Dress Rehearsal

The end of year show for Dance Til Dawn is this weekend (omg I know, right!?).  This means we had a dress rehearsal yesterday to run lighting checks and basically see what kind of shape we were in for our paying audience.

And there's all sorts, little girls from no older than 3 all the way up to us old timers.  It seems to be organized chaos, but I stride on in there with my chinese takeaway in hand and I am pointed to the adult dressing room, which is a kitchen.  Which is handy, cause I need a fork!

Anyway, unload my stuff, meet some of the other ladies I've never seen before because they do tap, jazz, contemporary, etc.  I get changed into my costume and realize that I've not brought my makeup and I make a mental note to pack that along on friday, as I was looking a bit pasty in comparison.  And after all, stage lights wash you out and if you're not wearing loads of makeup, you're not doing it right.

Because I'm in the second half of the show, I take the opportunity to watch the other dances.  And let me just say, the little girls and the girls who are younger than me, but far better than me, are my favorites.  The little girls just sorta flail adorably and say hi to their mums and dads who are beaming with pride.  The older girls just remind me of what could be.

Stroll back to the dressing room to don my sarong and get my slippers on.  I follow my classmates backstage and we await our turn in the dark amongst the curtains.  And then our music comes on and the lights change for us and we classical walk our way out there.

This is when everything went wrong for yours truly.

My feet have decided that they're done for the day and they're not having any of this dancing nonsense and just give up.  My arms, however, troopers that they are, desperately try to remember what they're supposed to do, but they're about 10 counts behind and just waving uselessly about the place.

I'm blinded by the lights and and trying to catch a sneaky glance of the others to try and catch up, but it's over.  I'm facing the wrong way, just lost on stage.  And while I can't see much, I'm sure I can feel Dawn's eyes of disapproval on me.

Feeling utterly embarrassed with myself, vowing to practice this at least one thousand times when I get home, we leave the stage and the next group comes on after us.

We're all crammed backstage now, the next dancers doing their thing and we can't find the door.  10 grown women and we are stuck, where loads of small children succeeded before us, we failed miserably.

Of course we're laughing, because it's been about 2 minutes now and if we don't figure this out, we're gonna create a massive jam.  Suddenly light floods in and we're free.

Head back to the kitchen/dressing room for a debrief on how we did, thankfully I wasn't the only one who wasn't feeling terribly confident for our upcoming performance, but they have other things to do and are off.

I start to practice.

Shoe Fittings

Took myself to the ballet shop on Sunday and told the nice shop man I needed a new pair of soft ballet shoes.  He has me take off my socks and shoes and asks if I want full sole or split sole.  My recently ruined pair were split sole, but my all important internet research tells me beginners really ought to have full sole, better contact with the floor, helps develop foot muscles, etc etc.  So I got for full sole.  He takes a look at my feet and wanders off, grabs one pair of shoes, hands them to me.

The first thing I notice is they're so small!  I've got small feet (UK 4, US 6) but goodness me, these are wee!  While my other ones weighed in at a UK5, these were a child like UK 3.5.  I slip the shoes on and they fit, my toes are where they're supposed to be, just a light adjustment of the drawstrings and I'm ready.

I'm trying to look like I know what I'm doing, by flexing my foot and tell the shop owner I'm very happy with these.

So I walk out with a new pair of Bloch full sole, soft ballet slippers with the added bonus of already having the elastics sewn on, as already demonstrated, my sewing skills are shite.

A minty-licious disaster!

Whew, sorry about the break!  Real Life got in the way there!  But that's boring, away we go!

So last time we talked, I had lovingly sewed my shoes back together with dental floss and was feeling very proud and peaceful.

The next day, walked into my Dance Base class ready to be the dancing queen . . .and I was!  Well sorta, but I was definitely doing better, you know, with my shoes tied now.

Anyway, I'm doing barre work like there's no tomorrow, my port de bra* was rocking, I had my serious, but pretty, ballet face on, my feet and looking great when I tendu*, generally loving it.

Then we move into the center and things are still going well.

That is until we reach the turns.

That loose feeling is back.

I have come undone.

I'm not sure if the "Goddamnit" I uttered in my head was out loud, but now I'm standing at the back of the class, desperately trying to find the drawstrings that have slipped back into the depths of my slipper while I'm missing out on much needed practice on pirouettes.

And my mind was made up, these are not going to do the trick, I require a new pair of shoes.

* Side note:  I can't spell or speak French.  So until I absorb the correct spellings, I will just spell as I hear.  Do not judge me!

In which I finally make peace with my shoes

After my second week of ballet class, it came time for me to buy my shoes.  My teacher asked for my size and went one size up and the next week, I had my very first pair of pink leather ballet slippers.  Waiting for them to arrive was like waiting for Christmas.  No longer would I have to do the barre in my socks, I would look like the other girls, and I would be COMMITTED.  And I'll be honest, I have a think about having all the right kit.

When they arrived, instantly had them out of their bag, and slipping them on. The elastics were still to be sewn on when I arrived home, but something wasn't quite right.  They had quite a bit of extra room at the side near my pinky toes.  Even when I tightened the drawstring, nothing, they refused to take on that lovely rounded look that the other girls' shoes had.  Oh well, I thought, I'll get these home and get this elastics on and that will sort that right out.

Well, it didn't, and despite my attempts to tighten, tug and pull my toes up close to the top of the shoe, it just wasn't working.  And I'd come to blame my shoes for my unsteadiness.  I mean, come on, I know I'm new, but having shoes that felt too big were of no use to any one!

