We've been in the thick, colourful, energetic fog of a Christmas ballet production. It had an icy theme - ironic considering it's summer time. When it comes to Christmas in New Zealand, there's still a chunk of it that harks back to the 'old country'.
We're out the other side now, and almost a bit sad about it. There were many hours of rehearsals, many hours of waiting while others danced, much awestruck watching of the big girls dance en pointe (what kind of ancient torture is that?). Much consoling and pleading: you can go backstage without me in the wings, my brave girl! Mama wants to watch from the audience for at least one performance!
It was magical. It was especially so for me, because I knew how much work had gone into it. I admired the dancers, and especially their teacher, so much! Of course when Anna was on the stage I only had eyes for her. My girl with her perfect timing, her tireless smile, her ability to be in front of the others so that those who needed to copy her when they forgot their steps could do so. I was proud of her.
But best of all was that she conquered her fear of being up there without me in the wings.
Actually, no. Best of all was the seemingly endless hours we spent together at rehearsals. It was lovely.
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