Things I'm running out of time to blog about
Eve's dance recital: This is our second year at Tournesol, with Hannah Beach, a woman there really aren't enough superlatives to adequately describe. She doesn't do any of the choreography - the kids do it all. The costumes are dirt-cheap stuff we get on sale at fabric stores or dollar stores. There was one duet that Hannah hadn't even seen before the show. She makes a speech before every recital urging everyone to adjust their concept of 'good' dancers and 'bad' dancers while watching. I could be sappy and insincere and say that they're all wonderful but honestly, it's not one hundred percent possible to suspend those evaluative faculties, and at odd moments it's impossible not to feel your attention slip, or your eye start to roll, or an ever-so-slightly uncharitable thought about 'good' dancers and 'bad' dancers escape its confines.
But this is all just part of the softening-up process, so you're in a perfect state of susceptible complacency and suddenly a dancer moves a certain way, or freezes in a certain tableau, and the expression on their face and the configuration of their limbs presents such a pure, perfect moment of joyful simplicity that you are struck to the very core. And then you're sobbing like an idiot and remembering that last year you SWORE you weren't going to let this happen again.
One group danced while instrumental music played and Hannah read this poem. I can't even read the poem in my head now without weeping at the part about being outlived by our daughters and sons. One group passed out Lindt truffles and danced the taste of chocolate.
Eve was a tree.
One kid was dirt. It really wasn't your average dance recital.
But that's good, really. She's not your average dancer.
Oh yes - I wore my awesome dress.
Also, no one took a baseball to the chest. It's a little thing, but it's a nice thing.