Dance This

Chapter Twenty

2005-11-29T08:04:00.000-05:00

Well, this is it. My last and final chapter on a very long semester. I did it. I made it through my dance class. I created and performed my choreography. And, yes, I have NO video of it, despite the many threats. Whew.

I think I started freaking out on Friday after thanksgiving. I had to be ready for Monday. The mister and the kids had the day off on Monday, and since the Mr. and the Boy were going to be my accompaniment, I had to do it on Monday. So we started with just getting the music together and figuring out how long a minute was. Then I began to figure out some "moves." ha. Well, the mr. got frustrated with me quickly because I kept making them restart when finally he said, "Why dont we make a tape of it, and you can practice to that, then we'll put it together."

"Good idea, where's the tape player?"

"Yeah, good idea, except the recorder is broken," he lamented.

"Well, then, why did you make such a suggestion?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, cause it would have been a good idea," he retorted.

"What about the kid's tape recorder? You know, the playschool one? That would work."

The boy chimed in, "But it doesnt have batteries."

"I think I saw some C batteries lying around somewhere," I commented.

The great "battery" search commenced for a good fifteen minutes or perhaps less. Either way, it felt like an eternity. I was anxious and just wanted to get this over with. It was now Saturday. We lost Friday, and I can't remember why. I only had Saturday and Sunday to practice. The Boy rummaged up the antiquated tape recorder with a built in microphone that was designed with the intent of driving parents insane. Just push the button and it will squawk and squeal and make horrendous noises. Push the button and talk into it, and the small already shrill voice of a preschooler can be amplified to megaphone proportions. This was definitely not the toy I wanted to be putting batteries into, but it could record my "musicians" accompaniment, and I was willing to do anything. We've had the toy since the Boy was three, and were living through the third obsession over the microphoned torture machine, er I mean, tape recorder. As the Peanut, so nicknamed because she's a three year old who is dwarfed by two year olds, saw us putting batteries into thing she cried with delight, "Oh boy! Now I can SING again!!!" The mr and I looked at each other and said in a very flat voice "yay."

The poor machine had lived through two older children. I have to give Playskool some high kudos. It has survived some rough times. But it was definitely showing its age as we attempted to record high quality entertainment on it. It would often get stuck, wouldnt rewind when we needed a do-over, and crackled horrifically on playback. The torture machine did serve its purpose, and I did manage to get my practice tape.

I began to lay out my steps, and quickly realized I didnt have the memorization skills needed to retain one minute of dance moves. Well, I knew that beforehand, but somehow thought magically this obstacle would be overcome for this one moment in time. Grabbing a notebook piece of paper, I scrawled my steps, using the wrong terms, I'm sure, and in some cases, doodling a little stick figure. I even wrote down the count next to the steps and calculated how many measures. Then I practiced, and practiced, and practiced some more.

Monday arrived, and I felt as if I was going to hurl. The knot in my stomach was huge. I fretted and worried that the mr. wouldnt be able to find a parking spot, let alone, the run down old gym where my class took place. But that was the least of my concerns.

Around eleven-thirty, I met him and the kids in the front of the gym. I went through the locker rooms to change and began to shake from my nerves. Noon couldnt come fast enough. I was glad to see I wasnt the only one shaking in my boots.

Finally, the performances started, and I was second up. The bleachers were filled with outsiders, and my fellow students were sitting on the gym floor. I walked out to the middle of the gym which now seemed the size of a football field. I felt like a very very naked tiny field mouse. The mr. nodded to me, and I nodded back. The music started. The mr. played the intro on his didjeridoo, and then the Boy came in on his djembe. I began to move, as if I was in a dream, a tremendously bad dream. Suddenly my brain stopped. I couldnt remember the next step. I couldn't breathe. Was the room spinning? I panicked.

"Do you need a do-over?" my prof asked.

I nodded.

"Do you need to go out in the foyer and run through it?"

I nodded again. I couldnt even speak. My cheeks were on fire from embarrassment. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to die. I ran into the foyer and almost lost it right there. I couldnt remember what came next! My mind was a total blank!

Suddenly I remembered I had written everything down and stuck that paper in my purse. So, I ran as fast as I could down the steps into the locker room and rummaged through my purse. CRAP! I thought, it's not here! It's not here! Danggit! I must have taken it out and left it at home!!! I was in full panick mode now. Any semblance of being calm and rational had left my entire being. I quickly threw my purse back into my locker, ran back upstairs for fear of someone discovering my disappearance, and talked myself back into being calm. Take a deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath...com'mon, just make something up...please God I need help, I canNOT remember what comes next! I was almost in tears. I knew I only got one do-over, and pretty much this and my paper were my only way of getting a grade. It was a total freak-out.

Suddenly the steps came to mind, and I started breathing again. I walked through my routine a few times, then walked back out into the gym. They were already up to the fourth person. Crap! does this mean I have to wait until the end to do it? I'm so totally gonna forget again! I fretted. Number five was called, and she looked at me with sympathy, and said to the prof "Are you gonna let her go again?"

The prof turned to me and asked, "Are you ready now?"

I sucked in a deep breath and said, "Yeah" and determined no matter what, if I had to make up stuff in the middle due to another brain block, I would do that.

I walked out front again. The music started again. I began my routine...again. But this time, when it really mattered, I made it all the way through. I rushed through some parts, had to slow other parts down, but it didnt matter. I didnt care. I made it to the end! I walked back to where I was sitting, and she showed me my grade: an A minus! Most everyone received an A, and there were a couple of B pluses. I was very happy with my A minus. Very very happy. Coming down from the adrenalin rush was the hardest. I totally crashed later that afternoon and slept for over an hour.

Later at work, I was putting my paycheck into my purse, when this little corner of notebook paper peeked out, mockingly, as if to say, "Nyah Nyah! I was here the WHOOOOOOOOLE time! Muhahahahahahaaaaaaaaahahhahahaaa!" So what, I thought, I made it through an entire semester of dance anyway, with a well earned A minus.

Chapter Nineteen

2005-11-10T08:30:00.000-05:00

I've entered aerobics hell. And I thought Modern dance was bad. Sigh.

We continued over the last few classes to do our chest pushing, groin thrusting, head turning, shoulder rolling warm-up routine, followed by our "complex isolations" warm-up a.k.a. low impact areobics. Ok, I understand it's not really aerobics, but it certainly feels like it. I suppose the only difference is that we added head movement, oh and we didnt repeat the "steps" more than twice. We lifted our arms, tilted our head to the left, lifted our left, no wait right foot, stepped to the side while turning our head to the center...

GAH! My body parts just don't move in these opposing directions! For heaven sake, I dont even know my right from my left!

"Just remember girls," the prof said, "I'm the weird one, you guys are all normal." She continued, "Now, we're going to learn a turn. But I'll make it easy on you, we wont move our head...well, you'll want to spot, but we'll get to that eventually. Now it goes step, tap, step, tap, step, and you're gonna tap behind you, then allow the twist of your body to turn you. Just let your body unwind like this."

Sounds easy enough, step tap step tap, step...wait I cant get my leg behind me...untwist? Yeah right...ok, lets try this again...step tap step tap step...whoa! I nearly fell into the girl who was step tapping, twisting twirling next to me. "Sorry! I'm so dizzy!" I apologized. My face, I'm sure, was a lovely shade of rouge.

"It's ok," she replied, "This is just not right. I'm just not getting it, so dont feel bad. You know, like, whatever."

"It's easier if you BEND YOUR KNEEEEEEEeeeeeeeZZZZZ when you TAP!" the prof instructed in a sing songy voice.

Bend my knees...bend my knees, step tap step tap, bend my knees...step tap...oh crap, I forgot to turn.

"Good! Now, make sure you spot. Look at that wall, and when you're body unwinds, snap your head and look at the wall again! It will help you with the turn!" The prof instructed.

Yes, that's helpful advice...look at the wall? snap my head around? uh-huh. I sighed in resignation and then thought to myself, I can only look at my feet! If I dont look at my feet, I have NO idea what they are doing. Only one more week after this...only one...more...week!

And that was only Monday's class.

On Wednesday, we entered the gym to find out that our prof could only be there until 12:30pm because she had a meeting to attend. They wanted her to cancel the class, but lucky us, she didnt want to and struck a compromise with the university big wigs of 12:30. Well, a shorter class is better than nothing, I supposed. Then I discovered the harsh reality of what less time would really look like: learning a speed routine in under 30 mintues. Oh boy.

The first part of the combo wasnt too terribly awful: tilt head to the right, center, box step, pivot turn, hands up, hands down, three point turn to the right, jump clap, three point turn to the left, jump, clap...with the professor shouting "BEND YOUR KNEES! You can't jump if you DONT BEND YOUR KNEES FIRST!" I guess we're still stuck in ballet mode. Then she wanted us to step out with our right foot, point the toe, pivot the hip forward, and then back, lift the left foot to the knee, step down, and vine step to the left. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I was doing kinda sorta ok till the groin-twisting-hip-pivoting move. And, what on earth was that popping noise coming from my hip socket? ew!

I won't elaborate any further. It's safe to say, that for me, wednesday's class was a disaster, and imagination can fill in any gaps in the story. One more week of dance. One week off for thanksgiving. Two weeks away from my "choreography."

Chapter Eighteen

2005-10-31T15:52:00.000-05:00

Today we started our last portion of intro to Dance, Jazz. Our prof began to explain the basics of Jazz. We learned the differences between free-movement jazz versus broadway jazz versus lyrical jazz. Thankfully, we were learning free-movement. She explained how free-movement jazz is perhaps the 'easiest' because it was created for entertainment purposes only. Whereas lyrical jazz combined ballet like moves with jazz to convey emotions and a story plot. The dancers have to have an enormous amount of technical skill. Broadway jazz was what the old musicals employed in the middle of the play. The story line stopped for a huge dance number.

The prof explained the jazz dance positions. So far, this was already easier than ballet and modern. We only needed to know neutral, first and second position, and NO turn-out in the feet (aka duck feet) like ballet. Then we began with the typical jazz warm-up routine, which seemed rather easy, even for me. No crazy french terms to memorize either, which was another bonus.

Starting with our head, we rolled it around twice then up and down a few hundred times, then right and left, then ear to one shoulder and ear to the other. Next shoulders went up and down, up and down, left rolled forward, right rolled forward, left rolled backward, right rolled backward, rolled together forward and backward.

So far, so good, I think I can handle this. I thought to myself.

I'm not sure why, or even if something happened, perhaps the prof was just sick of seeing the same people in the front row, but suddenly she called out, "Line switch! That means front line to the back, you guys move forward!" Not that I enjoyed being in the front line this entire semester for all to laugh at, but I am all of five foot two and three-quarters, and I placed myself in the front for purposes of being able to see what was going on. Now I found myself in the back, and practically hopping up and down to see what the prof was doing next!

"Place your hands here at your hips and open your elbows to the side. I know the tendons here in your elbows are wigging out, but that's ok. You gotta try and keep them there like this. Now, without moving the elbows or arms, You're gonna keep your collar bone level, and move right and left, right and left. Good! Next, you're going to press your chest forward, again without moving your arms and elbows back and forth...ok, now center, then back, forward, center, back, forward, center, back."

My grandfather would be having a coronary right now, I thought to myself as we thrust our chests forward and back in a very suggestive manner. But that was only the beginning.

"Now we work the hips. To the left and right, left and right." I looked around and noticed the entire class' booty swaying back and forth. "Thrust forward, and Center, back, and center, and forward, center, back and center...now left, back, right, forward, left back, right, forward...REVERSE!" We gyrated our hips to the continuous pulse of the hip-hop playing on the stereo. "Double time!" She hollared. I was quite certain that the male population on campus would have gladly been audience material, had we needed volunteers for such a duty.

"Ok," the prof said as she turned off the music. I stood on my tippy toes, and practically fell into the girl next to me to see what was being demoed next. Is she going to do another line switch? I thought to myself, Or am I hopelessly doomed to stay in the back? I hate being in the back...somewhere in the middle... now, that's a great place...ya can still see...not out in front where everyone else can see you...nice and hidden...why can't I be in the middle? My mental whine was interrupted by our next set of instructions.

"We learned single isolations of various body parts. Next we're going to do some complex isolations, where one part of our bodies are moving one way and other parts of our bodies are moving another. First lets start with our hands."

We moved our hands straight up like the ref does for a touchdown in a football game, then out to the sides in a V pose, down by our sides in a "strong hand" pose, then hands in a neutral position by our thighs, arms down. After repeating this motion a few million times, we added our feet.

"Step to the right, plie your right leg, left leg straight, come together, again. Now to the left!" The Prof shouted above the music. "Double time! Ok, now, lets add the arms!" Suddenly I felt like I was in an aerobics class. It was only to get better. "Now lets add the head! Hands up, head straight, step to the right! Head up, hands V, feet together! Head straight, strong hands! Step to the right! Head down, hands down, feet together! Again! To the left!"

It IS an aerobics class! I thought. Then I heard the words the entire class just loves to hear, "Up to tempo!!!!!!!" Slowly, one by one we started falling apart, losing our coherency of one group moving in the same way in the same direction. I went left, for sure, when the rest of the group went right. My hands were up, the majority of the class had theirs down. The prof's back was towards us, so she wouldnt have known we were already faltering when she hollared over the noise, er I mean music, "DOUBLE TIME!" It was only then, when she heard the giggles, and saw in her peripheral vision that most of us had completely stopped "dancing" that she turned around and clapped her hands, turned off the music, and said "have a seat where you are."

We all sat down, not sure what was going to happen next since this was not a usual occurance up to this point. Our professor explained how Jazz was the only dance style to come from America, and that's why we "got it" so quickly. She explained she was able to take us through an entire warm-up in one class, a feat that took almost all five weeks for the other two styles. I looked around to see who must've been the ones who "got it" because I certainly didnt. Ok, I lied, I did find it easier than previous dance style learned up to this point. I started day-dreaming and dreading how on earth I was possibly going to pull of the choreography that was looming in the near future when she said, "Alrighty ladies, I'll see you next week!"

Two more weeks. Two more weeks till showtime. And yes, I still refuse to video tape it.

Chapter Seventeen

2005-10-28T13:31:00.000-05:00

Knowing that Wednesday was our last day for ballet, I entered the gym with trepidation. Today we were going to learn a mini-floor routine. In this case, we did Glissade Assemblé , tombé, Pas de bourrée, Chassé, tondue back, plie, tondue front, slide our toe back, kneel, hold, turn (getting back onto our feet), chaîné, chaîné, run off stage with windmill arms. Whew! I can't believe I remembered all of that! I'm not going to even try to explain what each one of those moves looks like.

The funniest part of the whole routine was the running with the windmill arms. I think I prefer the tippy-toe frankenstein over the bent kneed duck run with "windmill" arms. It looked cool when she did it. We just looked like a bunch of freaks running and swatting away killer bees as they were swarming towards us.

The prof nearly fell on the floor in laughter. "I can't believe you guys are getting the hard stuff and screwing up the easiest part about this! Right arm back, left arm back, right arm back, left arm back and look over your right fingertips with nose to the air as you RUN! Don't lock you're knees! Keep your toes pointed out, like a duck! No! NO! NOOO! It's not the freaking backstroke! WAAAAAAHahahahahahaaaaa!!!!" Seriously, I think we practiced this about a thousand times before she gave up on us.

Now that we knew the routine, it was time to "pretend" this was a real performance with an audience. She marked out the "stage" and the sight line, the point where the audience could still see the wings of the stage and where we had to stay in character. The prof split us up into two groups and staggered the first group, mine, into four rows. Unfortuneately, I was in the front row...for ALL to see. I turned to the girls behind me and said "Don't follow me, I dont have the slightest clue what I'm doing."

But to be honest, I was grateful to at least be in the first group and all ready "on stage" because the second group had to run quickly into their places as we ran "off stage" swatting mosquitos. I shouldnt laugh because I can't say I would have taken my position any better, but it was amusing to be in the "wings" and watch everyone flounder as they tried to get into position, and then quickly start the choreography.

We practiced our "choreography" several times before she decided we were good to go, and allowed us to leave. As we were exiting the gym, she announce she wouldnt be around the week before thanksgiving so no classes. And, in addition to this announcement, she informed us we were only having three weeks of lyrical jazz. Our choreography presentations begin the monday after thanksgiving. I guess I'd better get started...

Chapter Sixteen

2005-10-28T12:25:00.000-05:00

My life went from zero to max stress in sixty-seconds flat when my fibers prof announced that our research paper is due next friday. So, I decided to write two days worth of dancing today, because I really should be doing research on Japanese Textile arts rather than blogging about my rhythmical deficiencies and cooridnation ineptitude.

Monday began as every other dance class up to this point has begun. Our prof shared some personal story while she collected our attendance cards. I have found myself looking forward to this part of class because my professor is quite a character which isn't surprising considering she is a performance artist. The whole world is her stage. We are all her audience.

We did some warm-up tondues and plies at the barre. And then she decided it was time to move across the floor. Again, as we did in Modern, we were taught the proper way to walk. Our elbows were slightly bent to round our arms with our hands continuing that line, slightly bent at our hips. Up in releve (tippy toes) feet turned out (like ducks) and knees locked, we were to "walk" across the gym floor in time to the music. Considering the approaching holiday, I found this exercise completely relevant. Imagine Frankenstein's monster on his tippy toes walking. I don't think I need to continue.

After what seemed like a torturous eternity, we began to learn the fine art of turning, using perhaps the "simplest" of turns, chaîné turns. My handy-dandy glossary of terms gave me this definition for enlightenment: Short for tours chaînées déboulés, "chained, rolling turns." Fast turns on half or full point with the legs in a tight first position, rotating a half turn on one foot and the other half on the other foot. Done one after the other so they're "chained" together. Fortunetately, we were taught these turns flat foot.

