I keep meaning to write and then I run out of time. I swear. I was going to write a different post but during a spontaneous closet clean out in which I discovered a mouse nest near my paltry milk carton of albums that had been banished for a decade while the “real” albums got to live high on the hog in a real record cabinet, I found a few items that I thought I might write about.
I’ll write about my anger in discovering not only the mouse nest but the fact that the mouse had decided one of my Bowie albums (Lodger, if you must know) had become a delicious snack at some point.
Really, after being angry at the person who deemed my record collection unworthy, I then became angry at myself for allowing the situation to occur in the first place. I have made a mountain of compromises in my married life and this is the result: mouse poop and shredded album covers. And I didn’t get the turntable so I can’t even listen to them.
Anyway, I found a few things from the past. A lot of report cards from school and party invitations I made with friends and a ballet program.
But to do the post justice, I needed visuals. And I haven’t had a working scanner until today. I spent last week moving from a toxic office environment to a much more pleasant one. Finally, I got it together.
Here’s the cover of the program. The dance studio was in the basement of a house on a ritzy street in Richmond, across the street from wealthy arts patrons, at a busy intersection. Our recitals were held at the Scottish Rite Temple in the north side of town. I took lessons for nine years. I don’t ever remember asking to take ballet, it was just a thing I did. I liked it even though performances were a bit nerve wracking. But, because I was one of many, all of us dressed alike, there was an anonymity I liked. Nobody was staring at ME, they were looking at all the dancers.
That year, 1973, might have been my first performance year. A few years later, I progressed to toe shoes and tap shoes. Here I am in my tap outfit with baton. I loved this outfit and dressed up in it often until it no longer fit: