After teaching the tots, I took the barre portion of advanced ballet, during which I found that I actually need a whole barre these days before my feet will respond to flexing and pointing. Wow -- that taught me that I am going to have to start being religious about 'articulating' my feet on a daily basis.
I picked up "Rocinante," who was getting an oil change and tuneup, then headed down to my office on the edge of the French Quarter to take care of a little bit of business, before returning Uptown to have lunch with the school director at Reginelli's. Now I was just fine with my salad of mixed greens, tomatoes, feta cheese, grilled chicken, and green apples, but the director is the mother of all sweet tooths/teeth(????) and she twisted my arm into splitting some incredibly decadent tiramisu. Uh oh, if the children could have seen their teachers eating "bad food!"
We hung out in her Garden District home, musing over plans for the school in the fall. I must say, from all accounts elsewhere, we have been blessed. We've got two studios in the school and we could easily fill a third studio with the students who continue coming our way. Seems that there are many people who really do appreciate a genuine classical ballet school that remains true to what it first started out to be, with emphasis on a firm foundation of ballet taught in a nurturing but disciplined atmosphere, instead of competition or trophies or diversion into a million other dance forms. There are schools for that and they are fine for people who desire that, but it's nice to know there's still an appreciation for tradition, too.
I drove back over the bridge to the treehouse while listening to Steve Martin play his banjo on "Prairie Home Companion," followed by an account of the goings on in Lake Woebegon. It was truly one of Garrison Keillor's best monologues to date. The audience (and I, in my car) were howling. Catch it on tomorrow (Sunday's) repeat performance if you can.
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