The other portion of the lesson included instruction in the virtues of spotting: A technique for for keeping oriented and avoiding dizziness during turns. Pick a spot (some conspicuous object); keep looking at it as you turn until you can't any longer; then quickly turn your head so you are looking at it again. I have been acquainted with the technique known as spotting, and I will add that it is indeed helpful to "avoid dizzines." Normally. But on Monday, I think I was awfully close to hurling by the class end. I'm not certain if the big bright white wall we were supposed to use to spot was the problem, the "spott-ee", or if it was the "spotter." Either way, I was not the only person in class suddenly unable to walk in a straight line.

Honest officer, I wasnt drinking! We were doing chaîné turns in dance 101!

As we left the gym, one of the girls turned to her friend and said "Do you remember when you were a little kid and spinning in circles was fun?"

Chapter Fifteen

2005-10-20T07:49:00.000-05:00

I've discovered something about myself. I'm extremely unflexible.

Yesterday in dance class, ballet, we began with plies, and then went to stretching on the barre. I'm sure most are familiar with the sight of a dancer, leg resting on the barre, stretching.

That's what we were supposed to do.

I was feeling pretty good about myself during the plies. I followed along, didnt lose my place or anything! But because we, as the prof continuously said, "have Forty-five freakin' people in this class" we had to do our stretching in three groups. I was in group three.

We only have two barres that are regulation height. Otherwise, the rest of us had to use the railing. I was rather grateful I was positioned at the railing. First we had to wrap our foot around our ankle, slide it up into passe where our toes were pointed and touching the side of our knees. Then we had to lift the knee above the barre (in my case lower railing) and then lightly place the heel on the barre, keeping toes pointed. I would love to say I was so graceful as I placed my ankle on the barre, but when the prof wasnt looking, I actually put my hand under my thigh, lifted my leg and plopped it down on the railing. Then we did all sorts of leaning forward, lean to the side, up in Relevé (which is the position where you stand on your tippy toes), down again, plie (bend the knee of the supporting leg).

After all that, came the killer part, we had to lift our leg off the barre and hold it in the air. Yeah, right. I barely got my leg ON the barre, with some major assistance. Like I was gonna just LIFT it off after pulling my groin in weird and torturous ways without assistance again. In fact, I wasnt sure I was going to be able to take my foot off the barre even WITH lifting my leg with my hand. For a second I panicked. But since I'm sitting here blogging, it can be assumed that I somehow managed to ungracefully get out of that position.

I limped back to my seat as group one began the same series with their other leg. Crap! I thought, My left leg is worse than my right! Sigh.

Once we were all stretched out and ready to rock and roll, we learned Glissade Assemblé which our prof assured us, "This is so easy once it's broken down, it's rediculous." I'll define Glissade Assemblé according to my handy-dandy glossary of ballet terms. Glissade: a traveling step executed by gliding the working foot from the fifth position in the required direction, the other foot closing to it. Assemblé: rising off floor, on one leg and landing on two (straightening both legs in air) and returning to fifth position.

The key word and phrase here are "easy" and "rising off floor, ON ONE LEG and landing on two (straightening both legs in air) and returning to fifth position." Yes, the word "easy" definitely would fit that phrase. The gliding was definitely easy. Powering oneself upward off of one leg, pointing the toes, bringing the foot in the back to the front, all in one fell swoop...very, to use my prof's favorite word, FREAKING DIFFICULT! She had one part absolutely correct: "It's rediculous."

Nervous giggles resonated throughout the gym along with whispers of "yeah right, uh-huh, man I so cannot do this!" She demonstrated the Assemblé four more times for us, then had us repeat that part about five to eight more times, the whole time yelping "Com'mon Girls! Off the FLOOR! OFF THE FLOOR! I know you can dooooo it!" By this point we were all laughing at our ineptness, and I was grateful it wasn't just me this time. Then we did a series of jumps in the air with two feet. "See?!?" She hollared for all to hear. "You can get off the floor, now do that on ONE leg!" Well, it's safe to assume, not too many of us got it before we were dismissed.

But despite the poorly executed Assemblé, she had us put the two parts together. So at the barre we did what felt like a million Glissade Assemblés and floundered all over the place. It was tough to do a decent glide when you're crowded at the barre. We tripped over each other constantly. And someone, I'm not naming names, nearly fell during the Assemblé. Ankle socks and a slippery gym floor are not a good combination. Not that I'm making excuses or anything...

I'm just so bummed that my ballet career has just now gone down the toilet, all due to my inability to Glissade Assemblé. And I had so hoped to wear a tu-tu.

Chapter Fourteen

2005-10-17T22:18:00.000-05:00

Only two weeks left of ballet, and I've only participated in two classes, which is good, because sadly, there isn't a whole lot to make fun of in ballet and I'm struggling to make entries in this blog that are interesting. Ballet, just like modern has been a five week introduction. How, then, in a period of two and a half weeks have I managed to miss so many classes?

Well, first there was Columbus day. I've yet to figure out why we kinda-sorta celebrate Columbus day, but I'm not going to quibble about a day off from school. If there was a holiday for King Louis the fourteenth, and it meant I received a vacation day, you can guarentee I'll be wishing total strangers, "Happy King Louis the fourteenth day!!!!" And I'd put up with my children coming home from school all around that holiday with askewed versions of the history of King Louis the Fourteenth. And as usual, I digress.

At anyrate, at the beginning of the semester, we had labor day vacation, which would have been another "woo-hoo" moment, except my university did something I thought bizarre. We followed a Monday schedule on a Tuesday! Talk about scrambling my poor little already confused brain! With Monday feeling like Sunday, and then Tuesday actually being Monday... need I go on?

I couldn't for the life of me figure out why on earth we were having a MONDAY schedule on a TUESDAY. This didnt make sense, until Columbus day. It was my light bulb moment. That TUESDAY made up for our lack of a MONDAY on Columbus day. AHHHHH I got it now. Obviously, if we didnt have classes on Columbus day, we couldn't possibly have had ballet. That only left last Wednesday's class.

Even though I didn't have classes on Columbus day, I did a very foolish thing. I say foolish because it caused me a week of unbearable, excrutiating back pain from muscles so stiff they could have been a piece of plywood. I went to the studios. I wanted to get a head start on my weaving. I leaned over my loom for over six hours while I dressed it, and when I got home, I did another foolish thing. I sat down. I was tired. It was a logical thing to do. My back seized up and screamed "YOU IDIOT!!!! You're no spring chicken anymore!!!" I still had to go to work that evening, but by Tuesday, I was dying. I could hardly move. I called in sick for my other job hoping that I'd be able to make it to classes on Wednesday. And yes, I was stubborn, I refused to see the doctor. After all, what was she going to do other than prescribe some wonderful relaxants that would make me loopy. Darn, in hindsight, I should have gone to the doctor...hmmmmmmm...

It was a good thing I realized there was no way on earth I was going to be able to participate in ballet. I called the prof and used one of my three precious and highly valued excused absences. I've been hording them for such a time as this. I went to school wearing one of those therapatches, the world's greatest inventions as far as I was concerned. And again, stupidly, leaned over my loom, because I absolutely had to keep making progress. It's October already and I was just now starting a project. Yikes! I really thought I could make it to health which is after dance, but alas, I was beyond wrong. I was just batting a thousand that day. So I found my health prof to excuse myself from her class, scooped up my youngest from the child care center, and limped my way back to my van, whimpering the whole way home in the car. I couldn't wait to lay down.

Today, we walked into the locker room to find a very welcome sign. At least it was welcome for me, because I'm still not quite right in the back. I no longer feel tight, but I still feel twinges of discomfort, also known as pain. We didnt have to change, because according to this sign, we were going to learn the history of ballet. Sadly, I can't even remember one detail.

So, Wednesday will be the first time in a week and a half I've had to don the footless tights. I doubt I will have such luck when we learn lyrical jazz. There is a bittersweet feeling that ballet is almost over. On one hand, it means we are seven weeks away from the end of the semester. On the other hand, it means WE ARE SEVEN WEEKS AWAY FROM THE END OF THE SEMESTER! AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! Seven weeks away from my required "choreography"! Seven weeks away from when my opinion paper is due! Seven weeks that will fly by faster than I can think (which isn't saying much).

My tummy hurts.

Chapter Thirteen

2005-10-06T07:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday's class began much like Monday. The Theif struck again. This time he/she stole CD's from her office, her locked office. "Alright now, I'm pissed. I'm beyond pissed." She stated as she collected our cards.

The girls in my class began offering suggestions. "Call maintenance and demand you need a new lock, a deadbolt even."

"I am, because this is just plain rediculous! I cant stand it! I have other equipment in there, drums from africa. This is rediculous!"

More chatter continued when one girl who, I figured, must have been dying to ask for weeks said to me, "So, how OLD are you really? I mean, I heard you talk about your kids." I gave her my age and got a "Wow! really? You dont look that old! I mean, not that you are old, but" She began digging a hole "I thought you were more like 21!" Then another girl looked at me and remarked, "I just have to ask, and this is a compliment, I dont mean to offend, really this is a compliment, but do you get carded still?" Then the attention of the class began being directed towards me as I heard the girls around me "Doesnt she look young? I didnt know she was that old?!" I was eating it up.

My prof looked at me and said "Dont you just love it?"

