TRAVELING ON - - - - -

     Crowded, full beyond measure, my day's flowed. I worked with a zeal and passion "what comes next" was totally mine to command. The studio became my home, you know, "away from home". My poor mother was caught between her unsure pleasure at my decision to study ballet, and her fear that her strange son was putting too much energy into something out of her ken, and therefore out of her ability to imagine it would, or could, contain any security for me. My father said very little, in fact I really had no idea of what he made of me at the time. I believe he was a wise man, as he was good man; he left it up to me to find the place where I belonged. He too had his dreams, and I, and my brother Bill had been worked into them before our independence showed itself. My mom and I were very close. She was a rare gentle soul, one who would listen to the meaning behind the words she heard from the mouths of those she loved. No, not so, saying that limits her, she listened with her heart to all who unburdened themselves to her. She told me this: my father, a carpenter by trade, longed for a business of his own, and that above the door of this business he envisioned would be a sign that read - "William Wales & Sons, Cabinet Makers". Eventually he did open a cabinet making shop, but with only one name on the shingle above the door. Brother Bill became a sailor and I became a dancer! But he was proud of his sons. He had achieved at least a part of his dream and wished for us that we would find at least a part of ours.
   Slowly--read "painfully" in there--my abilities as a dancer improved, not as fast
as I would have liked, and certainly not as much as was needed for my first professional stage performance. At this point I have to admit that it was the lack, the severe lack of males willing to be called dancers that led to my "first". The attitude at the time was that dancing - stage dancing - was far to feminine a thing for a real guy; a Nancy boy's pastime, "real men" played football. You wonder what the mind set of those guys was when everyone of them had a secret desire to be either Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly, and wow the ladies with their smooth and classy moves. My how times have changed, consider all those TV reality shows with thousands of "macho" males lining up outside of television studios hoping for an audition, a chance to show the world how fantastically they too can trip the light fantastic! In my day you were heading for a look of either pity or disgust on the face of your listener if you divulged the dirty little secret that you were a dancer. Me, I loved saying it! I’d tell it to anyone who asked what I did. Then again, I'm funny that way!
     Anyway, at this stage I was not a dancer, I was an impostor who stood at
the barre, sweating heavily, and hurting. Then suddenly, along comes a fairy godmother waving her magic wand in one hand and carrying a white cane stripped with red in the other. Well, how else did it happen that I found myself in a professional musical comedy production? “What”, you ask, “about the dearth of male dancers? You know, you remind me, “impossible to find. .  hmmm?” Oh, yeah, that. Well, I guess it did have something to do with it. Anyway, the Theatre Under the Star’s famous Hollywood choreographer needed another male dancer for a forthcoming production of "The Great Waltz", so they went calling at the various dance schools. Bastions of last resort, what? Ray Moller, and another of Kay's advanced students, Bob Van Norman, were already in the cast, both having done previous summer shows with TUTS, and the recruiters were now scraping the dregs from the bottom of the dance school barrels, and in desperation conscripted me for the job. I looked properly terrified when informed of what was expected of me, but went along with it. Hey, hey, don't get me wrong, I was as blind as that fairy godmother, and besides, no one had told me I was the last of the dregs.
     Of the different numbers in the show the only one I remember is the big waltz near
the end, the “Great Waltz”. Of all the things I did not know how to do the very first was how to waltz - you know, 1 2 3 - 1 2 3, and oh how it showed. My poor partner. How and why did they put me with her? I was green behind the ears personified, and she, oh my God, she had been one of the famous baby ballerinas of the Colonel de Basil Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo! Betty Bligh! She loathed me, to say the least, and she let me know it. Over and over. I’m sure - as she pushed and pulled me through the number - she prayed I would stumble into the orchestra pit and disappear. I don't believe she walked without a limp for ages after the show finished, and I blush still at the memory of those 10 performances in 1948!
    I think an intelligent person would have decided at this point that dancing was for
other more capable folk, and that being young meant there were many other, and much safer careers to consider. But quashed I was not, I was even more determined than ever to prove I could do it. I was counting on a ‘heroes are made not born’ strategy, and fully intended to make it work.
     There is a lovely ending to the ballerina and the dolt story. Three years later, after
that fateful waltz, and much improved by hard work, a scholarship, and two seasons of summer theatre with TUTS, I went with Ray to take some classes at the North Vancouver School of Dancing. Betty Bligh had recently opened her own studio under that name and Ray having raved about how great her classes were suggested I go with him to a few. Her name alone caused the sweat of fear to flow, but  intrigued, and convinced by him that I shouldn't let the episode at TUTS sway me I went, and was knocked out by the class and how she handled her students. She was truly an inspired and inspiring teacher. She also had a bad memory, or a lapse of memory had wiped me clear out of her mind after the fiasco of the "Waltz", because she collapsed in amazement when I told her that I was her hopeless partner of three years previously. The outcome of which I gained one of the dearest friends a guy could wish for, and one of the most, if not the most inspiring teachers I ever studied under. She had a wonderful sense of humor, but confessed she almost lost it forever during "The Great Waltz". Now, decades later, whenever the scent of "Tweed"--her favorite perfume--drifts in the air, or I see, as I pass by a cosmetic counter, the distinctive box that proclaims it, the memory of Betty, and her so valued friendship, sweeps over me. She was the one who truly nurtured whatever talent I may possess, and I owe her more than can ever be repaid.

Excuses! With A Winnipeg Moment

      I've returned! Well, you might say, "It's about time." And you'd be right, quite right, but I've got one good excuse up my sleeve which I will draw forth NOW ! Janet and I have been in Winnipeg visiting our new granddaughter! Say what you will, that's a pretty good excuse. The other excuses have to stay, such as: getting the garden ready; digging and planting; praying for the sun to stick around; early morning sun dances to invoke the aforementioned golden globe's gods to do their duty; fertilizing etc. Mmmm! Going back to the sun dances. About that. I wonder if I'm on the the wrong page in the invoking manual, and have been mistakenly doing rain dance incantations, along with the wrong dance steps? Heaven's to Raven but I'm a lousy Shaman! If I had a tribe they'd disown  me; put me on an ice drift without food and push me out to sea. Tie me to a stake on the highest hill and let the wild things have their way with me! No, I'm not going there. I'll  just step back and leave it to dear old Goddess Iris to do what she has to do  (which is to convey our needs – like bring back summer - to the appropriate gods). We’ll carry on, and manage – gamely of course - with what we have, and Boy, oh Boy, just look at what we’ve have, this little beauty, beautifully named - Samara.!

          Janet and I spent a wonderful few days in Winnipeg, enjoying her and her proud, but anxious, mom and dad. (The joys and tribulations of new parenthood!). Took some great photos. Must say the weather was as bad there as we’ve been enduring here on the West Coast, but we did experience a couple of super sun days. We used one of them to  make a trip to the beach at Lake Winnipeg, an hour from the city across an impossibly flat landscape. Beautiful spot, masses of people enjoying the sun and sand at the edge of that enormous inland sea. Enjoyed my first ice cream cone of the season seated on large plastic blocks on a dusty side road a  coupled hundred feet  or so from the lake. Also had a nice visit with Little Samara's aunt Joy who has a weekend cottage there.
       The next evening we had the pleasure of renewing acquaintances with little Sam's mom's extended Winnipeg family. We shared a  lovely fun time with them over an excellent Chinese meal at a popular restaurant, and ended our final evening with pie and coffee at Marsha’s, another member of the family.

        If you've got a hankering to spend some time in Winnipeg, then let me recommend the B&B were we stayed. Called the BB Waterloo it features a secluded, private entrance suite for two, with a living room, large bedroom (a king size bed), and bathroom. Breakfast is served in front of the window in your living room. You can choose what you would like for breakfast each day, or leave it to your  hostess, Michaela Samek, who will provide you with a different creation every morning - she'll discuss it with you beforehand - a unique European dish or your usual familiar morning fare.

Plies and Plimsoles

(Part two of Traveling - from May 2)

     After I changed into my gear (looking, no doubt, like someone who had become lost on his way to the gym) I presented myself to Kay, and took to her immediately. Kindly tactful, she suggested I visit a nearby store that sold practice clothes; I would, she said, find something much more appropriate, and comfortable than my (ahem) present outfit. Her surprise was genuine when I told her my age, thinking me a lot younger. The age revelation seemed to catch her off guard, and whatever she had been about to say she let it go, and instead posed a question; one I had sort of been expecting might be asked. Wording it not to appear unkind, she asked if I was absolutely sure I wanted to study Ballet, suggesting that maybe Tap would be more suitable, my being a late starter to the art of Terpsichore, and all. (Her question conveyed to me her need to let me know that I would do a lot less damage to myself putting tap cleats on my shoes than I would trying to do the splits.). I assured her I had thought it out before I came, and had made the decision to at least try. (A few years later I confessed to her that my being there was the outcome of a dare. She laughed, and said Karma will out!). Dear Kay, she didn't turn me away, in fact she said she was pleased, and that if I was still of the same mind after my first class she would be happy to welcome me into the school. She also admitted, her face blossoming into one her lovely smiles, that as it was very difficult getting  fellows interested in ballet, she wasn't about to abandon a guy who was willing to give it a go. Kay’s comment not only produced a grateful smile, but stopped briefly the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and my sense of guilt for the deception. But the butterflies returned an instant later, when the moment I had been dreading arrived!
       Clapping her hands sharply Kay called the class to order--all girls except for Ray, and now me--quickly introduced the new student, me, then everyone moved  to the barre, found themselves a spot, and waited for the down beat to begin the first exercise. I was positioned behind Ray, and told to follow him as best as I could. A moment later I was bending my knees up and down in the obligatory pliés which, I soon learned, would begin every class, warm up, and rehearsal. I was red faced, both with embarrassment and effort, but strangely exhilarated. Whatever it was that tipped the scales of my life and directed me to this moment I will never know, but as I pliéd awkwardly up and down I had the sense that I was shedding my old self, being reinvented, rewired, and glowed inwardly with the realization that I had at last become the person I had no idea I’d been looking for.
       When I picture how I must have looked as I stood with my hand on that rail, a shaking, eager, ill equipped neophyte in clod hopper sneakers, baggy gym shorts, and an even a more baggy tee shirt, I cringe. If I could have seen what I looked like, what I was doing, really pictured it, I’d probably have run for the nearest exit to become a  tie salesman at the Bay. The truth is, even if I had pictured it I would not have run, and why? Because I had fallen in love, and love as they say, is blind.
      Oh, but it was tough! How I struggled and struggled to make my poor skinny frame move in a way that would show I had grasped some of the steps I was being taught, and that I was able to execute a movement close to what was expected. I was completely won over by the wonder of dance. But, my God was I out of my depth. I had chosen a profession for which I was so ill equipped it was sad. It cost me a great deal of pain and misery to achieve what one day would ensure me a living. Still, I did it, I became--this still gets me--a professional, card carrying dancer, theatrical, whatever. Sure it was painful, and sometimes cruelly so, but believe me, I have no regrets. To simply say it was worth it, says so little. For me during those years, to dance was to live.

The Winds of Sinhala

I am re-posting this short piece because I believe it be a constant, relevant aphorism. We assume so much of others and so little of ourselves. I often feel that there are many times when a mirror should be thrust in front of us, that we might look deeply into our own motives before we open our mouths to comment on anothers.

The Winds of Sinhala - (Excerpt) (Edited) 

A man needs to be responsible for others in order to exist.  - Colin de Silva  (The Winds of Sinhala)

One of the most important things in life is to remember that people can only be themselves. We expect them to behave in a certain way. When they do not, our reaction - the hurt, the sorrow, the grief - is indeed the final product of their action. But it is still our own reaction. After all, the same behavior can make one person laugh and another cry. We will never know whether people try as hard to make us happy as we would like them to, or whether they have tried at all, but we must not blame them for being what they are, merely because it is a disappointment to us.
It is love that enables us to accept people as they are. Love can emerge
suddenly, or it can be the product of a relationship. Since its
seemingly natural form is with blood ties, such as between parents and
children, brothers and sister, we expect too much from these ties.

A man needs to be responsible for others in order to exist.  - Colin de Silva (The Winds of Sinhala)