Coral shawl
Pink shawl 
Yellow shawl 
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Weird kids and David Fielding
Whoever David Fielding is, he is too smarmy for me.
In today's Globe & Mail Saturday compilation, "The Matrix", he places a news item from last week low on his trivial axis. I don't care about his witty graph or the placement of any item thereupon, but I do care about the comment with which he gratuitously maligns all homeschoolers.
He must think he's plenty cute. Into the brief six word summation of the story, Fielding plants his separated-by-hyphens seven word snarky comment and (I imagine) sits back in his chair with a satisfied grin.
Here's the full offender:
And here's the irony:
I'd say that's one convincing example of why teaching your kids at home makes sense. We homeschoolers also teach our children to check their work for errors before handing it in.
Perhaps that is kind of weird these days.
In today's Globe & Mail Saturday compilation, "The Matrix", he places a news item from last week low on his trivial axis. I don't care about his witty graph or the placement of any item thereupon, but I do care about the comment with which he gratuitously maligns all homeschoolers.
He must think he's plenty cute. Into the brief six word summation of the story, Fielding plants his separated-by-hyphens seven word snarky comment and (I imagine) sits back in his chair with a satisfied grin.
Here's the full offender:
"German home-schoolers [sic] seek asylum - and the right to raise weird kids - in Canada."
And here's the irony:
Fielding misspells "homeschoolers" during his putdown of them.
I'd say that's one convincing example of why teaching your kids at home makes sense. We homeschoolers also teach our children to check their work for errors before handing it in.
Perhaps that is kind of weird these days.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The American bureaucratic merry-go-round
The irony of it! I helped my daughter get her U.S. passport years ago when she was joining a ballet company in Florida. It took a lot of proving that I was her mother since I had registered her birth years after she was born and that, according to the U.S. Embassy, is a big red flag.
I had to provide documentation of my own residency in the States (I am a native New Yorker who lived in NYS from birth to marriage) which meant digging out my old elementary and high school report cards, my university transcripts, elementary class pictures with me in them, baptismal certificate, letters, employment records, diplomas and college degrees.
I only needed 10 years' worth, but I brought everything I could find about myself and let them tell me which papers they preferred. For my daughter I had to provide documentation in the form of photos, kiddie artwork, school records, etc. to prove that she really was my daughter. I brought them a pile of stuff, including pictures of her birth at home. I assembled a photo album with pictures from each year of her life from birth to the day of the interview.
They really put me through the wringer, even scolding me for not immediately registering her birth. (In my defense, the births of the four siblings who were born before her were attended by homebirth doctors who did the birth registration for us, so that is what I was used to.)
The day she received her passport and social security card felt like a big victory.
Now, many years later, I need a US passport - damn terrorists - just to visit my mother. And guess what? I need my daughter, as a U.S. citizen, to identify me in order to fulfill the requirements for obtaining it! Yes, the same daughter who needed me to identify her!
U.S. post-9/11 bureaucracy in action. It's either to laugh or to cry.
I had to provide documentation of my own residency in the States (I am a native New Yorker who lived in NYS from birth to marriage) which meant digging out my old elementary and high school report cards, my university transcripts, elementary class pictures with me in them, baptismal certificate, letters, employment records, diplomas and college degrees.
I only needed 10 years' worth, but I brought everything I could find about myself and let them tell me which papers they preferred. For my daughter I had to provide documentation in the form of photos, kiddie artwork, school records, etc. to prove that she really was my daughter. I brought them a pile of stuff, including pictures of her birth at home. I assembled a photo album with pictures from each year of her life from birth to the day of the interview.
They really put me through the wringer, even scolding me for not immediately registering her birth. (In my defense, the births of the four siblings who were born before her were attended by homebirth doctors who did the birth registration for us, so that is what I was used to.)
The day she received her passport and social security card felt like a big victory.
