the studio, and the way the mirror was a little warped - all those things were the real story. The Nutcracker was a red herring, nothing more than a plot element that drove this particular character away and into another direction.
Sewing the strap on the ballet slipper while S chatters. Having R grin and say, "Sign me up!" That's the story right now.
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