Month: August 2014

A certain gladness comes with knowing that I have made it through audition season. This being my first, I worried a lot; I was nervous— no doubt about that. And I could stand not to hear one more note of Paquita ever again. But I made it–we all did!–and I’m so thankful for the dancers who have come together to launch Faith Youth Ballet and Firebird.

Over the course of the summer, I contemplatively, with total honesty, filled out my very first audition form. I gathered up my pictures. Most rigorous of all, Miss Sara and I ripped Paquita apart like there was no tomorrow. After a few private lessons, it was up to me to plant myself in the Ranch House (the neighborhood rec center) and “be sassy”, as my instructor termed it.

That variation had me dizzy with exhaustion by the end of the month, but I was proud of the way it looked. I was confident in my performance. I knew that, with the God of the universe cheering me on, I could sell it.

But God is no respecter of persons. Each and every girl and boy at the audition site was an incredible dancer, and Jesus loves them all alike. For the first time since August began, the stress of it all melted from my shoulders; I was just happy to be a part of something so beautiful. My fellow dancer-people are truly inspiring.

The audition–and again, I never lie–was tough. Coming in on a month of self-taught ballet lessons, I guess that plies WOULD be harder than usual. And yet, I enjoyed myself. I was smiling, or looking pleasant at least. I was confident in my movements, head to toe. And for the first time ever, Paquita seemed effortless.

I spent the last week on vacation, awaiting results, but the pressure was off, and Wisconsin looked that much brighter. It’s so good to be alive.

On Monday night, the exciting news came. I think I forgot how to breathe.

For the rest of our trip, I was the Firefly (Thanks, Dan.), the Firefox (and again), the Fire Chicken (Wow, Dad. I love you, too.) and the Fiery Pigeon (So, Kaden… a rat with wings, huh…?). And all of those silly pet names made me smile even wider because they reminded me of a truth of which I still haven’t wrapped my head completely around…

It has been quite the week!

When Caroline (read her blog here) and I made our way to the theater to see Frozen last year, we had no idea what we were in for. The trailer said, “Hi! I am a very cute movie about snowmen and reindeer! Come watch me!”

The movie yelped, “I am an immediate classic! Here are two, new Disney princesses that you will love! I have incredible music! Watch me! Own me! Show me to your kids in twenty years!”

The movie was very hard to ignore.

Caroline walked out with patterns for her snowball dress. I walked out knowing that I was about to spend a boatload of money in iTunes. Only, Caroline beat me to the store and shipped me the entire Frozen soundtrack for Christmas. Isn’t she the best? <3

She and I, however, are not the only girls who fell in love with Disney’s winter wonderland– the 40 little kids at dance camp proved that. The girls made snowflakes, snowmen and streamers with Anna, Elizabeth and Ms. Jennifer; they watched clips from the movie; and they performed to “Let it Go” with Miss Bethanny and me. We had a blast.

Are you a Frozen fanatic, lovely dancer?

I’ve always loved dolls— dolls of every kind. I grew up with Barbie dolls, plastic babies, Lee Middleton figures and porcelain collectables. I would brush their hair, change their clothes and put them down for naps; but you would never know my love for them all because I never–NEVER–played with them.

I’m a perfectionist. You know that. Dolls were just one more thing for me to stuff in a box and “protect” from life’s many happenings.

My first American Girl doll was given to me by my beloved grandparents. She was a look-alike doll, whom I called “Courtney”. I received Felicity from a friend of my grandmother’s and Elizabeth from Grammy herself. My fourth American Girl was Mia, Girl of the Year 2008, and my fifth was Chrissa of 2009. My sixth and final doll was another look-alike, lovingly called “Lauren”.

All six of those dolls look brand new. Maybe I wasted away bits of my childhood by boxing them up (and hundreds and hundreds of dollars), but I never thought to do any different. I was “thinking ahead,” I guess, to a day when my dolls would be very, very old and yet, my own daughters would be able to appreciate them the way that I had.

Now… what’s the point of this post?

American Girl Mini Camp happened this week. It was so much fun. I had such a great time teaching alongside Ms. Jennifer and Hannah. Seeing Miss Bethanny was an added bonus (and I’ll be helping her next week, when Frozen Mini Camp rolls around).

All in all, besides lots of smiles, laughs and tulle (We made tutus– oh, yes.), this week proved to be a walk down memory lane. I wouldn’t have chosen to spend the last three days in any other way.

And now, I must practice my variation because those Russians aren’t going to break in themselves.

This post is going to make Emma cringe and Moriah jump for joy, which is–generally–just going to make me laugh!

I learned a whole lot of interesting things about my feet yesterday.

• My second toes are longer than my big toes. Obvious enough, right? Wrong! I don’t notice my two-toe platform when I’m actually wearing pointe shoes. Toe caps are completely pointless, since I still can’t feel anything. Is that a good something? Who even knows?
• My knuckles are extremely pronounced. It’s really weird. My fitter actually uttered the words, “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
• When I point my feet, the ball of my foot becomes a bowl— also weird. When I asked if this was a bad thing, Miss Sara replied, “No, it’s just how you are.” Does that mean it’s a good thing? That’s what I’m going to go with.

I was “the problem child” again. I tried on EVERYTHING. I fell absolutely in LOVE with the new Eurostretch shoes, but they were too big. Even after transferring to Ouch Pouches, I couldn’t fill the extra space. What a bummer.

When it came down to it, though, the fitter, Miss Sara and I narrowed things down to those glorious Blochs and the very last style of shoes on my radar: Russians.

And I walked out with… drum roll, if you will… Russian Pointe Rubins!

I never thought I’d say this, but I really, truly love Russian Pointes. They make me feel so strong– so empowered, unlike the Euros, which I knew, despondently, I was bound to knuckle in eventually.

Now, I need to get off my butt and sew them. I should also get some new flats, since I can see my big toe through the canvas. Tights would be a good idea. And I should practice my variation.

It’s August again, dancers!