Winter Perfomances

Ballet for me is more than exercise. More than attention and fame. Ballet is a piece of me that I could never let go. Getting ready for winter performances. Slipping on leg warmers while chatting and trading with friends. Finding a shrug that matches, and freezing as you take off your jeans. Slipping on one worn out shoe after another and stretching your “never perfect enough” arches. Picking out your specific place at “your” barre. Working on plies and relevés. Then moving on to developpés. Back to the bar, and both hands on it. You move your leg higher and higher than before. Past your nose. Then, you let go with the right hand and move it to third position. A tiny wiggle, but you keep your leg strong. You take the left hand, and move it slightly. A little more of a wiggle, but, you still stay strong. You get both hands to third, with your back straight, and no bent knees. You bring your leg to the side, still above your ear. And with a détourné bring it to arabesque with arms in fourth. You bring the leg down slowly. After enough warm-ups at the barre, you move it to the side of the room, and prepare to do a single, then double Piqué turn, bring your leg out and do four fouettés, then a soutenu and repeat, but with an arabesque at the end. Then clapping at the end of warm ups. The instructor gives instructions on how to wait before going on stage, how to hang the costumes, and where the head pieces are. The show starts within an hour, and the doors are about to open. We all go our different ways to touch up make up and hair. By the time the auditorium is nearly full, every one is ready for their first dance, and are peeking out to see if their family has arrived. The music starts, the curtains open. You are out in the lights, you can barely see the crowd, the sweat is already dripping. The music is deafening and the crowd’s clapping makes your heart pound more than ever. They all have their eyes on you. You start the dance you have been working on for months now. Making sure you smile. You are one with the music, one with the stage, one with the lights, and one with the dance. You finish your dance and walk to the front. A smile of relief as you curtsy spreads across your face. You run off stage to get dressed for your next dance.

42 Seconds to Spare

I got caught doing one of my habits the other day. Not biting nails, or saying 'like'. This one is far more eccentric for this day and age. I was thinking. Not "penny for your thought" kind of thinking, but million dollar thinking. It was deep- prodigiously deep. I was sunk in this reverie is for at least an hour, during which passers regarded me with superciliously raised eyebrows. I was far too busy to notice- or care. I was trying to figure out the answer to life, the universe and everything. Douglas Adams was quite right in his book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: it is 42. In a sense. 42 what? 42 mountains, 42 smiles, 42 cups of PG Tips? (Well, that latter one... it could be pretty close.) 42 seconds. This would be a short time to be doing anything, right? The world is so hasty these days....

We're all so impatient. We want every thing done --now--. Waiting in lines at the grocery and airport is exasperating. Driving home at 6pm is a nightmare. Listening to that horrible holding music on the telephone is torture. Why cook your own food? Fast food is widely available. Don't bother messing up your nicely manicured hands writing a letter: e-mail one! It's such a bother to order stuff online because it takes to long to deliver. Click the "express" button.

What's wrong with 42 seconds of thought? Nowadays most people waste 42 seconds doing pointless things, straightening clothes, looking for shoes, swearing at bad drivers. The point is made. How many people set aside 42 seconds precisely for the purpose of thinking? Not thoughts like, "Where the heck is my Greek homework?", "Man, these gas prices are so high..." and "Gee, it's cold today. I wonder how cold it is."

...No. A thought is an idea, created through the process of ideogenesis, and based completely on the senses. Imagination, memory, cogitative sense, agent intellect, and possible intellect act upon the percept and phantasm creating an idea.

This idea comes into play when you do most anything in life. Now, back to 42.

Scenario I.
Jade Artica is coming home from school. It was a thoroughly exasperating day. She's sick of the world, which seems to be sick of her. As she approaches the front door of her house, a cute, hyper, four-year-old brother comes running. He's terribly excited to see his big sister whom he adores, because he just made some fabulous playdoh cookies to share with her. Nearly bowling her over with a loving hug he slams into her. In shock, Jade drops her books, backpack, and lab culture (which nearly breaks). "Gee whiz," she rashly exclaims, "get away from me you little bothering blunder!" Backing off timidly, Jonah tiptoes back into the house and bursts into tears. Jade feels more miserable than ever and storms into the kitchen demanding her real cookies, finds they're still in the oven, grabs one anyway, get's scorched by the 400° chocolate chips, drops her culture, which smashes, and slips on it... Etc. It could go on interminably, but you get the point.

Scenario II.
Sheila Rowlin has a scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon when she walks home from school. What a horrible day. She's had a row with her best friend, Jade, and they both D's in Biology. World History has far too much reading to do, and Frank McCollough didn't so much as glance her way. She forces her feet to carry her dejectedly homeward, and just as she's about to enter the threshold of 487 Holly Lane, Rhalph Jr. bangs into her with a bear hug. The little midget is 4 and a half and had picked a bunch of dandelions expressly for Sheila. Deep down inside her a straw slowly fluttered upon the back of a camel. The back broke. Rage gnawed inside her. "Why, why, why me?" she thought. "All I want is a quiet room and some hardcore Dragonforce music to cool me down..." As this Fury boiled, she remembered a ridiculous quote her Lit. teacher told class today. "Think before you speak." Now, how stupid can that be, she had thought, it's impossible to speak unless you have something to think about. But in these four words her anger found vent. She was like a flood threatening to go over a dike, but finds respite in a tiny hole. The hole eroded, and soon the entire dike fell crashing to pieces; she breathed a deeeeeep sigh. Exactly 42 seconds had passed. (Yes, quite a while.) Sheila realized that there was no foundation for her madness- no donkey to pin her wrath on. She experiences a delightful feeling inside, and a peculiar one under her chin. Rhalph tickles her with his present; and Sheila swoops him up grinning-tickling him like crazy. They go inside, eat cookies and do Shelia's lab together, which gives Sheila a hundred social points, and a B+ in Biology. She calls Frank and chatters sparrow-like for half an hour, and finishes her World History for the week. Thus,she is in the best mood imaginable.

Why the difference? The 42 seconds. The possibilities are endless. What if everyone thought for 42 seconds before they rashly spoke out? Maybe they would realize something really was their fault. Perhaps words had been interpreted wrongly... perhaps the senses had deceived them, and the percept had a flaw. If all the world had 42 seconds to spare, what would it be like?

TIP: Consider. each. word. before you speak. Examine them like a jeweler would analyze the Hope Diamond. Or how a biologist would disect the only remainder of near-extinct Catfish.
Life depends on thought, make sure you know how to think. (Logic: Systematic study of thinking, check it out.)

The Normal Loaf of Bread

B: Ah, ha! What a lovely loaf a bread that is. All golden brown, and crusty on top. In a rather nice braid too. Why, I don’t think I’ve seen such a lovely loaf as this. I’ll bet that baking-queen sister of mine made it. Hey, sis! Is that a normal loaf of bread over there? And did you make it?

S: Yep, I made it! Normal… h’mm. I’m not quite sure what you mean by that…

B: Well, ye know. Normal.

S: In what sense? What kind of bread isn’t normal?

B: Sourdough, French baguettes, that kind.

S: Well, this one isn’t either of those, so I guess it’s normal.

B: It doesn’t look normal though. Is it the kind Mum always makes?

S: She makes different types… Well. One basis with a bunch of variations.

B: And is this starting from this basis? Does it have all that leftover stuff in it, like, oatmeal, rye flour, corn flower, rice, stuff that makes it not normal?

S: Yeah, it’s basic. Flour and water. (nods) No, none of those things.

B: Bah, no. That’s too normal. You’re saying this is only flour and water?

S: No. That’s the foundation for all breads. Both normal and abnormal.

B: Okay, let’s put it this way. What type of bread would you name that mound of delicious looking substance over there? (points)

S: Challah.

B: Hala? Whatsat?

S: A Jewish type of bread.

B: Jewish, eh? Why’d you make Jewish bread?

S: ‘cus it sounded good.

