Back (to reality)

It's been so long I forgot my password. It's also been so long I've forgotten family members, eight hours' sleep, and how the washing machine works (which explains why I've been dressing weird).

Between my last post and this one, I lived the life chapter, "Modern Dance School Director." 

I resigned two days ago. 

I'd say "It didn't work out," but it really did, in many ways. The students, parents and teachers were wonderful, and I managed to accomplish a lot in a short period of time: I reworked the school handbook from embarrassing to presentable, and changed the schedule format from awkward to useful; set up wi-fi and online registration; fixed an error that was preventing emailed billing statements; launched new classes and grew the student companies; produced school car magnets, staff email addresses, business cards, class cards, a blog; revamped a tired show into a fresh one; donated hundreds of dollars in props, costumes and music; changed the e-newsletter from a long, one-column thing -- replete with huge bold fonts and exclamation points -- into something readable; and, my biggest source of pride, convinced families who'd been on the verge of leaving to stay... and made them happy.

BUT, there's always a but. You just never know what form the "but" will take. 

I'll really miss it, BUT... in the end, once a chapter is finished, all you can do is turn the page.

Another Break from Not Dancing

You know the typical story of the young chorine who gets her big break when the star breaks her leg? Or storms off the set because the lighting isn’t right? Or runs off with the guy who always wears a tux?

Well my weekend was just like that! Kind of.

The dancer who had to bow out is actually the young one, while I’m the old less young one. And she just had the flu.

I’ve given up dancing onstage. I've given it up at least twice a year for the past ten years.  So I do need a break, but not the “Let me do the part!” kind. More the “Let me sleep til noon!” kind. 

I’d actually co-created this particular duet, five years ago, when I was less less young. But I was the part the not-sick dancer was performing. I didn't really know the sick dancer's part.

As we know, the older more less young we become, the more less good our memory is. (“So it’s leap, land, swivel, and turn to the right or the left?” “The right.” “Got it. Leap, land, swivel and turn to the – did you just say right or left?”)

“Just have fun with it!” everyone said, which is the standard thing you say when you know somebody is about to make a fool of herself. (Also, “The audience won’t know the difference!”)

The dress still fit, although a little tighter less loose than before. And in the end, it went okay. I just had fun with it. The audience didn’t know the difference. 

Then I RE-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-retired from dancing onstage. Until next time.

Meanwhile, don’t wake me before noon.