I replied, "Yeah, when I was mid-twenties and everyone thought I was twelve, I hated it..."

She finished my thoughts "But now you love it, right? You'll love it even more when you're my age." She then turned the class' attention back towards dance, and hollared loud enough for all to hear, "Ok ladies, to the barre! We're gonna start with our positions and plies, and today I'll talk about the arms."

During the first few weeks of dance class when we were doing modern, I thought the problem resided with the equipment, namely the CD player. But one thing I have learned, dancing aside, in the last six weeks, would be that that the real problem lies with the playee, namely my prof. It has become a daily ritual to cuss out the CD player as she struggles to make the music "go." Today was no exception. First, she couldnt get the music to play. Then she couldnt get enough volume.

In the past, when she would finally get the music on, and the volume to be loud enough, she would push the play button again to re-start the music and then run with her wild curly hair fluttering behind her, all the way to the front of the class to conduct the exercise. To add to this amusing visual, for the ballet portion, she has been using a chair to demonstrate what we should be doing at the barre, holding on to the back of the chair as we would hold the barre. Now, it would make sense to most, to let go of the chair when changing the music or turning on the stereo, but apparently, my prof hadn't figure out the art of leaving the chair behind. Because, as she ran back and forth on monday from the front of the class to the back of the class, to the stereo, hair flopping away, she dragged this chair behind her as if her hand was permanently glued to its back. About halfway through the class yesterday, she figured this out and said to herself "What in the h**l am I doing? This can just sit right here." Noticing we were all watching with amusement she shrugged and remarked, "I'm just dragging this all over the place without thinking." And proceeded to laugh at herself.

(I'll pause here to say, I found a few sites with ballet terms, so I'm going to try to do my best to use them. haha).

We went rather easily through our positions, adding hand and head movement. Memories of early childhood ballet classes ran through my head. I couldnt believe I was recalling this stuff. Then we continued through our plies and grande plies. My knees were in better shape yesterday than on Monday, thankfully. Our next technique was explained to us, we were going to be learning Rond de jambe a terre. According to my handy-dandy online dictionary of ballet terms a Rond de jambe a terre is a rond de jambe on the ground. (How helpful). The moving leg describes a semicircle on the floor, either from front to back (rond de jambe en dehors) or from back to front (rond de jambe en dedans). Basically, our feet were in first position, which is where the toes point outward like duck feet, and we brush our toes forward and circle our toes to the side, then to the back and through first position again. Not too bad, until she said those most dreaded words, "ok, now up to tempo!"

I'm beginning to hate the words "up to tempo!" why must it be "up to tempo?" We are beginners after all. Why can't we just do everything in slow motion? Sigh. I've begun to think that this is also a dreaded phrase for the rest of the class. Because, as soon as she said it, everyone in the gym groaned, and my prof smiled.

"Now, the problem with this is, when we go up to tempo, beginners usually try and use their bodies to make this leg move since their knees are locked out and it looks something like this, with their torso's going forward and backward and wobbling all over the place. Keep your upper body still, only work the leg. Keep yourself pulled up out of your supporting leg or else your hips will HURT!"

She began with her customary fumbling with the stereo, got the music on, ran to the front, and we started the Rond de jambe a terre slowly at first, and then after a bit, brought it "up to tempo." Until that point, the class was doing the exact same thing at the same time. Now we were all just forty-five people wildly swinging our straight legs in a most hideous fashion all over the place. Semi-circle? Who cares about making a stinkin' semi-circle when we're moving that quickly. And you can better believe I was 'wobbling' all over the place.

Chapter Twelve

2005-10-03T16:00:00.000-05:00

We had a theif in the house! Either that, or some disgruntled dance student decided to exact her revenge upon our instructor.

Today was our first day for our remedial ballet class. I think it will be difficult to write about the next five weeks because every term in ballet is in french. I can hardly pronounce English words, let alone french ballet terms. But I digress. So, we began the afternoon with our usual routine: get changed, walk up the nasty back steps, get our attendance card, avoid running into the barre that was now set up in the middle of the gymnasium. It didn't take long for any of us to figure out that our prof was in a very nasty mood. Her face was furrowed into a scowl as she tromped around the gym setting up. It also didnt take long for us to find out why she was in such a nasty mood.

As she collected our attendance cards she began, "As you know, today is the first day of ballet. You should all have slippers or you know those cropped sneaker socks...yeah, like she's wearing." She pointed to the girl sitting two away from me. She continued, "I would have slippers on too except someone freakin' stole them along with my nice leather jacket!" She then proceded to mumble a whole slew of cusses under her breath organizing the cards back into alphabetical order.

"Ok, so just like we started Modern on the floor, working from our core out, in ballet we start at the Barre...B-A-R-R-E not B-A-R, although right now, going down the street to Shorties and getting trashed wouldn't be so bad...and work from our toes upward. I have these two barres in the middle of the floor that are regulation height, the rest of you will have to line up along the edge here and use those railings. And we'll switch off using the real barre so that you all have a chance to stretch at the right height at some point during our five weeks."

Confusion ensued as everyone vied for a position, somewhere, anywhere. There just wasnt enough space to put forty-five people at a railing or barre. We were crowded in, much to the annoyance of the already frustrated prof. "I go away for sebatacle and they stuff forty-five freakin' people in my class! This is rediculous!" I've discovered after six weeks she really likes to say the word 'freakin' and I've been guessing that 'freakin' isnt quite the word she really wants to use. So we finally settled into a place and she began our instruction.

The next portion of the class mostly began with some explanation of how a formal class would be taught, and how we wouldnt have the time to go through such formality. She told us of her own Russian dance instructor who would hit their legs when they were in incorrect form. Then she also explained how her instructor would "make us look her in the eye when she would speak directly to us, and say 'Yes, Madame' all the while my hand would be on the other side of the barre giving her the finger." We learned about the caste-like system amongst formal ballet schools of the past where the beginners wore black leotards, and white or pink thights, the intermediates wore something else, and the advanced wore a pink leotard with white tights.

After all the discussion, we really only had time to go through the five positions for our feet, which nicely enough are labeled first, second, third, forth and fifth position. We had to 'tondue' between each postion, and yes, I know I spelled that incorrectly. We ended learning about "plies" and "grande plies" which are basically knee bends in crazy contorted leg positions. I think my knees wanted to give out.

Chapter Eleven

2005-09-30T13:31:00.000-05:00

I learned that there are thousands of different ways to walk in modern dance. I didnt realize I had so many options! I learned this today when our illustrious professor of dance skipped to our floor routine. She was still rather under the weather, and not quite her usual extrovert self, apparently battling a stomach virus. I believe it is the same virus I have been fighting all week as well. After collecting our attendance cards, the prof asked us to line up into six lines. We were going to learn how to move across the floor.

We began by walking forward, and of course, this wasnt by any means a normal walk. We had to hold our chins up as if we were royalty looking towards the basketball net on the opposite side of the gym. Our arms were slightly rounded at our sides, and our finger tips resting lightly by our hips. We began with our right foot pointed behind us, and our left foot pointed out.

"Now," explained my prof, "drag your right toes through and step keeping your foot pointed out, like a duck. Then drag your left foot through. Right foot! Left foot! Right foot! Left foot! NOW STOP! wait wait keep that right foot behind you! Very cool! I just got 45 people to all 'dip' at the same time! Great job gals!"

She then proceeded to demonstrate how we were to rotate and then begin walking backwards, pushing our leg back as far as it could reach with each step. I almost fell over twice. Turned the wrong direction nearly every time. Wait, turn to the left? Ohhhhh!!!...my other left!!!! Sigh. Dance is not an activity for the directionally challenged, I thought. Up to this point, we had only been "walking."

"Now we're gonna spiral to our right. Look over that right shoulder. Plant your left foot, and POW! Strong hand to the top! You should be facing the bleachers...no the other bleachers. Yes, over here, this way. There you go." She directed her words towards me as I turned helplessly around in a circle trying to figure out which way to go. "Another strong hand! POW! and pleir (plee-ay) with our arms to the sides as if we're holding the entire world...look up! look up!!!...this is heavy!" Ok, not too bad so far...with the exception of the few spins I had to do, I'm not doing too badly...I hope...

"Now, we're going to spiral yet again, releve, and walk forward with our drag until we go off stage. Good job girls." Then she said those most dreaded words I just loathe to hear: " Lets do it up to tempo with music." she added, "Then we'll go in our separate lines of six people at a time. Those in the front will be first."

I looked around and found I was suddenly in the front of the line. In my distracted, wifty state, I failed to hear the part about regrouping into lines and performing the floor routine in smaller groups of six. Well, this is the last day of modern dance. I'm older than these kids. I have no pride. Surely I can make a fool of myself in front of the whole class. Better to get it over with now, I consoled myself.

So my prof started the music, counted off, and from the beginning I had the whole routine screwed up. Somehow I ended up on the wrong foot, which made my first turn impossible to go the correct direction. I missed the strong hand position, was behind a few beats for the strong hand position, totally missed the plier, fouled up the releve, and managed to walk off with my feet hitting the floor at the wrong time on the opposite leg I was supposed to be using. And, sadly, I couldnt hide this time amongst the other 44 students in class. Nope, it was me and five other gals, in the middle of the gymnasium, all by our lonesomes, and I was doing a "solo" routine. My only consolation was watching all the other girls have their turn, though it was a small consolation, considering I was the only one out of 45 people who totally and completely screwed up the routine. I always knew there was a reason I stuck to the visual arts.