Now, many years later, I need a US passport - damn terrorists - just to visit my mother. And guess what? I need my daughter, as a U.S. citizen, to identify me in order to fulfill the requirements for obtaining it! Yes, the same daughter who needed me to identify her!
U.S. post-9/11 bureaucracy in action. It's either to laugh or to cry.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Ancients among us
We all know people whose successes in life only multiply over the years, who are untouched by tragedy or bad luck, who are beautiful to boot, whose lives seem charmed.
After reminding myself that life isn't supposed to be fair, I still wonder whether they have a leg up: genetically, in brain power, in simple circumstance. That leads me to muse about reincarnation, the kind where you keep returning as a human, not other parts of nature like trees and animals.
Perhaps the magic that is their lives is the work of centuries of learning and rebirth - of adding layers - to the same inner core. What we see as peers may actually be ancient souls in our midst, living their millionth life to our thousandth!
After reminding myself that life isn't supposed to be fair, I still wonder whether they have a leg up: genetically, in brain power, in simple circumstance. That leads me to muse about reincarnation, the kind where you keep returning as a human, not other parts of nature like trees and animals.
Perhaps the magic that is their lives is the work of centuries of learning and rebirth - of adding layers - to the same inner core. What we see as peers may actually be ancient souls in our midst, living their millionth life to our thousandth!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Great Secret of Aging
To me, this comment is insightful on a very basic, flesh-and-bones level - that, despite our changing physical appearance, our thoughts and responses are primal, those we had as children and teens and young adults."The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven't changed in seventy or eighty years. Your body changes, but you don't change at all. And that, of course, causes great confusion." Doris Lessing
I have had as role models at varying times certain mothers, certain Christians, certain green witches, certain Buddhists, and certain deeply spiritual women with no particular label.
I was attracted to changing as much as they in the directions each took. I didn't succeed, according to my own desires, to fully embrace what they stood for. There was little or no stirring inside on which to build commitment. I was never ready to derail the life I was already leading for one that promised me more but whose promise I didn't fully believe in.
In the end (the now), I am more like I was at age 18 or so - simple in my needs and wants yet searching in my soul for a fulfillment still unattained, unable to take seriously anymore some of the more esoteric and mystical pursuits of my middle-age.
Despite the severe ups and downs of life within a beloved family beset by physical and mental illness (the former mine, the latter our firstborn's), gravitation toward the familiar is still prompted by nostalgic yearning. It's so hard to step out of the box we know.
My basic instincts are to survive and to mother. Or rather, to survive in order to mother.
I try to continue to believe in the Heaven we've been led to believe in because I ache to see my father, grandparents, uncles and aunts. If that is not what Heaven is about, then we've sold a bill of goods!
As far as I know I haven't had any angels on my side. I am one of those who, despite years of desire and concerted efforts, has not achieved mastery over the human condition. Vanity, covetousness, envy... I guess all the deadly sins, still reside within me.
There's no disputing that we continue to evolve as we go through life: gaining wisdom, learning through mistakes in judgment, altering our perspective as we gain insight. Personally, I picture that development as adding on to our inner core, which itself remains central to our being despite the layering of life's experiences.
I can even see how that core is evident in our children, or some of them. With six to compare and contrast, I can understand on a psychic level where some of ours are coming from because we share that inner core.
Those who are more like The Hub are harder for me to figure out. That which drives their thinking and reacting the way they do clearly does not come from me. Hub-Bub and I are so different from each other, and he, in turn, doesn't understand, even as he tries to, what makes my "clones" tick.
I feel akin to my own father more than my mother as far as inner core is concerned. Although matching my mom in many personality traits, our inner cores - our spiritual natures - are not the same. My mother has said (she's in her 80s) that she still feels inside like the young girl she was in the old country. I'm probably more like her than I think!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
When I say "a couple", I really do mean two!
I'm a writer of the old school. In my "English" classes we learned about sentence structure, diagramming sentences, grammar, the importance of correct spelling, the meaning of words - their real definitions - and we were constantly tested on what we were taught.
