Today’s post is hyper-brief (for me at least). Wanted to say, my dancing shoes aren’t collecting dust, but I am doing lots of Pilates to help build my core to make all the dancing easier. It is helping, and I lost another pound. No ballet teacher yet, so I’m still going solo (with my NY City Ballet dvds). It’ll all work out in the end. I’m sure. Thanks for checking in on me!

Perhaps my first dancer was also my first teacher: Mom. She did ballet on pointe as a child in a time when most didn’t progress slowly up from slippers to pointe, but just dove in the first year. She was an athletic, strong girl in a time when ballet was thought to add ladylike qualities to a tomboy. As far as I know, she only danced one year. She still remembers her recital costume – green and yellow with a fur-trimmed tutu – and that she danced to a song called “Glow worm,” which she can still sing bits of decades later.

Today’s post is in honor of Mom. (Who is also named Patricia, by the way.) Happy Birthday, and thank you for being my first dancer, first teacher and best friend, always.

I’ll be direct, I didn’t dance but opted for yoga and a bit of Pilates today instead. My knees, particularly the inner sides that touch each other when my legs are together, ache today. I’m guessing I was trying to compensate for my lack of turnout by wrenching my knees a tad. Can’t do that.

By now you’re thinking, what a cream puff! She’s too much of a whiner to ever really learn how to dance at this stage of life. But you’re wrong, my friends. This is one goal I’m going to see all the way through. (The Cliffs Notes version is this, I tend to move to new projects lightning fast because I get bored as soon as I learn the basics of any concept and have mastered it well enough to feel competent. This goes for jobs, projects, arts, and, yes, goals. That’s how I’ve managed to accomplish so much in my 40 years.)

On the note of sticking with it, it looks like I might have a dance studio willing to work with me. (A whole year of classes lined up will keep me honest.) They’ll know by Friday what their schedule for the year will entail. They’ve never taught adult ballet classes at this studio but have honorable dancing bios and the owner responded to my APB for a teacher sent out to the local artists’ council. Keep your fingers crossed for me. It would be a most excellent birthday present, at least until I have to stuff myself into a leotard, but that is a post for another day.

Today I started calling around for dance classes. One offers stretchersize on Saturday mornings, and if I ever feel frisky, pole and exotic dancing classes on weekday evenings. I left a message, something like this, “Um, I wanted to know what stretch-er-size is and uh, what your rates for private lessonsarebecauseIsawonyourcalendaryoucandothemonSaturdayafternoons…(gasp)” I hope the poor woman can understand what I said because I blurted it all before I could chicken out. I’ll let you know if she calls back, and what her rates are. Another school has a 1.5 hr class once a week…on a day I work late. I asked about private lessons, and the woman on the other end, who sounded like a granny said, “Private lessons? For what?” I said, “For ballet for adults. If we can’t make the one class you have per week are we out of luck?” She replied in a snarky tone, “Well, I guess you are.” No, granny, YOU are. I’ll never recommend her school not matter how fabulous their Nutcracker is touted to be.

So, for tonight I went online for my basic practice. Jodie Gates, formerly of the Joffrey Ballet, has several free videos online, even if they’re all about 5 minutes long. What did I learn today? The answer my friend is in the rotation of the hips, not the knee, lest one desires pain and injury. Rats. My hips don’t rotate much when I’m behind a desk all day. I think one of Ana Caban’s Pilates mat workouts will help here. Off I go!

On Pointe

A year ago, when I was interviewing the 75 artists whose stories inspired “Shout: Kiss My Art!,” I spoke with a young woman, still in her 20s, who’d given up her dream of being a professional dancer. She cited all the reasons why she was too old to reach her dreams and said she’d made peace with that and moved on in her life to a more writerly existence.

Her story haunts me, 12 months later. Why? To be honest, I don’t believe her. It’s not that I’m calling her a liar. What I mean is that my earliest artistic dream, as I mentioned some time ago, was to become a prima ballerina. My family did the best they could to afford a year of dance lessons for me when I was an “old” newbie ballet dancer at age 10. The dance teacher, well known in my hometown, but I’m guessing not so recognized in the ballet world, told my mother I was dedicated but if I wasn’t going to be any taller than she was (4′8″), I’d never have a career. That was the end of my lessons, and my dreams. Since “the teacher knows best” we believed her vile vision of a dancer without a chance and that was that, at least on the surface.

It has been 30 years and my heart still aches to try to be a dancer of note, at least locally, for one stinkin’ show, dammit. That’s why I don’t believe the girl who wanted to dance has become a woman who is 100% resigned to a writerly life. Call it projection, but I just cannot believe a girl who grew up with so many opportunities to dance and got so far has hung up her shoes for the rest of her lifetime. Dance, like most art, is part of a person’s genetic and spiritual make-up. There’s no other explanation I’m willing to accept on this point.

Which brings me to this: I’m going to learn to dance, ballet, classic style and get on pointe. I came across a forum today where several women started ballet lessons at age 40+ and got on pointe without crippling, bone breaks and raw, bloody hocks. I’ve got a year to get ready for pointe, and them I’m going for it. Place your bets, but remember, a long-silent dancer lives in my soul.