Tag Archives: dance concert

Weekend Coffee Share December 11, 2016.

Welcome to another Weekend Coffee Share!

Not quite sure how many sleeps there are before Christmas, but there’s no sign of Christmas at our place yet. There’s only a tub containing my daughter’s dance costumes after Saturday night’s concert and some stray camping gear. The kids are under tent tonight at the scout Christmas camp. Fortunately, we live in Australia or they’d be hooking up some generators and a sneaking in a few heaters.

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Our daughter after the dance concert.

Our Christmas tree will be arriving tomorrow. We have a real tree each year and I simply can’t bring myself to buy a fake one. I blame my Dad for that after hearing him wax lyrically about the wonders of fresh pine scent all my life. Christmas isn’t Christmas without the smell of Christmas tree in the house…along with the debris and mess! That said, I hate seeing Christmas trees standing upside down in people’s wheely bins waiting for the garbage truck. Such an ignoble end for a magnificent tree!

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On what has suddenly become yesterday, we went to our daughter’s dance concert. Of course, it wasn’t her dance concert as such but she was in three items…jazz, modern and ballet. A friend drove her to the dress rehearsal beforehand and she did her own hair, so it was quite different to the past where I was fretting over her hair slapping on lashings of gel and almost asphyxiating in clouds of hair spray. It’s liberating. Yet, the more independent they become, the less involved you are…for better or worse. Today, I was more of a spectator something was missing as well.

It’s been a busy week for my daughter and I. She attends a selective Opportunity Class and will be sitting for the selective high school exam in March next year. On Friday, students of the two local selective primary school classes were invited to an enrichment day at the selective high school. As a parent, this was obviously a great opportunity, but my daughter was refusing to go. Her teacher wasn’t going and she didn’t want to be with strangers, even though she knew most of the kids that were going. Although I’m an extroverted extrovert and love talking to strangers, I do get where she’s coming from but trying to convey that was hellish. Trying to explain that it’s more about anxiety than the trigger. I have been an incredibly anxious driver but the more I drive, the less anxious I’ve become and most of the time, I now jump in the car without a second thought. Life is a constant learning experience.
Anyway, she went along and loved it. They made biscuits and she told me they have a fantastic kitchen and she wants to go to school there.

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Meanwhile, I had my son home from school for the morning on Wednesday while the teachers had a student-free pow wow. He loves playing Risk, a board game using loads of strategy. Anyway, he was particularly thrilled that he completely wiped me out. I didn’t mind. I was playing to spend time together and we had a lot of laughs along the way. (Note to self: Laugh more. Life doesn’t always have to be serious!)

Meanwhile, I’ve been getting stuck into my memoir about my time in Paris in the Summer of 1992. I’ve been typing up diary notes and have deviated into writing a bit of fiction as well. My time in Paris was, as Charles Dickens so aptly put it: “the best of times and the worst of times.” I could easily turn this time into a terrifying horror story yet there were also the best of times and it’s weaving these two paradoxical threads together which is going to give the story quite a lot of punch. At least, that’s the aim! Light doesn’t always triumph over darkness. It depends where you start and finish the story. So, I’ll be looking into all of that.

Anyway, I’ve posted a few poems about this time during the last week:

Welcome to the Yellow House.

Slide Night…Dumped In Paris.

I also participated in Friday Fictioneers again. My contribution this week Dancing For Life. This looks at the choices we have to make between love and success.

How was your week? I hope it’s been great. All the best for your preparations for Christmas, Hanukah, the Holidays. One more coffee share to go!

xx Rowena

 

 

 

Becoming A Dancing Queen.

Once upon a time, I was a drama queen but slowly but surely, I’ve become a dancing queen or at the very least, the mother of one.

This afternoon, we attended our daughter’s annual dance concert and I am still buzzing. Of course, it was amazing to see our daughter up on stage but the show itself was incredible. Such a kaleidoscope of colour, movement and sound that I was swept off my feet on some kind of magical carpet soaring somewhere up towards the heavens. The flashy costumes were sensational and had their own performance under the coloured lights as the dancers wiggled, jiggled and swirled around the stage. It was also quite funny seeing my friends’ kids dancing around with their gorgeous blond hair glowing purple. I’m sure they’ll have a good laugh when they see themselves on the DVD.

Such energy and emotion being expressed dancing at the beach.

Such energy and emotion being expressed dancing at the beach.

Dance is the hidden language of the soul. – Martha Graham

It’s not that these performances were perfection personified. It was the ambiance. After all, they were mostly kids and there were rows of pre-schoolers looking gorgeously cute and really just getting a taste for being on stage with fairly simple routines.However, these small beginnings lead to much better things. Our daughter, who can be quite shy, says that she doesn’t feel nervous dancing on stage because she’s been doing it since she was four. The dance school aims to engender a love of dance and the benefits of dance to all its students regardless of their abilities. This kind of patient encouragement is a very special kind of love that changes lives and creates a better world…step by step. Nobody is beyond hope and as we all know, a lot of kids have a rough time away from the magic of the dance floor. I find this approach so refreshing especially as the Russell family who run our dance school are so talented. Not just Mum and Dad but all their kids and they are so incredibly down to earth. Just because you’ve got it, it doesn’t mean you have to flaunt it. (Take note “Bragbook”!!).

Our daughter relaxing before the concertlooking like the consumate professional completely unphased by the bright lights.

Our daughter relaxing before the concert looking like the consummate professional completely unphased by the bright lights.

I could almost get caught up in those steps, the turns, the passion and could feel myself up there on stage getting into it. Golly. I’d make quite an interesting spectacle up there moving out of beat waving my walking stick around until I tripped. It was so hypnotic that our son was bouncing up and down in his seat which was flipping up and down during one number. Actually, I’m surprised he didn’t become airborne and crash on to the stage. Mister might not have an afro but there’s a lot of musician Red Foo in our son.

