December, Normal and Nutty

In our dance-oriented household, December means Nutcracker. The girls, of course, have danced in one or another production from the time they were quite young. David and I started somewhat later in life.

Yes, for something like a decade, we have been adults in the party scene for our local ballet studio's production. (There is a lovely picture of Emily dancing the Arabian variation at that link.) David originated our school's Drosselmeyer, the mysterious and magical uncle. I progressed through the ranks, from party guest to Clara's mother. Doing this annual bit of community theater is something we both very much enjoy, even though the girls are no longer involved.

This year has been something of a question mark for me. Would the Artistic Director want me to dance? Would I have the energy to rehearse and physical ability to perform?

Short answer: we're going to try. Through the wonderfully good graces of both the AD and my surgeon/oncologist -- two species not always known for their ability to take the personal needs of individuals into account -- I am "rehearsing" the role and hope to dance in one or two of the four performances Dec. 9-11.

"Rehearsing" is in quotes because my chemo treatments prevent me from taking part in most rehearsals right now. Some I can attend and do a little dancing -- but have to sit down after a couple of energetic polkas -- and some I can attend and watch, and some I have to miss altogether. Luckily, the role is very familiar to me, so I think I'll get by with jumping in more completely at a later date. And because there is an alternate learning the role, the other "party guests" don't depend on me to be there for spacing and cues. (The alternate is also a safety valve, in case I don't recuperate as fast as hoped and can't perform in the end.)

I'm really very grateful for the support shown me by the AD and my doc. The AD began asking last summer if I'd be back for Nutcracker, and didn't flinch when I reminded her I'd likely be bald and would miss many rehearsals. Her repeated answer was, "We can work with that." My doc injected some necessary realism by nixing the idea of dancing all four performances, but didn't rule out one or two -- proposed the idea, even. I didn't even have to sell the AD on that idea; she came up with it independently after I tried to gracefully bow out on doctor's orders!

I suppose this whole thing might look foolish, but for me it's an attempt to re-establish normalcy to my life. This is what we do in the fall: we learn, we rehearse, and, ultimately, we perform. There's a party, we dance, we make merry, we watch Drosselmeyer's magical dolls, Fritz is naughty, Clara is adorable, the Nutcracker breaks, we wave it off and dance some more. It has always been thus. This year should be no exception.

In the seemingly never-ending blessings of humankind's generosity to me, a friend is sewing me a new gown to honor this occasion. Well, okay, she's doing it also because I've lost weight post-surgery and -chemo, and I don't fit last year's costume. She brought over patterns and fabric swatches, and we had fun dreaming about how gorgeous I will look decked out in her finery.