These are the pictures from Emma's staging rehearsal on Thursday, June 18. Her dance was titled "Toulouse-Lautrec" and was a vibrant rendition of the type of scenes the artist created with paint. It's challenging enough for me to focus and take photographs of such a high-energy dance; can you imagine capturing the motion and physicality with brush strokes? Gives me a greater appreciation.
Instruction from her teacher.
Emma colored her light pink pointe shoes with a permanent marker to make them black. The process took a few days and seemed a welcome diversion from homework. Then she used a lighter to seal frayed threads. She sewed the new black ribbons on herself.
Here she is in the dressing room at Saturday's matinee performance. I lucked out that my ticket at the far right of the row allowed me to sneak into the room during the break between halves of the performance (while the orchestra set up), and take her picture in full costume. The real luck, however, is that she asked me to come down. It was funny to have someone else sitting in my seat when I returned to the auditorium. Shoo!
Aunt Eryn, Grandma and Aunt Katie came to see the Saturday matinee. Thank you!
How does THIS come from THIS?
Grandma Shirley came to Emma's staging rehearsal Thursday morning, then stayed the day with us and attended Elise's recital that night with my dad. It was crazy having the girls in different casts.
Grandma Hatch, Aunt Katie, Grandma Shirley, Grandpa Jim, Elise.
At Thursday night's recital, high in our balcony seats, I pointed to stage right and whispered in my dad's ear which dancer was Elise -- or at least which one I thought was her. No wait, I said, swinging my arm the other way, she's the one who just fell! Oh, no. I couldn't believe it. Whereas my eyes couldn't confidently pick her out that far away, my mother's heart immediately focused when she stumbled. I was so worried how this would affect her. I wanted to hug her right then. This is a BIG production, with live orchestra and in a college auditorium that seats hundreds. Lots of eyes to see. My beautiful dancer popped right up. Her smile on stage never dimmed.
Even from my high vantage I could see a gleam of silver on the floor. An advanced dancer fell during the next dance -- in the same spot.
To better navigate the stairs, we took some time after the performance ended to let the crowd disperse before we left the balcony. I told my parents that this could be either one of two extremes: that she could brush it off with a laugh, or that it would hurt her deeply. I wasn't sure which would greet us. Elise and I reached the front doors from different angles at the same time. "I want to go home!" she pleaded. She was trying so hard to hold it together. I wrapped her in a hug while she sobbed.
As soon as I broke away a sweet woman in my ward, one of the mothers who carpools with us to ballet, came bearing flowers. She hugged Elise fiercely and said, "The most beautiful part of that dance was seeing you get back up." I'm teary thinking about this two weeks later. I am so grateful to her.
Many other people were kind, just in a slightly more awkward way. "Elise! I didn't even see you fall!" chirped one girl from our neighborhood. Then a woman we don't know lingered near our group. "I don't know what everyone's talking about, you falling," she said loudly. Uh, ok. Elise did her best to be gracious.
It was Grandpa Jim for the win who said maybe he'd drive back home with Grandma (they came in two trips) and leave his red convertible for Elise. That got her smiling again. Thanks, Dad!
Once home I was in the living room talking to Emma while Elise took a shower. I heard the water stop. Elise opened the door and hollered, "Mom, don't forget to register me for next year's ballet. You have to do it by tonight!" Then the door clicked and we heard water once more, because this announcement came mid-shower! Emma sighed in relief. "She's going to be OK."
