The Dance and the Dancer

It’s all dance for her.  She never simply walks … there’s always skipping, twirling, bouncing, leaping.  Her life is a dance.

For eight years we’ve spent at least an hour a week in a studio.  Hardwood floors, mirrored walls, barres worn down by the hands of countless girls who have practiced positions and form and technique.

She’s worn tiny little ballet shoes, loud black tap shoes, toe shoes tied up with ribbons … and most every other kind of dance shoe there is.  We’ve got piles of tights and leotards, leg warmers and wraps.

We’ve plastered on make-up and cried through ballet buns.  We’ve got a “dance box” with all the necessities:  bobby pins, hair ties, hair spray, red lipstick, extra tights, ribbon and glue, safety pins, deodorant, and various pieces of costumes from years gone by.

She’s danced The Nutcracker and recitals and solos in church.  She’s danced with Show Choir and chorus at school.  She’s danced down hallways and sidewalks, across fields and stages … and even sometimes been known to dance on her bed.

But my favorite dance, the one that makes my heart just stop, is when she says, “Mom, watch this!”

Her graceful body, toned and trained, creates art from movement.

And she smiles.

I love that smile.

****

I don’t always make the time for 5 minute Fridays with my sweet friend Lisa-Jo.  But this week, with a prompt like dance, how could I not!  We write for 5 minutes, unedited, and share with a beautiful community the words – raw and fresh.