Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Friday, March 16, 2012

tiny dancer




she didn't remember asking for dance lessons.
just one day, she and momma went and bought a black leotard, pink tights, and some little black slipper shoes.

they stood out behind the old brick building with all the other little girls and moms.  looking up at the ivy weaving its way up the fire escape.  there was cait with her thumb in her mouth.  patty with her wavy black hair tied neatly in a bun at the back of her head.  missy with her nose in the air.

the door opened, and a flood of middle-aged women in dance gear gaily chatted their way past the new little dancers.

out peeped a slender, cheery young woman, with long straight brown hair and kind brown doe eyes.  she waved her new students into her large, mirror-lined studio.  payments accepted, mothers ushered out.

'okay girls, let's begin.'

*****

several months pass and she has learned all the first through fifth and fifth low positions.  she has learned pliet, arabesque, pirhouette, grand something or other, and how to make several turns without getting dizzy.  best of all, she gets to hear all kinds of different music!  she especially liked the duck song, and the songs with funny words.

there is talk of a recital.  so exciting! 

*****

she overhears teacher talking to momma. 

'she has a lot of talent.'

*****

she dances at the back of the stage with all the other new girls.  dazed by the bright lights.  so frightened.  all she remembers is the girl beside her making funny faces the whole time.

*****

after the recital, teacher moves her to a new class.  7 years old.  surrounded by hips.. big hips, little hips.. hips everywhere..  this was an adult class!  she felt so important, talented.

but..

no more cait.
no more patty.
no more funny faced girl.
no more duck song.
she even missed missy.

bored.

she tells momma, it's not fun anymore.  she wants to quit.
momma says to stick with it a little longer, and they will discuss it.

*****

a few months later, momma has to take her shopping for her first.. bra.  little brothers weaving in and out of racks of bras.. big bras, little bras.. bras everywhere.  how embarrassing. 

she notices her dancing is somehow different.
she loses her balance
she trips

momma says 'ok, you can quit.'

*****

the career of a young talented dancer..
thwarted by early onset.. adolescence.





4 comments:

  1. as told to me by my sister.

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  2. I was gonna say...you sure had me fooled!

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    Replies
    1. ahaha.. uh fooled? grins
      yes i once dreamed of being a .. pretty ballerina ROFL

      'course i embellished a bit ;)

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  3. Oh JC....that is such a neat writing! You know my faves are when you talk about your momma. She is snuggly kept in your heart.

    ReplyDelete