Many people have asked how I'm doing, and the answer is…OK. So many good friends are keeping me busy with evening invitations, but I'm also getting time to acclimate to the quiet in the house. I still have frequent thoughts of "I have to tell Leslie about that," and as I putter around the house I've found myself imagining that I need to keep it clean for when Leslie returns.
I'm starting to forge my own routines. While I'm not ready to begin any major projects, I have done some minor sorting and organizing - cleaning up papers (in part to find ones I need), moving some of Leslie's clothes to another closet and spreading out my own, putting together a box of left-over medical supplies in the hope of finding a clinic that can use them.
I'm excited for Emily coming home at the end of this week, though I'm already feeling guilty about the number of trips I have scheduled over the summer. I expect she'll be well looked after by her friends and their families, and I'm eager to re-immerse myself in work, to see great friends and colleagues, and especially to watch and debate outstanding TV at the international children's TV festival.
--
Among the best gifts Leslie gave me - and our daughters were equal contributors - is the love of dance. We started attending the Joffrey's performances when the girls each performed in the children's cast of their "Nutcracker," but soon we became subscribers and fairly regular at Hubbard Street and River North, too.
No one was more surprised than I was, when I found myself seeking out ballet performances as I traveled. I shared a magic evening of Balanchine at NYCB with a British colleague, and snuck out of a conference in Germany to hop a train to Stuttgart, where I lucked my way into a sold-out performance.
Leslie joined an online discussion board for dance aficionados and another for parents of dancers. There, she happily encountered people who became amazing friends in real life, including her first mentor on learning and the brain when she became a teacher. Of course, on that board she also played out the side of herself so many people wrote about in recollections of Leslie - the propensity to speak truth and not suffer fools gladly, sometimes to less salubrious reception.
Love of dance also grew from afternoons, evenings and years at the dance studio, where the kids made a second home; where Leslie extended her flexibility, fitness and grace; and of course, where we returned annually for our turn in the "Nutcracker."
All this is a long preface to my having attended my first Joffrey performance without Leslie, last Sunday. It was a program she would have loved, a realization that kept taking me out of the moment and into memories.
At the ballet, Leslie and I often referred to pieces as being, or not being, our "cup of dance." I don't have Leslie's vocabulary or depth of understanding, but the opening two pieces - Age of Innocence by Edwaard Liang, In the Night by Jerome Robbins - were very much her "cup." Each was by turns lyrical and romantic, then athletic and bold, spare in setting to keep focus on the dancers, and - this was Leslie's absolute favorite - suddenly coalescing from chaos into unison.
I'm starting to forge my own routines. While I'm not ready to begin any major projects, I have done some minor sorting and organizing - cleaning up papers (in part to find ones I need), moving some of Leslie's clothes to another closet and spreading out my own, putting together a box of left-over medical supplies in the hope of finding a clinic that can use them.
I'm excited for Emily coming home at the end of this week, though I'm already feeling guilty about the number of trips I have scheduled over the summer. I expect she'll be well looked after by her friends and their families, and I'm eager to re-immerse myself in work, to see great friends and colleagues, and especially to watch and debate outstanding TV at the international children's TV festival.
--
Among the best gifts Leslie gave me - and our daughters were equal contributors - is the love of dance. We started attending the Joffrey's performances when the girls each performed in the children's cast of their "Nutcracker," but soon we became subscribers and fairly regular at Hubbard Street and River North, too.
No one was more surprised than I was, when I found myself seeking out ballet performances as I traveled. I shared a magic evening of Balanchine at NYCB with a British colleague, and snuck out of a conference in Germany to hop a train to Stuttgart, where I lucked my way into a sold-out performance.
Leslie joined an online discussion board for dance aficionados and another for parents of dancers. There, she happily encountered people who became amazing friends in real life, including her first mentor on learning and the brain when she became a teacher. Of course, on that board she also played out the side of herself so many people wrote about in recollections of Leslie - the propensity to speak truth and not suffer fools gladly, sometimes to less salubrious reception.
Love of dance also grew from afternoons, evenings and years at the dance studio, where the kids made a second home; where Leslie extended her flexibility, fitness and grace; and of course, where we returned annually for our turn in the "Nutcracker."
All this is a long preface to my having attended my first Joffrey performance without Leslie, last Sunday. It was a program she would have loved, a realization that kept taking me out of the moment and into memories.
At the ballet, Leslie and I often referred to pieces as being, or not being, our "cup of dance." I don't have Leslie's vocabulary or depth of understanding, but the opening two pieces - Age of Innocence by Edwaard Liang, In the Night by Jerome Robbins - were very much her "cup." Each was by turns lyrical and romantic, then athletic and bold, spare in setting to keep focus on the dancers, and - this was Leslie's absolute favorite - suddenly coalescing from chaos into unison.
Any program is a win, as well, if it features a pas de deux with Victoria Jaiani and Fabrice Calmels (who Sun-Times dance critic Hedy Weiss describes as "a giant of a man who flies across the stage with the freedom of a great eagle").
The third piece, a world premiere called "Incantations," was more difficult for me. It was described in the program in yogic terms, as one extended breath, and by another reviewer as a "tantric swirl of beauty." It had extraordinary unexpected partnering (my favorite thing - moments that appear headed toward one movement but resolve uniquely instead).
The stabs came from the way in which the piece, energetic and open at first, gradually spun in smaller circles into a tiny spotlight, then stopped. While not the theme of the dance (to the extent my dance deconstruction abilities understood it), the slowing, pause, and ending was just too reminiscent of Leslie's peaceful passing, too soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment