Fourth Position

I had to kick Aging Hysterically to the curb for a couple of months while I worked on two other writing projects.  But like the squirrels who are digging up the 700 tulip bulbs in Mom’s garden, I’m back!

Before I get to the photo of me at age ten dolled up in ballet gear (above, on the left), I want to tell you about a new Aging Hysterically fan. Her name is Karma. She moved into the house across the street from Mom with her family right before the lockdown. She is outgoing, funny, and super smart. If you close your eyes, she sounds like a Ph.D. candidate. She’s seven years old.

Not only has Karma read all of my AH posts, but she has read the final draft of my children’s book, Vic and Lily. After she got her eyes on the story of Lily the ladybug and Vic the vole, she made something clear. What she read was not the final draft.

Karma: I LOVE Vic and Lily, but it doesn’t seem finished.

Me: Really? It’s the first book in a series. The story will continue.

Karma: Hmm. It’s like you gave up at the end.  I want more.

I’m going to remind everyone Karma is seven.

Me: Ok. I value your opinion. You are my audience.  What do you suggest?

Karma: Read other children’s books.  Get some inspiration.

Wow. I think I have found my new agent and editor.

Karma, thank you for being such a loyal fan and critic. As soon as Aging Hysterically swag comes on the market, you will be the first to get some.

Now on to the photo of me and a girl named Franny circa 1972.

We were two ballet students of Mary Pat Bevis who ran her school in the ballroom of Franny and her older sister Alison’s house. Castle was more like it. Alison was a ballet student too. So were my chums Beth, her sister Cathy, her mom Carol, West Coast Lisa, Amanda, and Lori.  My mom had the role of chief costume dresser for all the productions. There were many. I couldn’t get away with a thing.

Not only did Mary Pat smoke cigarettes when she was teaching us Grand Jete’s to the sound of scratchy classical records spinning on her portable turntable, but she also chewed diet aides. Every time she put one in her mouth, we were told they were stale.

I asked Alison for a memory.

Alison: The “Proustian” memory for me is the mingled smell of resin mixed with a slight tinge of mildew and cigarette smoke. The constant smoking is something we all remember about ballet class, and many of us held our hands up with an imaginary cigarette between our first and second fingers.

I, of course, was one of those girls. I usually added a dramatic exhale of invisible smoke.

I don’t remember much else from those classes forty-plus years ago,  but I do remember the male ballet dancer Mary Pat hired from one of the New York ballet companies. He took the train up to Westchester to play the Prince’s part in our production of Cinderella. He must have thought his career was over.

I hadn’t thought about Mary Pat and ballet class for years until the other day when Mom made the following unprompted statements:

Mom: Mary Pat said you had the most beautiful knees. She had never seen such perfect ones.  You don’t let us see your knees.

Me: First of all, that was when I was a child. Second of all, you don’t see my knees because it’s cold out. And third, believe me when I say no one wants to see my knees at this point.

Mom: You were in the pool all summer.  I never thought to look.

Me: Nothing to see.

Mom: Do you want to show me now?

Me: No, I do not.

Mom: I think we should have a knee showing party but only show yours.

Me: We are not doing that.

Mom: We will invite the neighborhood. What should we serve?

Me: A lot of alcohol?

Mom: Well, at least we need music. Why don’t you start pulling out some records?

Me: I’m heading home.

Amanda, Franny, Lisa. The Ugly Duckling, 1973.

I’m looking annoyed. I didn’t snag the lead part.