I have retained most of what I learned and the things I don't remember I look up on the internet! It's the most perplexing phenomenon to me that, with resources immediately at hand just a few mouse clicks away, it seems as if no one uses them when writing anything on the web.
Whether it's posting to internet forums, writing a blog, facebooking or emailing, both young and old write so badly sometimes, it makes me wince. People seem to have no respect for the way they present themselves to others. What would our fifth grade teachers think?
I still believe that whether by old-fashioned card or letter, internet postings, or ordinary person to person conversation, correct usage of our beautiful language counts. English has SO many words and they're all at our disposal. We owe it to our elementary teachers, if not ourselves, to use our language properly.
The mangling of words and their meanings pains me. When did "couple" become a synonym for "a few". It's such a clear word. Couple = two. Not three, or five, or six. Not one. Two. It means two and only two. I remember ordering toppings for a sandwich at a fast food shop. When asked how many tomato slices I wanted, I replied "a couple". "So, will three or four be enough?" came the server's query. Naturally, I came back with, "I said a couple. That's two." He looked at me like I was sprouting a second head.
These days I don't even have Google's dictionary in my corner. Here's how they define "couple":
Google offers the following words as synonyms (notice that 5 of the 7 clearly indicate"two"):
I won't go into depth on "your" versus "you're". That's a subject which sticks in the craw for a lot of us and has been widely discussed. Given that is has gotten internet attention, you'd think that all the (usually, but increasingly, not solely) young people who spread this pernicious misuse would get a clue. I have to presume that they just don't give a ..... care.
Don't get me started on alot. Or, something being "so fun". Or "it's" used in place of "its" and vice versa. Or a million other anomalies.
I have retained most of what I learned and the things I don't remember I look up on the internet! It's the most perplexing phenomenon to me that, with resources immediately at hand just a few mouse clicks away, it seems as if no one uses them when writing anything on the web.
Whether it's posting to internet forums, writing a blog, facebooking or emailing, both young and old write so badly sometimes, it makes me wince. People seem to have no respect for the way they present themselves to others. What would our fifth grade teachers think?
I still believe that whether by old-fashioned card or letter, internet postings, or ordinary person to person conversation, correct usage of our beautiful language counts. English has SO many words and they're all at our disposal. We owe it to our elementary teachers, if not ourselves, to use our language properly.
The mangling of words and their meanings pains me. When did "couple" become a synonym for "a few". It's such a clear word. Couple = two. Not three, or five, or six. Not one. Two. It means two and only two. I remember ordering toppings for a sandwich at a fast food shop. When asked how many tomato slices I wanted, I replied "a couple". "So, will three or four be enough?" came the server's query. Naturally, I came back with, "I said a couple. That's two." He looked at me like I was sprouting a second head.
These days I don't even have Google's dictionary in my corner. Here's how they define "couple":
WHA-A-A-A-A-A-A-T????????"If you refer to a couple of people or things, you mean two or approximately two of them, although the exact number is not important or you are not sure of it."
Google offers the following words as synonyms (notice that 5 of the 7 clearly indicate"two"):
pair, brace, twosome, match, twain, dyad, two
I won't go into depth on "your" versus "you're". That's a subject which sticks in the craw for a lot of us and has been widely discussed. Given that is has gotten internet attention, you'd think that all the (usually, but increasingly, not solely) young people who spread this pernicious misuse would get a clue. I have to presume that they just don't give a ..... care.
Don't get me started on alot. Or, something being "so fun". Or "it's" used in place of "its" and vice versa. Or a million other anomalies.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Privacy? What privacy?
"How privacy vanishes online" - NYT article
I just finished reading this article and the 129 comments that followed it. My gut reaction was to immediately remove all identifying info from FB. Then I realized I'd have to remove this blog as well, and go back to the writing sites I had abandoned but still had my articles available at the mere entering of my name in Google. I'd have to remove my Classmates info and try to remember all the other reunion sites I had registered at and freely shared pertinent personal facts. And then there were the three ancestry sites I'd contributed to, trying to find the easiest site to work with, and... and ... and... what else? I can't even remember all the places I had spread my seed!