Chapter Ten

2005-09-27T13:58:00.000-05:00

It was another beautiful day, with just a hint of fall in the air. Although weather was still warm and balmy, the breeze was brisk, warning of the colder weather around the corner. I found myself actually amazed that our temperatures still lingered in the eighties. Isn't it usually cooler than this by now? I mused. My thoughts turned back to the studio from which I had just left. I had disassembled my loom, as I do almost every semester, to repair it. Most of the people in the weaving courses don't give a flying rip what condition their equipment is in. I, on the other hand, have been known to be too anal retentive to leave it alone. So, I began to fret I was costing myself precious time and energy that I couldnt afford to lose. I must have been too engrossed in my thoughts of the weather, season, and school work to have noticed the sign on the door.

Actually, I realized later, we must all have been on autopilot. When I walked into the locker room, the entire class was there putting on their attire. I delighted in the thought that this was our last week of modern dance and in the same moment cringed at the notion we'd be learning ballet next week. Next week would come all too soon. I had taken ballet as a child, and the mere thought of revisiting it brought up memories I had hoped to never recall again: memories of knock-down-drag-out cat fights with my sister in the middle of the dance floor.

My mother meant well. I can't say I blamed her one bit for wanting us in the same class. It was, of course, easiest on her. But the poor instructor, Miss Jane, had to play referee almost every week, without fail. If we werent arguing with each other, we were wrestling. I'm almost certain Miss Jane just began the class with "You! you're on that Barre. You! You go over to that one!"

Then there are the other memories that only another person as uncoordinated as I could appreciate. For example, the time when Miss Jane wanted us to cross our arms and hold hands for a particular part of the choreography for the spring recital. I single-handedly pulled my entire line of girls down with me when I tripped. I fell every time we practiced that part. I can't remember if that ever made it into the recital, or if Miss Jane had to re-work the choreography, just for me.

As I changed while ruminating on the past, running through a plethera of thoughts and emotions, the chatter in the locker room became blurred in the background, mere white noise. I noticed something was amiss. Hmm, I wondered, I dont hear the music from the dance class before us. That's unusual. But, I dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came into my head.

We wandered up the dusty back stairs, noticed the attendance card file box was not in its usual location, took a seat on the floor anyway. It was about ten minutes into the class, about thirty of us had already changed our clothes and sat down, when someone came in and said "There's a sign on the front gym doors. Class is canceled." Confused murmurs flooded the gym. "Cancelled? Are you sure?" "What's going on?" "There's a sign saying she's not here" "A sign? Where?" "On the front gym doors." "Are you kidding me?" "Like they couldnt have put that on the locker room doors or anything." "Yeah, we're not even allowed to go in through the front doors." "Crap." "Hey! Our wish came true!" "Do you think you could wish that again for Wednesday?" "Yeah, sure, I already have!" And before a single person could blink, the gym was completely emptied and we all gleefully went our separate ways, spared, at least for then.

Chapter Nine

2005-09-20T10:28:00.000-05:00

I was resting on the couch after my crazy day for all of five minutes when the mister came home from work. I had IMed him earlier about my "idea" for my one and half minute choreography final. In hindsight, just to be funny, I should have said something to the effect of "How would you like to experience the sound of the didge in an old gymnasium? Lots of echo in there...bet it would sound better than when you didge in the bathroom..." It didnt matter, he sounded game for the idea. In fact, the mister no sooner sat his things down on the floor when he walked towards his didgeridoo.

"So, I take it you liked the idea?" I asked rhetorically.

"Yeah! How about a didge solo? No drum?!" He says enthusiastically. His face was lit up like a little kid who just noticed all the presents under the christmas tree.

"Well, um, no, I really wanted the drum."

"Well, ok, I'll just drone for a minute and a half?" he inquired.

"I was kind of hoping you'd throw in some pops and whirl sounds in there," I replied.

"Ah so something like this..."

And he started going whiiiirrreeeeerrrrr whiiiirrrreeeerrrr brrrrrroottt! brroooottt!!! with his didgeridoo at a morbidly slow tempo.

"A little faster, please, if you could," I requested.

"I was thinking of something nice and slow."

"Um, well, I can't dance to that, it's just WAY tooo slow. Look, I'm supposed to use the moves I'm learning to choreograph. I can't hold poses that long, at the tempo you're doing this." I called to the boy (our son) and asked him to get his drum out. Unfortuneately, he was entranced by the television and non-responsive.

"Well, I could DRUM AND DIDGE! That'd be WAY cool!" the mister said with even more enthusiasm than before. I cringed and tried to think quickly of a way to be diplomatic, but alas I was too slow. He retrieved the boy's drum, situated himself on a kitchen chair and put his didgeridoo up to his mouth and proceded to accompany himself with one hand making this sad little rhythm that would make my prof look like a virtuoso on the drum.

"No, no, no, no, nooooooooooooooo...." I whined. He laughed ornerily, knowing he was being a twerp and messing with my poor little head.

"No?" he asked between chuckles, "You don't like that? Let me try it again?" And he proceded to play it another time, just to make me crazy. "I think that sounds GREAT! What do you mean you can't dance to this?" By this point he had cracked himself up, and couldn't stop laughing.

I called to the boy again, this time with more desperation in my voice.

"Huh? Whaaa? I mean, Coming Mama!" he broke out of his trance.

"Can you PLEASE play the drum, please please please?" I begged.

The boy started to laugh, used to this playful bantering between his father and I. "What's the matter, Mama?" He asked snickering "Daddy's not playing it right?"

"Ok son," the mister began, "I'll start and you come along, alrighty? 1-2-3-4..." and the kitchen filled with the sound of didge and our son pitifully playing along on the drum.

"Whoa! What was that?" I asked the boy. "You play a lot better than that usually...play your usual stuff. Not this."

The boy defended himself "Well, daddy started out so slow this is the only rhythm I can play with it."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "You start, and DADDY will follow YOU." I turned to glare at the mister who was just still laughing at me.

The boy began playing his usual beat at his usual speed and his father joined in, when suddenly, the mister said, "Wait son, slow it down."

"No," I retorted, now getting frustrated. At first this was amusing and funny, suddenly I found myself annoyed. "I want it that speed. Why do you keep wanting to slow it down? I know what I have to do, and while it won't look great, I gotta have it at this pace. This is the tempo I had in my head."

The mister made a rather valid counterpoint, "Yes, but he cant play soft AND fast. His speed and volume are inexplicably linked"

The boy made a counterpoint to his father's counterpoint by playing soft and fast, smirking the entire time as if to say "See, I can...pbbbthhthththhththththhhhhhhhhhhht!" He was watching this whole conversation unfold with great amusment.

"But why on earth do you want it soft? I want it to be played the volume he always plays. It's not too loud." I continued to question the mister.

"Well, you can't hear the didge!" He said, trying to protest, but to no avail because he couldnt stop giggling.

"I never intended to hear the didge. In this case, I want the the didge to be an accompanying instrument to the drum. At first I only wanted the drum, and I was only going to bring him to class," I pointed at my son who was trying so hard at this point to keep his face straight and not bust out laughing. I was fighting as well to keep a straight face because this conversation was just rediculous. I continued, "then I thought, hmmm...didgeridoo would be cool too...to have this low bass rrrrrrrrmmmmmmmm sound underneath the drum."

The mister threw his head back and did his signature cackle starting to really crack up. As he caught his breath, wiped the tears from his eyes, he replied, "Ohhhhhhh. Well, I still think it should be a didge solo."

I walked over behind him, kissed his forehead, and said "Well, maybe we can work a didge solo into it after all, you know, we can have the drum stop completely." Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. "Besides," I added, "We have till the end of November to work on this and practice" which will be here before we know it...sigh.

Chapter Eight

2005-09-19T15:06:00.000-05:00

I wish I could say that my day today was peaceful and calm. I really wish I could. But alas, it was not to be. I began the morning by arriving at school only to find I had left my bag at home. At first I thought, well, this is a pain in the butt, but I can just borrow a piece of paper for health class, and I can just wait until I get home to eat my lunch. Then I had a sinking feeling in my spirit. Oh maaaaaaaaan!!! My dance clothes are in my bag!!!! A panick attack commenced as I calculated the ZERO that would be my grade for the day. Also, I began to figure that in driving the 30 minutes home, I would most likely lose my parking space! Not to mention, I was missing my entire weaving class. Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap!!!

I was proud of myself, however. I didnt have the usual "freak-out" that an event like this would have caused in the past. Instead I calmly got back into my van, said a little prayer that I'd get another parking spot when I returned, and raced out of the school grounds like a maniac on a mission. And of course, murphy's law dictates, that should one be in a rush, then that person will get behind EVERY OLD PERSON AND TRACTOR TRAILER GOING THIRTY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR IN A FIFTY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR ZONE!

