Day 20: Something that means a lot to me.

Here is another post where I want to say my daughter; I just thought I would put that out there. I had a hard time deciding what to write about, but today we had to re-arrange our schedule all around so that I could go to a dance class. Usually I go on Thursdays though since this Thursday is a major holiday class is cancelled. So I realized that ballet classes mean a lot to me. Particularly getting to go to Boulder Ballet with the same teachers I have had since I was a girl.

I had these great intentions of taking pictures in class today to post here, but I failed. Somehow I was distracted because I even had my phone out ready to go. With an internet search underway I came up with the above pictures. These pictures our of the studio where I danced so many years ago. Currently, Boulder Ballet is located at the Dairy Center for Arts, but it used to be here (it was also called Ballet Arts). It was above Tom's Tavern on the West End of Pearl Street. These pictures make me a little bit sad, but also a little happy because I can imagine being there, where I stood at the barre, being distracted looking out those wonderful windows, and the smell of fries wafting out of Tom's. The studio was on the second floor and to get there you had to climb a very steep and narrow stairway. Sometimes there would be violin music because there was a rehearsal space across the hall. This was such a special place to take classes.

Even though I am being flooded with amazing memories; I will share just one. It is an incredibly big deal when a young dancer gets to finally wear pointe shoes. If you wear them too early you can cause a lot of physical damage. It doesn't have so much to do with technique as much as it does with a child's development. Before we could take pointe class (which at first was 15 minutes at the end of our technique class) we had to have our shoes approved by our teacher and  I remember us all sitting around her (she was in a chair, placed to the right of the door in the top picture, and we all looked up at her with our eager eyes wanting so badly to put on our shoes and dance across the floor). She explained how to sew the ribbons and elastic onto our shoes, how to take care of our feet (blisters, ouch), and I remember very clearly being told not to dance around in the shoes outside of class (so we wouldn't injure ourselves before we knew how to dance in the shoes properly). It was a really good day.

Today as I was driving down the East End of Pearl St., I was thinking about how different it looks. I tried to think about what the old buildings looked like or where there used to be  dirt lots when I was growing up. Everything looks all nice and pretty now, but sometimes I miss when things aren't so polished, and shiny, and new looking.

Apparently this post is about two things that mean a lot to me: ballet and memories. Though, for me I guess those two things will always be intertwined.
(photos found at this photo stream)