B: I wonder if that would be considered normal…

S: Huh? What? You’re not getting racist towards Jewish, are you? It’s only a loaf of bread after all.

B: No way, I’m just trying to figure out why it looks so tasty.

S: Looks? Don’t be deceived by looks.

B: Fine! Can I eat it?

S: S’long as you don’t care if it’s normal or not. Go ahead!

On Procrastination

"Why put off 'till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow just as well?" ~ Mark Twain

Well, Mr. Twain I will tell you why. The paper is due tonight. Or it was anyway...I'll admit it, I have a problem with procrastination as well. If it is due in a week, I'll do it the night before. If it's due in two weeks, I'll do it the night before. If it's due in a month, guess when I'll do it? Did you guess the night before? Wrong- two nights before. *sigh* One day I will learn (I just hope it's not the hard way). So, I started writing this essay on The Epic of Gilgamesh just a couple days ago. Not a great idea, by any means. Sure I *thought* about writing it about everyday but the idea never appealed to me much so I put it off. And I put it off again. And then some more. Till Wednesday when I completely freaked out and started writing. Today I put the finishing touches on it..after I had written most of it this morning. Thanks to my great friend Miss B. I did not turn in a jumble of words, but a somewhat coherent essay *g*. Thank heaven for friends who can write and proofread beautifully. Now the terror has subsided. We await the grade...but hey, I got it in. Next time I'll start earlier...next time...

~Sarah



Tip: Do not put it off anymore. Yes you! What are you waiting for?...go get 'em.

September 11th

In Memoria

Such was the breeze seven years ago...
such was the sky.
Such was the silence before it came,
preceding the defining cry.

Following shortly after, the second
relentlessly broke through.
Flames and bloody smoke appeared,
and from the gash it grew.


And along with a thousand prayers,
those who stood below, watching, froze
faces uplifted towards the ruin
the devastating smoke then rose.

Along with a three thousand cries
they fell
broken. burning. murdered.
into fiery Hell.

Into a heap the crumbled
like a clot of sand grasped-
And scattered through the wind
Forget not this evil past.

How many children were lost that day?
How many babies to orphanages thrown?
How many brides left wedded?
How many fathers never came home?



TIP: Don't forget.

Fairies

Like, here's a poem.

Fairies

The night you painted fairies step

Across the withered grass

Where pale moonlight falls, but slips

And licks the blades to glass

Whisper not, but light and quick

Feet never brush a sound

Wreathed in only a shining star

Behind your tiny crown

Where do you winged pixies play?

Where are your rings of fire?

Ringlets drip across the brooks

And circles wrung through briar

Fields are swayed and pulled amiss

Trees often lose their fruit

Sands are scattered with pebbles and stone

While gardens you twist out of suit

Yet never are you found by eyes

Nor ever felt or heard

Yet always you are there to see

And speaking without words

TIP: Have a little fun sometimes.

An Interesting Wedding.

A few days ago, I was skimming through an old notebook, to see if it was suitable to use for school, when I espied a little poem. I must've written it years and years ago, when I was extremely bored. It had me laughing for the longest time though. Here 'tis!

The Phosphide Blue-eyed Shanghaied Bride

The bride
she cried
because the groom
hid her broom
then someone who lied
saw her love
with a dove.

He had tried
to hide
but shied
at the sight
of a mite;
so it he fried
hence then it died
and he set it aside
next to the roadside
and went to find his bride.

The bride
she spied
him and she eyed
him then she dried
her tears
which ran down to her ears.

The wedding was then known worldwide
when the bride- she glided-
next to the groom
(who had retrieved her broom)
they then matched stride
side by side
and were both full of pride
and looked dignified-
then they collide....

The bride and groom
decided, for a honeymoon,
to go far and wide
on a joyride.
But instead of a saddle, a sack,
the sat horseback
so the bride was terrified
the she might slip and slide
and he disqualified.

From an unknown source
she found a bit of remorse,
changed her course,
and set aside
her fears
and stopped her tears
because she went cross-eyed.

TIP: Don't mess with other peoples' brooms.