I was definitely learning patience today.

Then along my 'leisurely' scenic drive, I had this terrifying thought that I had, indeed, had my bag in hand, but must have set it on the side walk and drove off without it! Oh Lord, I prayed, please let my bag be in the house and NOT on the walk, or if it's on the walk, please let my neighbor find it and put it on my porch. I just feared someone would steal my bag. I dont know why because no one in their right mind would take an old canvas shopping bag with a camisole top, spandex shorts, footless tights, books on weaving, a water bottle, a diet coke, a peanut butter granola bar, and a knotted jute sculpture in progress that at the moment looks like a baby's leg.

Fortuneately, my bag was in the house. My drive back to school was a lot less, um, infuriating than the ride home.

So, we began dance class with the best announcement EVER! We only have two weeks left of modern, this week and next. WOO HOO! She gave us the second best announcement EVER! "A normal modern dance class goes over a two-hour period. Since we only have forty-five minutes, we will have to start dropping off things from the beginning so we can get off of the floor and into a standing position. So, I'm so sad to announce, and I'm sure you guys are just so disappointed about this, but this will be our last day to do these abdominal contractions." Silent cheers flood the room. "But for today, we will begin on the floor, and continue through all the routines we've learned up to this point, and at the end we'll learn our first seated dance sequence."

The class commenced as usual: pelvic contractions, pleating contractions, side contractions. We sat pretzle style, did our scoopy thing. Next we laid back on our elbows did our Hawkins loopy leg thing where we brush our feet. (I'm just oh so technical with the terminology). I was grateful to realize I could finally lean on my elbow. Then we did our second position groin splitters. And lastly ended with our swastika position, where one leg is bent and toes pointed in front of our bodies, and the other leg is bent behind us. Now we were READY for the floor choreography.

"Let me begin by explaining the difference between do a contraction, and just deflating," my prof begins. "Imagine I'm a balloon, a mickey mouse balloon, why a mickey mouse balloon? I dunno. I dunno why I just said that!" She laughed to herself. We laughed too though I'm not quite sure why. "Anyway, this is where my ears would be. And not that I want to be rude or anything, but you know that little tail part, you know the part you put in your mouth to blow it up? Imagine it comes out right here." She delicately pointed to her bottom. It's unfair to make such visual imagery to me. I immediately pictured this balloon thing coming out of someone's rectum. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Maybe forgetting my bag and taking the zero would have been better! "Now, if I let the air out, which part of my balloon is going to deflate. Yes! That's right, this part right here!" She pointed to her butt again. "And then here," pointed to her lower abdominal region. "And my chest, and then neck, head, and finally my rediculously huge ears." We all giggled. Then we had to deflate like a balloon as well.

The deflation/inflation was the first part of the routine. So then she has us get into our swastika position again, deflate, and inflate about a few thousand times. Next we added a twist with our spines as we inflated until we were in a position that I never before though humanly possible. Our legs were still facing the stadium in front, but our chests were now perpendicular. The second stage of this combo required us to lift the back bent leg WITHOUT leaning forward. Go ahead, try it. I dare anyone to make this pose, except for dancers, for whom, I'm sure, this is a piece of cake. Almost everyone tried to lean to get that back leg off the floor. "QUIT LEANING! She screached, "Com'mon you wimps, naw, I'm just kidding, but seriously, keep your bodies straight, no leaning!!!"

NOW came the fun part. And I truly mean fun. I actually enjoyed this part of the choreography. We used the momentum of our spinal twist to swing our leg like a cool ninja/kung fu move that would trip up the enemy if used properly. We began in the same manner, inflate, twist, lift leg, swing it around and extend, making our legs point where our chests were originally pointing, dropping the front of our bodys to the floor in a push-up position. Then just as quickly we swung it back into a bent leg, making our upper bodies again point to the wall while our lower half was still pointing forward. I dont know if I described it acurately enough. But lets just say, the movement hurt me in places, well, I keep saying this, that I've never hurt before. My butt felt like jello after the class. Now it is seizing up in weird and wonderful ways, if a cramped behind can be construed as wonderful.

After we had practiced awhile, she announced, "Now most modern classes have a live drummer in them. So, I'm going to get my drum, but I must warn you, I'm not a musician. I'm not even close to being good at this, so if it starts sounding spastic you know why." She ran to her office and pulled out this small hand held drum and a padded stick that looks similar to the kind of stick drummers use for cymbals in an orchestra, or for the bass drum. She explained the order of the routine ending with "And if you get lost, just know we're gonna end with a deflation, so as long as you end at the same place with us, it doesnt matter. You can do you're own little solo, and the 'audience' will never know because it's modern!" And with that she yelled, "5-6-7-8!" and my prof started banging the drum, and neglects to tell us what poses to make when. Total chaos ensued. She started laughing and then began to call out some poses. Finally the whole class caught up with each other.

I was feeling mighty proud of myself there for awhile because I actually managed to keep up with the crowd, I even knew our leg swing was coming up next when suddenly she hollared "POW!!" and hit the drum so hard it sounded like a thunder boom. I must've jumped ten feet in the air, clamored to get back in rhythm, when she did it again. By then end I was so off, that when we finished the choreography with our trusty "transition, transition, transition" which I am too directionally challenged to do anyway, I just sat and stared at the prof, and finished with a "deflation."

Despite the humiliation, I did actual have fun today, and I did get an idea for my one and a half minute choreography I'll be doing at the end of the semester. I was walking to my health class envisioning live djembe and didgeridoo music played by my son and husband. Yeah, that's the ticket, the music can distract the audience's attention away from my crappy dancing. AND I can do just about anything to that...yeah, an "abstract" piece...

I've already informed the mister that he has some obsessing to do. He was very excited to have permission to didge considering I have protested on a rather frequent basis in the past to his many didgeridoo original compositions. So we'll see.

Chapter Seven

2005-09-14T16:02:00.000-05:00

I snuck out of my fibers class, wandered to the student union building (also known as the SUB) grabbed a bite to eat, and made my way to the gym. The humidity hung in the air like an invisible blanket, so thick it was hard to breathe. This is going to be great, having to "dance" in the unairconditioned gym. Entering the double-doors to the women's locker room, I immediately noticed that something was different. Girls from my class were seated on the benches and gabbing. No one was changing. Could this be my lucky day? Could class be canceled? Sadly, no such luck. Buutttt, I didnt have to change my clothes, a plus in weather conditions like today.

"So, um, what's going on?" I asked.

"We dont have to change," came the unison answer from the group. "WE," the one girl in the group paused for dramatic effect, "get to learn about the history of modern dance," she added.

"Oh. Good." I think...

Actually it turned out to be quite facinating and definitely amusing. There will be no possible way to acurately detail how or why it was so funny. And it was extra good because the gym turned out to be more oppressive inside than it was out of doors! I couldnt have imagined trying to do pleating contractions, etc. in that heat. I'll add that I was even more than ecstatic to have a day off, because quite frankly, the muscles in my arms are sooooo stiff, I can barely move them from lifting my arms to the sides and holding them up for about twenty minutes at a time. I have these huge lumps near my bicep, but not quite my bicep just from Monday.

My prof is quite dramatic. I think it must come as a requirement for any performing artist. She whirled and twirled and demonstrated all the various early stages of modern dance. She began to explain how the movement started in the late 1800's (I think) and came about because of one ballerina sick of wearing corsets decided to rebel. The prof explained, "She donned a toga, tore off her undergarments, garters, etc and floated around in a circle, flapping her arms, demonstrating the 'freedom' she was experiencing all the while" she paused moving her hands up and down towards her chest, "Her boobs, I'm sure were flopping around under there looking just so lovely." My instructor continued, "Simulateously a woman in Paris, desperate to get a job as an actress was turned down. While she was leaving the audition the head of the company said 'We need a dancer, anyone here able to dance?' So this french gal lied and says she could, even though she couldn't, saying, "Just give me a second. I need to get my costume." She ran to a dressing room, spotted a bolt of fabric on the floor, started wrapping it all around her leaving yards to drape from either hand, came back out in front of the director of the production and started 'dancing' making the fabric move. These guys were so impressed, they didn't even know she wasn't even a 'dancer.' This gal ended up making more elaborate costumes, using fabric to 'dance' with her, and played with lighting effects by putting colors over top of gas lights to make them red, or whatnot. "

I really don't quite remember the rest of the story because the professor's demonstrations were just plain amusing. I got caught up in the performance and started tuning out the factual information. I believe she meant to be entertaining, because we were all cracking up. So, thankfully, now I get a whole week to recover from last monday's class. Whew.

I can't wait to hear about the history of ballet!

Chapter Six

2005-09-12T15:39:00.000-05:00

It was a balmy 91 degrees today, way too hot to endure an unairconditioned gymnasium. I walked in and noticed the presence of large mirrors. Oooh goodie, we get to see how lovely look in our outfits and notice how poorly we are "dancing". Seriously, I know mirrors are an important part to any dance instruction, and it did help to be able to follow the prof better. Nonetheless, they did very little for my self-esteem.