It's clear I'd emptied the privacy pillow of its feathers over ten years ago when I started using the internet and was lead straight to Classmates. But it didn't begin with the advent of the PC and the almighty internet.
My life was an open book long before the web gave me another platform to let it all hang out. I started publishing my own magazine in 1981. The personal details revealed by me and my readers, many of whom were letter and article writers for the magazine, were astounding. We implicated our children and husbands in our stories and letters, innocently gave away our locations and much more.
Even those who do not use social networking systems are not free of intrusion. It's all too easy for savvy researchers to get all the info they want about anyone, for good or evil intent.
I don't worry about myself at all. My vital years on the planet are over. My worries, like those of all mothers, concern my children. It's ironic that several of them are much more careful about revealing their personal info than I am. The older I get the more I learn through them.
I just finished reading this article and the 129 comments that followed it. My gut reaction was to immediately remove all identifying info from FB. Then I realized I'd have to remove this blog as well, and go back to the writing sites I had abandoned but still had my articles available at the mere entering of my name in Google. I'd have to remove my Classmates info and try to remember all the other reunion sites I had registered at and freely shared pertinent personal facts. And then there were the three ancestry sites I'd contributed to, trying to find the easiest site to work with, and... and ... and... what else? I can't even remember all the places I had spread my seed!
It's clear I'd emptied the privacy pillow of its feathers over ten years ago when I started using the internet and was lead straight to Classmates. But it didn't begin with the advent of the PC and the almighty internet.
My life was an open book long before the web gave me another platform to let it all hang out. I started publishing my own magazine in 1981. The personal details revealed by me and my readers, many of whom were letter and article writers for the magazine, were astounding. We implicated our children and husbands in our stories and letters, innocently gave away our locations and much more.
Even those who do not use social networking systems are not free of intrusion. It's all too easy for savvy researchers to get all the info they want about anyone, for good or evil intent.
I don't worry about myself at all. My vital years on the planet are over. My worries, like those of all mothers, concern my children. It's ironic that several of them are much more careful about revealing their personal info than I am. The older I get the more I learn through them.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Toilet paper and my own bathroom
I stash toilet paper. My eyes light up when Charmin' goes on sale at $4 off! or $6 off! for a bulky pack of 20 double rolls! equals 40 single rolls!
It's irresistible, a staple we use every single day, which constantly requires replenishing, and which - at full price - is ridiculously expensive. I won't buy 1-ply or off brands. It's Cottonelle or Charmin' or Royale for me all the way. Hubby buys Shopper's Drug Mart "Life" brand because it's cheaper, but I'll only resort to that if no other brand is on sale. Call me a toilet paper snob!
I love it when my bathroom toilet paper drawer is chock full of the hefty double rolls, readily at hand, reachable from, ahem, a sitting position. When the drawer supply diminishes I have only to go the linen closet for more. Hubby has his own supply of, usually, single rolls in his bathroom. He keeps the first floor powder room supplied from there, too.
I never use the powder room anymore. The men in the family have turned it into a place I don't like to enter, what with the lid being left up, the tank top removed and on the floor in case the ball or tank flap needs jimmying, the sink unscoured, the towels left hanging askew.
Only when we expect guests does that room get cleaned. It's a shame, since it's decorated so nicely with Estonian motifs, has a beautiful tile floor and lovely pedestal sink. I just had to give up on it when no one but me seemed to care about keeping it clean.
I'm thrilled to have my very own bathroom, which is our bedroom's ensuite. Coming from a house nearly six years ago where we had lived for 26 years with 8 people and one little bathroom, this was a luxury I thought I'd never have.
When we looked at this house while house shopping, I remember how, upon entering what is now my bathroom, I began to cry. That, after seeing the rest of this beautiful home, clinched it for me. I had to live here!
