Sparkle and glitter decorated my gray slate tile floor near the back door. Tiny shoes twinkled. Boots momentarily vacated. Snowsuits, hats and mittens too. Colors bold and youthful. My granddaughters visited snowy Vermont recently. Their parents too…
Tea parties. Babydolls. Books by the many. Pastel Duplo blocks and puzzle pieces scattered across the living room floor. The girls. Seventeen months and four years old comfortably going from room to room. Our home is theirs…
My youngest granddaughter Josephine packed up the toy baby stroller. A Bitty Baby named Rosey was tucked in for what promised to be a wild ride. Rosey bounced along from the family room, through the kitchen and down the hallway with Joey’s certain and quickened pace while pushing the stroller towards my bedroom. Bumping into furniture and walls. Undeterred we arrived at our destination…
A gift from my sister rested on my bedroom bureau. A music box. Ballerinas in white tutus displaying various poses. Releve, arabesque and pirouettes. A cherished gift from one sister to another. A lifetime ago she was dancing in pointe shoes, and I tap. I have the Polaroid to prove it. Silver painted tap shoes currently reside on a bookshelf in my studio. Now two young sisters are finding their legs…
Josephine motioned to the wooden circular box, and I immediately knew my responsibility was to wind it up. Immediately and repeatedly. Again. And again…
An informal performance ensued. Joey’s small left hand reached for the tapestry lid of my Hope Chest at the base of my bed. Her right leg drew back and up. I praised her proficiency, and she smiled broadly. I wind it up again and as Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies began to play, I scooped her up.
We swayed and danced as her petite body rested on my left hip. Spinning in one direction while a dimple appeared, and a giggle erupted. Her mother’s likeness took my breath away. Wavy light brown hair lifted up off her scalp as she tilted her head back to understand the full extent of our twirl. Strands of hair floated on the warm breeze our “pirouette” created. Abruptly we turned spinning just a little faster…
“I don’t want people who want to dance. I want people who have to dance “– George Balanchine