The prof was running a little late, and ran in rather frantically wearing a hot pink leotard and black pants. "Can you gather the attendence cards?" she asked the girl sitting next to me while she ran into an office. The prof emerged with two folders filled with a stack of papers. So here it is, I thought to myself, our requirements for these performance reviews. Lay it on me! The stack finally passed by me, I took a paper, and my stomach sunk.

Select one question for each event and answer in a complete, comprehensive form. Submit your work (no more than two pages, but must be two pages) in a typed format (1.5 spaced, 12 point font). Each performance evaluation is due the class following the event.

Question #1

Elicit three characteristics of the technique observed in this perfomance or master class (note where each occured). There was technique? We'll I'll be! Include your personal response to this event as part of the question.

Question #2

What themes were evident in the choreography you viewed? Include your personal response to the choreography as part of this qeustion.

I'm already struggling with this. That last performace I saw on Thursday evening was an "abstract" piece, as the prof described it. Yes, I understand what "abstract" is. We have "abstract" in the visual art world. But I'm left wondering how I'm supposed to find "characteristics" when I dont even understand what's going on. Nor, do I know what the positions are, or what's proper technique! So I dared to ask "What do you mean by characteristic?" The prof answered, "Anything that is repeated throughout the choreography" OOOOH! I get it, like all those flailing arms and legs that I saw, that's a characteristic of the dance! Gotcha! Man, I wished so badly I could have said that. Well, I did, sort-of, just not quite so abrupt. But after some more "intense dialogue", I did finally grasp what she meant by characteristic...sort of. The sucky part is, I might end up having to go to a different performance just because writing about Sundari is going to prove mighty difficult. Then it means I wasted my time and energy that could have been better spent elsewhere last week. Sigh. Well, I have managed to b.s. my way through many a critique I didnt believe in, so maybe I can come up with something for this.

The rest of the class time was spent doing our "warm-up" as the prof calls it. I call it torture. Make me do forty-five minutes of that stuff and I'm ready to spill everything. I will say that I think I might be getting in better shape. I didnt hurt quite so badly today. I was able to walk out of the gym without feeling like I was going to die. We continued with our pelvic press, pleating contractions, side contractions, and our second position split "groin wrenchers". She added another position, believe it or not, called the "swastika," but it was tolerable.

At one point, the prof had us lay backwards onto our elbows and do some circle, brushing thing with our feet. I wanted badly to participate in this (sure I did) but about a week and a half ago I fell down the stairs at five in the morning. The mister's alarm clock went off, and I woke up immediately, as did my bladder. So I wandered half-consciously down the attic stairs only to step on a precariously placed magazine. I'm talking that thing was slipperier than snot on a doorknob. I slid down several stairs knocking my elbow hard causing a numbness in my fingertips and a pain I will never forget. I probably should have gone to the doctor, but I hate the waste of time, energy, and money when the doctor would have just sent me for x-rays and said "Nope, nothing's broken." But now a week and half later, I'm still in a bit of discomfort and thinking perhaps I was being too stubborn. Eitherway, my entire elbow and part of my arm on either side turned a lovely shade of purple, and then a sickening green. Today I noticed the green was almost gone, but it still is uncomfortable. At least I didnt need to pop any ibuprofen today. And honestly, I didnt notice my elbow until I had to recline on it. And can someone please tell me why I keep bumping the darn thing? How in the heck is it supposed to heal if I keep clobbering it?

But I'm not keeping a blog to whine about my injury, I'm writing to document my experiences as an uncooridinated, unathletic person being forced to participate in a phys ed course which in my case happens to be dance. One thing I am gaining from this class is a deep appreciation for how physically fit dancers are, because the poses and warm-ups are killing me. Until wednesday...

Chapter Five

2005-09-09T13:25:00.000-05:00

Now I wanna know how I ended up in dance appreciation 101 when this is supposed to be a phys. ed. course.

I forgot earlier to mention that throughout this semester, I'm supposed to view two dance performances and then review them. That's part of the grade for the course. How does this help me become more physically fit? I ask. I'm ashamed to admit, I tried to pull the "I'm a mom of three, soccer games, three jobs, blah blah blah..." card on the prof, but she wasnt buying. She did say "Well, I might make a substitution..." Wait. Stop right there. I know what that means...more work than just finding time to see two lousy performances and writing two or three sentances about it. What's that? There's something going on that's FREE? On thursday night?? Ok. I'm there.

So I attended this dance performance last night called Sundari, or something like that. Really, the title doesnt matter. I was already put into a bad mood by the three banshees that live in my home who, from time to time, I will admit to being my children. They were not attentive at all yesterday, and extremely disobedient. Then the mister was late from work, not that he could help himself, but it did add to the stress I was enduring. Top it off, I was sitting at soccer practice watching my normally overly aggressive son be very timid and getting clobbered by the other players. It was not a good night to have to sit and be objective about an amature modern choreographed dance production.

I'll start by saying, I couldnt do it. I couldnt make those poses. I couldnt grab onto a rock wall that had water spilling out of it and no real ledges, make a split and pull the lower half of my body away from it as if it were an easy feat. I couldnt choreograph a darn thing if my life depended on it. So there's my disclaimer. Oh, and I enjoyed the setting, the music and the costumes.

(dramatic pause)

Yes, that's right, there's a big BUUUUTTTT coming and it isnt of the gluteal kind. It was too phrenetic, and in case the meaning of that particular word is elusive, I'll define it from dictionary.com. Because I have to admit, I didnt know the meaning of that word until about a year ago when my father-in-law used it to describe something. I've since found multiple uses for it.

fre·net·ic or phre·net·ic ( P ) Pronunciation Key (fr-ntk) also fre·net·i·cal or phre·net·i·cal (--kl)adj.
Wildly excited or active; frantic; frenzied.

I didnt quite get it. The music was soft and soothing: guitar and oboe, sometimes accompanied by a singer who sang in french and spanish. I could have sat all evening and listened to the live musicians and been quite content. There was soothing lighting, candles lit everywhere. At times there was a poor attempt at a soothing poetry reading...but hey, the poetry reader only read twice. I could tolerate it. And her voice wasnt annoying. Just the poems were kinda, well, lets just say they werent Emily Dickenson, that's for sure. But that was NOT why I drove thirty minutes all the way back to my univeristy at eight o'clock in the evening. I went for the dance. So, unfortuneately, I had to open my eyes to watch.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a patron of all the arts, well, except maybe for opera, and I've had a subscription in the past to the pennsylvania ballet, so I'm not being critical because I hate dance, or don't understand it as an art form. I'm critical of what I saw from a visual standpoint. I guess that's because I am a "visual" artist. I just didnt know where to look first. There were four dancers all waving around wildly, it seemed, making crazy poses with their bodies to soothing Yanni-like music. What was the message I was missing? Was this dance supposed to represent something? Is there a statement here I didnt get? I couldnt rationalize the created atmosphere with the energy of the dancers.

I think I'm just going to have to sit and mull this one over before monday when the prof asks those of us who attended what we thought. I certainly don't want to dig my own grave on this one...

Chapter Four

2005-09-07T17:04:00.000-05:00

I can't walk. Seriously. It hurts in places I didnt even know I had.

There were no sandbag warm-ups today. It was straight into the torture of abdominal contractions. I think she took us to complete muscle fatigue in that area. And if that wasn't bad enough, we then learned how to warm up our glutes and hamstrings. My groin hurts.

"Start with your legs crossed pretzle style. Actually, you're supposed to have your toes pointed so that you're not squishing the sides of your feet, but since you guys are just beginner beginners, we'll just relax our feet. Now, sit up on your "sits" bones in your butt, press your shoulders down, rest your wrists on your knees with your fingers pointed out, and do that same contraction you did on the floor with your stomach."

unnnnnnnggggggghhhh, my stomach already hurts, I dont think I have one more "contraction" in me!

She continued with her shrill voice, "Now we're gonna drop our chin and touch the tops of our heads to the floor, round your shoulders, and start to scoop with your head upward, into that contraction, press the shoulders down, and you're finished. Lets do the other side, switch legs and now cross your right with your left."

Wait! I dont think I have it yet!

"Alright, lets do that a few million times to music and you can see how this becomes a dance move!"

Oh Lord, help me! My body wasnt designed to go into these crazy positions.

I thought that was the worst of it. I was wrong.

Next we learned some positions that I think might have permanently prevented me from walking like a normal person. We had to straddle our legs as far as we could and point our toes. Why point the toes? So our legs will remain in one place and not move while we twisted our torso around. I struggled and fought with my unlimber body to even make half a straddle when the prof announces we have to sit up on our "sits" bones yet again which might mean pushing the groin muscles forward. This next part began looking like some kind of recognizeable stretch, but I was wrong. We did a side bend to one side, then moved our arms to look like we were jumping a hurdle (one in the front one in the back) and the twisted to the other side all in a fast fluid motion.

Not too bad, I think to myself, though just sitting here in this position is killing me.