The kids leaving for the concert in 2012. Our son was doing the boys' hip hop class and jazz.

The kids leaving for the concert in 2012. Our son was doing the boys’ hip hop class and jazz. Why shouldn’t boys be allowed to dance too?!!

My love of dance has been a very recent development. Being a very awkward teenager who frequently tripped over my own feet or banged into things and sent them flying, dancing was a hellishly embarrassing torment. Eventually, I worked out that I could sort of do three steps on each foot and wriggle my arms a bit when I was out clubbing and I’d be right. Talk about deeply inhibited… a bird trapped in a very small, constricting cage unable to move my wings. Somehow, I went from there to just shaking everything around without caring about what anyone else thought and set myself free. Now, I really love dancing but don’t get the opportunity very often and my body doesn’t always cooperate either.

Taking dancing out of the studio and onto the beach in 2012.

Taking dancing out of the studio and onto the beach in 2012.

   

   

    Dance like there’s nobody watching,
    Love like you’ll never be hurt.
Sing like there’s nobody listening,
And live like it’s heaven on earth.
William W. Purkey

 

What I have also found is that being a writer, I’ve spent my life trying to encapsulate my emotions, the things I see around me into words. The language of dance and also music was a very foreign tongue. However, my daughter opened my heart when she started learning ballet violin and far from just being Mum’s taxi, I was converted. I found a way to express whole ranges and nuances of emotion which could never be shut into words into words…imprisoned. You see, once you name and thus define an emotion, you put it behind bars…limit it. You’re saying that this is what it is in no uncertain terms and there’s no room for nuance. Yet, emotions aren’t usually so clear cut and dance, like music, conveys the sense not the just concreteness of the emotion. They are also more subtle and open to interpretation.

To dance is to reach for a word that doesn’t exist,
To sing the heartsong of a thousand generations,
To feel the meaning of a moment in time.
– Beth Jones

Over the years, these dance concerts have at times been extremely and painfully emotional. You see, I usually have all my medical appointments quarterly and I always seem to be squeezing appointments in just before Christmas and before Australia goes to sleep (I mean on holidays) all of January. You don’t expect to get anything other than a tan, sunburn and more freckles around here in January. The place grinds to an absolute stop. Away from the beach, it’s like a graveyard.

Having these medical appointments just before Christmas might be practical and my doctors and I have agreed that its a good idea to get everything checked out before the “Great Australian Annual January Slumber Party”. However, it’s meant that when I’ve had bad news, that it has, despite all my upbeat protestations, dumped a huge black cloud right on top of Christmas and I’ve felt absolutely rotten.

Couldn't resist this photo of our dancing queen in front of the box office.

Couldn’t resist this photo of our dancing queen in front of the box office at this year’s concert.

There has been more than one of our daughter’s dance concerts where my life felt like it was hanging by a very fragile thread…a thin thread of spider’s silk…and I have sobbed through her concert wondering who was going to do her hair and makeup if, and seemingly more likely, when I was no longer around. As I watched Miss dance across the stage in an enchanting tutu or one of her funky jazz outfits, everything was moving in very slow motion and was actually freeze-framed, frozen in time like a stained-glass window. I was heartbroken.

You often hear about a parent’s anguish of losing a child but even the possibility of dying and leaving your children behind is absolutely devastatingly heartbreaking. I am supposed to be there walking my children through the school gate. Twirling my daughter’s hair into a bun and applying bright red lipstick to her tender lips so she can dance across the stage and through my heart. I need to be there waving as our son sails past. When I think of that dreadful possibility, it chills me right to the core. I am so incredibly thankful and know that without my medical treatments and my team of excellent doctors and the researchers who support them, that would have been a done deal.

The ultimate Christmas gift: our daughter under the Christmas tree wearing her baking attire 2013.

The ultimate Christmas gift: our daughter under the Christmas tree wearing her baking attire 2013.

While this might sound melodramatic and I know I have fantastic catastrophising abilities but last Christmas I started chemo to treat the autoimmune disease which had then started to attack my lungs and I was on a grueling emotional and physical roller coaster. I’d never had chemo before so I didn’t know how it would affect me. I just remembered a few scenes from various TV shows and they were anything but pretty. At the same time, I was actually looking forward to having chemo. It was treatment and it could save my life. Chemo was hope. I was really singing “All I want for Christmas is chemo.” I wanted to live. I wanted to be at my daughter’s ballet concerts fiddling around with alligator clips, hairspray and gel and trying to construct a passable ballet bun. I also wanted to be there with my husband and son, my parents and brother. I also have friends…good friends. I had so much to live for but I could also feel all of that slipping away, drifting out of reach and slowly but surely sinking deep into the water.

But, unlike the Titanic that great unsinkable ship, I’ve resurfaced. While my progress has been much slower than I’d like, there has definitely been progress. Given where I was, I am thankful I’m alive…most of the time!

We don’t always have the luxury of surviving or by-passing the bad stuff of nightmares and sometimes the very worst actually does come to pass and all anyone of us can do is just keep putting one foot after the other and take comfort in God’s peace which surpasses human understanding and share a cup of tea with a friend.

As I approach the anniversary of starting chemo and all it entails, I am trying to leave those dark thoughts behind and celebrate what has truly been a fabulous victory and simply lose myself in life’ s dance.

If you are having misgivings as we head into the festive season, I send you my love and the hand of friendship. This time of celebration is also such a time for reflection and also remembering absent friends and a year which might not have been your best.

xx Rowena

Our little ballerina 2011 aged 5...leaving for her second concert.

Our little ballerina 2011 aged 5…leaving for her second concert.