A not quite ballet story

Talking with my dance choreographer recently I was reminded of an incident in my childhood which in someways prevented me from pursuing dance and in others ways positively shaped my life. Though I never really saw the positives till I sat and wrote the story down at my choreographers request. It was a real eye opener to look at the story from my mothers perspective and finally start to see the challenges she faced raising a child with Spina Bifida, and how the seemingly small decisions she made can make all the difference. So by posting this story I am thanking my mom for all of the years of sacrifice that I never really saw her make.

When I was 6 years old their was this other little girl in my grade one class that always wore this pretty and shiny blue dress to school and twirled around like a ballerina. She was in ballet classes and I thought she was so graceful. Dance envy at age 6. So I asked my mom if I could have ballet lessons and I made it clear how badly I wanted them. So my mom looked into ballet classes for me. I remember seeing information sheets on ballet classes in the kitchen. However a few weeks later my mom told me that she really couldn't afford to enroll me in classes and that she was really sorry. I was disappointed and I always remember wishing that we could have afforded ballet classes, because I loved dance, even line dancing and square dancing that we learned in school. In fact in grade five when i was living with my dad I used to go square dancing with one of my friends and her mom. we were the only two little girls there but we always had so much fun.
I learned quite a lot later, maybe when I was 18 or so that the reason that I couldn't get into those ballet classes oh so long ago was that when my mom had approached the instructor about enrolling me in her classes and explained that I had Spina Bifida, and that I sometimes had a slight limp and a few minor issues with muscle control in my right foot but I was an incredibly energetic kid. The instructor told her that she was afraid I would hold up her other students and that she didn't want to adapt her program for a disabled child. I realize now that my mom had probably heard that speech so many times when I was little, and she protected me from knowing that the reasons I wasn't getting into programs I wanted was because teachers were afraid of dealing with my disability. I grew up not even realizing I had a disability for the most part....I was very much aware that we were poor, but besides some very minor differences and quite a lot of school yard bullying which I mostly ignored, I never felt disabled. So while I do regret not being trained in dance (something I am now learning you are never too old for!) I am learning to admire my mothers courage in dealing with peoples prejudices against something they couldn't understand, and how by protecting me from that world as much as she could I never learned the meaning of 'give up' or 'quit" or "you will never be able to be like everyone else, smart, successful etc". In fact I still believe I can do anything I want to do as long as I want it badly enough and I work hard enough and I learn how to adapt my approach to it to match my abilities.

In Loving Memory

This poem was written following the passing of my paternal grandfather who was a very giving and honest man and one of the best grampa's a girl could wish for. His passing was a tragic event in my life made better only by the knowledge that he is now no longer hurting and has joined his wife, my grandmother after nearly 7 years of being apart. To honor my Grampa I read this poem to the congregation at my Grampa's Memorial, and managed not to cry though it was not easy reciting a poem on the verge of tears. However everyone else did the crying for me, and I am very glad that I was able to write something from the bottom of my heart that will not only allow me to remember and honor a good man but also give others whose hearts he touched during his lifetime a way to remember and honor him and who he was.

A Portrait of a Good Man

He was a good man, a great man, and he was my Grampa.

An old man with a cane, a cute smile and a funny laugh

He used to build boats, staring out into the wild Pacific

He built a small boat, a puddle jumper.

He built a small house, and a small family

He was a good father. And good husband. And a good man.

His children weren’t always good. And life wasn’t always easy.

And many of his stories went untold or heard only by the salty chilly sea

He was a humble man, a generous man, a simple and quiet man.

Was he a complex man? A thoughtful man? A philosopher?

Who was he underneath that funny laugh, and sly wink?

As he ate his grapefruit each morning what was he thinking?

Was there thought’s that could challenge the most educated scholar?

Or was he simply content to be an honest hardworking man?

A man who worked by the sea, did the ocean ever call out to him?

Did he imagine great wild adventures never realized?

I know he traveled the world by cruise ship,

And traversed the country in a camper van

Could he be defined as a traveling man?

Or was he just content to have a small home, and small family to call his own?

My Grampa, who weaved a thousands things, and kept a thousand pictures.

Came from a big family and loved his small family

Each memory firmly framed by wood and glass

Hung carefully upon the wall, with space and places for each new face, new memory

Do the pictures tell his story or was there something else hidden underneath

Are there words he never spoke that can’t be read in static preserved memories?

A thousand unanswered questions to match a thousand precious memories

Memories of a good man, a great man, my Grampa

A good man now a static memory framed by wood and glass

Sitting on my desk to remind me of a man greatly loved by many

And greatly loved by me, in a way that words and actions cannot describe

Except for what can be read from a picture or a Portrait of a Good Man.

Dance Dance!

For the last few months I have been very busily working on dancing in my very first integrated dance. And on January 26 and 27 it all came to a rewarding end, with two successful performances in the U of A Orchesis Production of Motif, the U of A's yearly Dance collaboration. Many of the pieces were just beautiful, and many people approached me from the audience touched by our particular performance, and other people couldn't believe we actually used chairs full time. I think the reactions we got were almost as fun as being involved in the whole production.

So instead of writing more I am just going to post a few links for you to browse that show our progression from rehearsal to tech rehearsal to final performance. Keep in mind that it was just a digital camera who taped these so they aren't the best quality, but they do give you an idea of what the dance looked like.

In the Studio:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3zKax5WqmA

Tech Rehearsal:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Q-o1jzU8us

Final Performance:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dqg6BTF1Uj8

enjoy!