When I started my dance base class, my teacher required us to tuck in the drawstrings or just cut them off.  Being a good ballet student who wants to over achieve, I cut the cords.

Until tonight, when I noticed that the shoes were super loose and the drawstrings were no where to be found.  Grabbed the first shoe, dug them out and managed to tie them a wee bit tighter. Phew, onto the next one.

They were lost in the shoe and I went into distress.  I was phoning Jon, asking him when the dance store closed and omg I need new shoes by tomorrow, this a complete disaster, I hate my shoes, they're ruining my dancing and therefore my life.

Well, dance store isn't open at 7pm and I'm not going to get new shoes from my very favourite website by tomorrow for my other class.

So it came time to try and find the drawstrings.  Out come the scissors and I'm cutting into the shoes to try and dig them out.  Well, now I find them but my shoes are all cut open and looking like a right mess.

Armed with nothing more then a needle and some minty floss, I'm stitching them back together like a backwoods doctor.  They aren't pretty, but they are fixed.

Decided to go on a head and sew the strings down so I can never lose them again and when I slip on the shoes, they're perfect.

Nearly three months of hating my shoes, I try them on tonight after spending nearly 2 hours repairing them, and they fit like I had hoped they would.

I'm feeling very content, had to force myself to take them off, finally pleased with them.

Maybe they just wanted some love?

Screw You Twilight

Thus have passed my two favorite days of the week:  Thursday and Friday.

Thursday class with Dawn went well, I can't quite remember the centre work we did (the barre seems to have gone missing since Easter holidays, which is a bummer)  but I had a feeling of it clicking just right and keeping up with the arms/feet/head work and feeling very accomplished that I didn't have to stare at her and I could do my pretty ballerina look (which is more likely to look like me being confused and slightly constipated, but I feel pretty, and that's what counts)

We got our costumes for the show, which is a black sarong and for me some tan tights, as Dawn did me a solid and gave me some free tights, cause I'm only in the one dance.  Was slightly offended at first that she gave me large (don't call me fat!) tights, but upon getting home and trying them on, turns out I am a large ballerina and they fit like the sausage casings they are.

Our costumes were presented in a darling plastic bag with "I'm a star!" written across the front and with lovely name tag with the name of the dance you're in.  I felt like I was in elementary school again, and I tell ya friends, it felt good.  I mean, that's my bag, set aside for me.  That makes me feel good.

Anyway, I finally was able to discover the name of the song we're dancing to.  It's instrumental and for the life of me, I'd never heard it.  Was practicing the dance with Dawn's handy youtube videos and asked Jon what he thought the song was, also didn't have a scooby.  Well, my neat costume bag had "Jacob's Theme" on it, and I still didn't get it.

Got home just now, remembering that that was on my "to google" list and typed it in.  And lo and behold, it's from Twilight.  You know, those shitty vampire movies/books that make any one under the age of 16 all hot and bothered  (and if you're over 16 and those movies/books get your hot and bothered, you really ought to be ashamed, I'm just sayin')

I have desperately tried to avoid anything to do with Twilight as I found it irritating and frankly not worth my time.  Matter of fact, wasting too much on it now.  Needless to say, I'm a bit bummed, particularly as the dance immediately before mine is to Adelle's "To Make You Feel My Love" and I'm very jealous.  I've liked that song since Garth Brooks yo.

Oh well, I will dance away and then find a similarly paced song to dance that to in the future when I feel like doing more than just plies!

Wow, I rambled a bit there.  I think I shall leave today's class for another post (which will likely immediately follow this one, after I eat and have a cuppa).

Since I mentioned it

Wearing a leotard and tights bring a few things to your attention that you might not have otherwise considered.

Let us consider the humble bingo wing.

What is a bingo wing, you might ask?  A bingo wing, my friends, is a flabby under arm, named for a bingo hall and the old ladies that frequent them.

Standing in class first day in my new gear, digging my looking, feeling like an excited 6 year old kid with my pretty pink things and my floaty black skirt, stretched my arms out to second, checked the mirror to make sure everything is in the right spot, and there are my very own bingo wings, swaying in the breeze.

My Very Serious Ballet Face twisted into one of horror.  What is happening there?  I never noticed you quite so badly before!  Must you jiggle like that?  Seriously, stop!

Later that class, after recovering from that shock, was stretching out, feeling good, head nearly to the floor, feeling flexi, only to notice that Margie has not yet entered what we shall call "summer mode".

Pink tights hide nothing folks.

Thank christ the floaty black skirt does.

Core Meltdown

Despite having fairly solid legs and being rather flexible for someone my age and general activity level, my middle bit leaves me lacking.  Who knew that strong core muscles was so important for balance?  Certainly not me, but it sure explains my lack of coordination.

When I'm at the barre, I'm doing great.  Plie, revele, tendu, grande battement,  I'm on it.  It's once I let go of my lovely wooden lifeline that I start to tip and wobble and look decidedly unballerina like.

Sorta like one of those weeble wooble things you might have had as a kid, with the sand in the bottom.

I'm particularly worried about this as I have a show coming up in June.  It won't be particularly cute if I'm rocking the beginning of the dance in the first row then tip over to the discerning eye of random strangers.

Pilates and planks, here I come.  

And gotta learn to suck my gut in, leotards are none too forgiving!

Which reminds me of my bingo wing horror, but that's a tale for another day.