Old Life

Sometimes I miss it. The dancing world that is. Watching movies that depict NYC in the bad old days of ballet. George ruled, defections were the norm, tickets were sold, and sold out. It's been a long time since I set foot on the wood floor, barre set into the mirror covered wall, rosin bins set at each entry. I was really never meant for it; hated to perform (damn that Cheshire cat season), never wanted to have anyone actually see what I was doing, classes, on the other hand- pure bliss. Give me the motion, tell me the timing, leave no room for interpretation- happier than a pig in shit. There were times when 9 classes a week were the norm in my schedule. Not so much any more. It's about time that I determine how to get back into 'fighting' shape. Visit the boat house once more, put on the soft leather shoes, retrain the hips to have turn-out. Maybe it's really just time to refocus in general. Sold out of stuffed squash two hours after putting it in the case. Am I finally figuring out what the peeps want? I hope so... And do I still dance? In a fashion, yes. Is it enough? On the good days? Absolutely.