How coincidental that ballet came up not once, not twice, but three times in one week! I will take that as a sign. The ballerina goddesses have spoken, once again.
It all began when I was a tiny thing, 8 years old. I would get in my little pink tights and black leotard and my mom would braid my hair and pin it to my scalp, and we would drive to Massachusetts. Up the big stone staircase into the massive hall, where upstairs we would go. Tall ceilings, large windows, warped wooden floors and piano music from an old record player surrounded me as I plie'd and tondu'd and learned all my positions. Practice, practice, practice..until one day, the chimney on the century old brick building fell through the ceiling and ruined the studio.
Fast forward to the studio behind the fish market. Every Friday we would make the trek to Massachusetts and get out of the car to the welcome aroma of fish and chips. But no time for snacks! The studio, now in the back room of a fish market had shiny new wooden floors, floor to ceiling barre lined mirrors on two walls, and a new sound system. There were no chairs for parents to watch. That was my routine. On the way out we would get a coca cola from the cooler. Week after week, year after year. Once a year we would get measured in earnest for our dance recital costumes: tape measures and tutus, shoe dye, matching tights, and headpieces; hairspray and hairpins...Andover High School...prisoners waiting to go on stage under the bright lights.
There were the ballet shoes, tap shoes, and pointe. I was so tiny my first pointe shoes were still baby size 13.But I was strong, and my feet were the right shape and that' sall that mattered.
The older I got, the harder it all became to leave my friends and fun and sports to drive to the studio. As the demands on my time increased, my enthusiasm decreased. And then one day, I had had enough. I marched across that wooden floor to Mrs. Clay and announced, "I have decided to play sports instead of dance." And that was that.
Until college. When I decided if I had to take a PE class, I would take dance. It was Showdance, and it was hard. I had not danced in 5 years and my body was not in shape. But I did it and decided, Showdance was not for me. I liked the practice, and I liked the rehearsals, I did not like the show.
Back in those days you needed 4 PE classes, or some sort of physical activity class each of your four years in college! One semester I took belly dancing. That was really, really hard.
And then after I got married, I went back to ballet once again. I came very close to becoming a certified dance instructor, but I had 3 babies and no life. My dance class was my one night a week to get out and exercise and forget about everything, and remember the dance.
And then, just like that, I stopped dancing. But I loved ballet. I went to the ballet, I listened to Tchaikovsky and Prokofiefv and I helped sew costumes for Portsmouth Ballet Company.
Fast forward to last week. Ballet came up in a random note, and I remembered driving to Beacon Hill and working with a choreographer from the Boston Ballet to get ready for our annual dance recital. It was my final season and I was 13 years old. Last week I also saw a newspaper article on a colleagues desk and there it was, the name "Edra Toth."
"The ballerina?" I asked incredulously. "Why, do you know her?"
And then I shared my ballet story...and Edra Toth, who was a prima ballerina for the Boston Ballet when I was a little girl, and throughout my years of dance she was THE Ballerina. I had not thought of her since I was 13. Edra was 13 when her family left Budapest , Hungary fleeing for their lives in the 1950's when the Soviet Union invaded their tiny country to squelch a revolution.
"She has a studio in Somersworth!" My head was spinning, how could this be? And then this week I met Edra. She came into the office and I was brought in to meet her. I told her how I saw her dance years ago and that I had taken ballet lessons forever when I was younger. I told her how much I admired her, and she was humbled, and very kind. Do you have any idea how amazing it is to meet your childhood idol? It is even more amazing 40 years later when you are closer in age and can appreciate the lives that have been lived.
"You must come to the studio," she said, "you are never too old to dance." And then before she left she gave me a big hug and said, "I will see you at the studio."
And that is my story. And it could be called, one more reason I came to Somersworth.
I am getting used to it. Call it fate, call it karma. Whatever it is, I accept it and it has made my life richer.
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