Next came the torturous part, all the twisting and swirling around rapidly while in this straddle, otherwise known as second position, was really beginning to hurt. My inner thighs have never screamed so loudly for me to stop. We learned all three "moves" in this position when she announces, "Ok, now we're gonna speed things up and put it to music, you know, up to tempo"

Is she insane? That was already so fast I was hardly keeping up! Groans resonate throughout the gym. At least I'm not the only one, I think to myself. I tentatively raise my hand, "Um, is it supposed to hurt this bad in this area (pointing to my inner thighs)?"

"Well, yes," she says matter of factly, "You're having to push those groin muscles forward which are probably very tight just to do this. See, I only feel it in my hamstrings." I heard whimpers escape from someone behind me.

The music began. She started taking us through the moves again with our arms, even though we've yet to move our legs out of this near split position. My arms began to falter from fatigue. My legs were giving out. I'm downright positive I was no longer sitting straight up with my shoulders pressed down. I heard giggles and groans throughout the class as everyone struggled to keep up with the teacher. I was going left. The teacher's going right. Her arms are up. Mine were down. I could no longer feel my groin muscles. Was that a good or bad thing?

Finally, finally, FINALLY, class is over. "Clap for yourselves ladies, we always clap at the end of each class for making it through! Now get up slowly and try and walk back to the locker room, if you can." If I didnt know any better, I'd have thought she was smirking as she said that, and possibly might have even broken out into an evil laugh after we all left the gym. I'm so grateful I have until Monday to recover.

One week down, four more to go before we begin... ballet!

** note** the above picture is not a picture of our class, of course, because they are all able to make the pose, plus this class in the photo isn't taking place in an old decrepit gym. This is just a picture that I came across while looking for something similar to what we were doing today. ***

Chapter Three

2005-09-06T17:12:00.000-05:00

I wandered into the locker room after my weaving class, having eaten a granola bar for lunch along the walk to the building where my torture was to commence. "Are you ok? Looking for something? In the right place? You look confused," the pretty, thin, young thing says to me. She must have been asking me questions for a while because I was too busy assessing the current situation I was in and only returned to consciousness with the last question. I was vaguely aware that someone was talking to me up to that point, but for some reason couldn't answer.

"Yeah, I'm ok...I suppose," I answered shyly. "Intro to dance?"

"yeah," she answers.

"Man, I'm so not feeling comfortable about this," I remarked.

"Yeah, I know, and these outfits. I'm not looking forward to wearing this rediculous outfit."

Well, I thought to myself, at least you're thin enough and have a flat stomach, I dont know what you're complaining about.

I managed to muster up the self-confidence needed to put on my "proper attire," locked my things in a locker, and wandered up the back, dusty and dank stairs to the old gymnasium where we were having class. I looked around, studying everyone's faces, pulled my attendance card from the file box, and found a seat in the middle of the floor. Most of us were feeling very awkward and uncomfortable in our lovely garb. The professor walked in with her wild curly hair, huge hoop earrings and glasses propped on the tip of her nose, wearing a bright pink leotard under a black cover-up of some kind. She's from new york and sounds like it. Her shrill voice echoed throughout the building.

"Mahdin (modern) dance is what we'll be studying for the next five weeks. There's no way to really describe Mahdin becawze there's so many different techniques within the term mahdin...bwah bwah bwah bwah bwah bwah..." I tried to follow, but found it impossible. Something about two techniques in particular we'll be learning invented by two dancers who were married but divorced and then the guy said he knew what the girl was missing in her invented technique (sounds just like a man) and came up with his own stuff...yadda yadda yadda. Ok, I did find it mildly interesting, but I just wanted to get started. The forty-five minutes were dragging along badly enough.

"Ok, now, Lay on the floor," she said "Close your eyes and relax your entire body. Place your arms slightly out to the side. Allow your palms to face upward. Now contract your feet, now your calves and knees, now your quads and hamstrings, and your glutes. Now your abs and your chest and arms and fists and neck and head. Hoooooooooooooollldd it" Interesting warm-up, I thought to myself. "Ok, now pretend you're a bag of sand and I'm gashing huge holes in you...gash gash gash! Just SLITTING HUGE HOLES!" Eeeeks! "Now, just let that sand pour out of your body from your toes up to your head and just relax slowly, remembering to breathe."

That was just the beginning. We did that exercise several times letting the "sand" out from top to bottom, and the again from bottom to top. Finally, warm-up was over and it was time to DANCE! Or not.

The prof began to explain three contractions in the abdominal region. "First we lay on the floor." Oh good, I really didnt want to stand up today. "Then push the small of the back into the floor. push it! push it! Common! All the way down! You with your sway backs, you gotta do this! It's gonna be harder but you can do it!" Contraction one. "Next, move from the first contraction and then lift the arms, palms up to a diagonal angle, and tilt the head back until you're looking upside down." Gooooood. I was so hoping to let the blood rush to my head while squeezing my guts out with my abdominal muscles. "Third contraction: move from the second contraction position to the right side lifting the shoulder blades off of the floor, head must still be tilted back," which by the way, is nearly impossible since every exercise class in the world has you lift your head when you do an oblique crunch. This is not an oblique crunch. That would be easy compared to this. The body just wants to lift that head and tuck that chin. It's not comfortable to keep it nearly upside down. "Now lift the head, square the shoulders and slowly lower back to the floor. Now if you did about eight of these a day, you'd have incredibly flat abs." No kidding! Well, I've always needed to work on this problem area, so I guess I shouldnt complain...

My stomach hurts. I'm so glad I get to go back tomorrow.

Chapter Two

2005-09-06T17:10:00.000-05:00

I think that when you've been out of school for a certain amount of years, you shouldnt have to take a phys ed. course.

So here I was in an old retired basketball gymnasium with forty-four other 18-20 something young females listening to what my intro to dance course is going to entail. The first part of the semester we'll be learning modern dance. The second part: ballet. The third part: lyrical jazz, which happens to be the specialty of the prof who has her doctorate in this. Did you know you can get a doctorate in lyrical jazz dance? Neither did I. At this point, the prof started to look around and almost to herself said "I hope they're gonna keep this floor clean, we're going to be sitting and laying and rolling around on it for the modern dance part." Help me.

Then came the fun part, the prof detailed what was the appropriate attire for the course: a leotard and footless tights OR a sports bra, spandex biking shorts with footless tights under OR a camisole top with shelf bra, spandex biking shorts, footless tights. Oh double yay. I think I just entered hell. I wonder how many dancers have had a c-section and two more kids afterwards? Or how many of them nursed three kids...yeah a shelf bra...that's gonna be greaaaaaaaaat. Actually, they're just in too good of shape to have these issues, so the thought wouldnt occur to them, I'm sure. Thoughts of dropping and adding a different phys ed course entered my mind, but the reality is that this is the only one that fits my schedule and all the rest are full.

Now the prof continued with grading and expectations. We get graded on attendance. Good. that was a given. Graded on participation. Yes, I understand. Also a given. Graded on choreography. Wait...huh? What? What was that? Go back a second...choreography? You mean as in, we have to CHOREOGRAPH OUR OWN DANCE? One and a half minutes? We have to come up with a one and a half minute choreography for our FINAL? Friends can come and watch? You mean this isnt just going to be in front of the class, but in front of friends too??? What do you mean in past semesters this whole side of the stadium was filled? Kill me. Kill me now. Please.

Those of you hoping for a video...don't hold your breath.

Chapter One

2005-09-06T17:00:00.000-05:00

I wont go into details as to how I ended up abandoning my persuit of a higher degree after three years of study. That would be a subject for a different blog. But I will mention that a few years after having my firstborn I began plotting and planning how and when I'd finish my degree. I waited until the mister finished his commitment with Uncle Sam serving as a linguist in the United States Army. I waited until the mister completed his bachelor of science degree in computer programming. I waited a year past my third child's birth befor I made the call to the nearest state university that would most easily accomodate my transfer credits in fiber arts.

"Hello, admissions office, how may I help you?"

"Yes, I'm wondering is there an expiration to college credits?"

"Yes there is, about ten years, unless you're currently matriculating."

"Ok, thanks."

Click.

Crap! I thought to myself. Some of my credits are ten years old, I'd better get back in there and quick!

Jumping to present day, I'm now in my third semester back in college, going part-time, hoping to achieve a bachelors of fine arts in fibers. The problem with transferring from a private university totally geared towards the arts, both visual and perfoming arts, is that sometimes the college forgoes certain classes that would be absolutely mandatory in a state university. For example, math, science with a lab, oh, and health and phys. ed.

This is where this blog begins. I decided this semester I was just going to get the painful health and phys. ed. requirement out of the way so it would no longer loom over my head. But there are other obstacles to overcome, namely, my kids' school schedule. I must fit courses into when they are in school, and I must be home by school's end. It makes it extremely difficult to find classes that fit into such a narrow time window. There was only one such course that fit amidst my other required courses, hence my decision to take Intro to Dance.

**disclaimer ** I'm going to make an apology to any dancers out there who might stumble upon this blog and feel as if I don't take their art seriously. I'm not trying to make fun of dance or the amount of hard work involved to become an amazing dancer. I'm actually an avid supporter of the arts, any art. This is merely my way of venting my feelings of insecurity and poking fun at my own lack of ability in this area, as well as poking fun at the system, the idiocy of making college students take gym as a requirement for graduation.**