Now I find it hard to imagine not having my own bathroom. It has a large walk-in shower (larger than needed, really), a pretty sink and cabinet, gorgeous deep coral colored walls, a big mirror over the sink and ornate light fixture. It's my own personal paradise. I clean it and it stays clean!
No more water all over the floor (that's how it was at our last house every time a certain someone took his shower), no more sink-surrounding counter left swimming and splotched with shaving cream, no more dirty bathtub to clean (not to mention the toilet which no one else cleaned).
It takes little to make me happy, but I know one thing for sure. As God is my witness, I will never share a bathroom again! You just can't go back.
It's irresistible, a staple we use every single day, which constantly requires replenishing, and which - at full price - is ridiculously expensive. I won't buy 1-ply or off brands. It's Cottonelle or Charmin' or Royale for me all the way. Hubby buys Shopper's Drug Mart "Life" brand because it's cheaper, but I'll only resort to that if no other brand is on sale. Call me a toilet paper snob!
I love it when my bathroom toilet paper drawer is chock full of the hefty double rolls, readily at hand, reachable from, ahem, a sitting position. When the drawer supply diminishes I have only to go the linen closet for more. Hubby has his own supply of, usually, single rolls in his bathroom. He keeps the first floor powder room supplied from there, too.
I never use the powder room anymore. The men in the family have turned it into a place I don't like to enter, what with the lid being left up, the tank top removed and on the floor in case the ball or tank flap needs jimmying, the sink unscoured, the towels left hanging askew.
Only when we expect guests does that room get cleaned. It's a shame, since it's decorated so nicely with Estonian motifs, has a beautiful tile floor and lovely pedestal sink. I just had to give up on it when no one but me seemed to care about keeping it clean.
I'm thrilled to have my very own bathroom, which is our bedroom's ensuite. Coming from a house nearly six years ago where we had lived for 26 years with 8 people and one little bathroom, this was a luxury I thought I'd never have.
When we looked at this house while house shopping, I remember how, upon entering what is now my bathroom, I began to cry. That, after seeing the rest of this beautiful home, clinched it for me. I had to live here!
Now I find it hard to imagine not having my own bathroom. It has a large walk-in shower (larger than needed, really), a pretty sink and cabinet, gorgeous deep coral colored walls, a big mirror over the sink and ornate light fixture. It's my own personal paradise. I clean it and it stays clean!
No more water all over the floor (that's how it was at our last house every time a certain someone took his shower), no more sink-surrounding counter left swimming and splotched with shaving cream, no more dirty bathtub to clean (not to mention the toilet which no one else cleaned).
It takes little to make me happy, but I know one thing for sure. As God is my witness, I will never share a bathroom again! You just can't go back.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Facebook lumps together our friends from school, our friends from work, our long lost third cousins etc...
One of the curiosities of Facebook is the way acquisition of new friends and joining of FB groups is reported in our personal newsfeed.
It makes me smile, and sometimes laugh out loud, to read that "John Smith" and "Tiffany Jones" joined the group "My favorite color is purple". "John" is my friend from grade 2 and "Tiffany" is my next-door neighbor's granddaughter. There is no way they know each other, of course, and we live thousands of miles apart, but Facebook makes it sound like the two of them joined forces in their love of purple after consulting each other about it!
It gets even stranger when an old friend from your childhood Sunday school class in New York and your second cousin's son's girlfriend's brother - who lives in southern Italy - both "are now friends with "Bill Johnson", who is someone you don't even know. Talk about 6 degrees of separation!
It makes me smile, and sometimes laugh out loud, to read that "John Smith" and "Tiffany Jones" joined the group "My favorite color is purple". "John" is my friend from grade 2 and "Tiffany" is my next-door neighbor's granddaughter. There is no way they know each other, of course, and we live thousands of miles apart, but Facebook makes it sound like the two of them joined forces in their love of purple after consulting each other about it!
It gets even stranger when an old friend from your childhood Sunday school class in New York and your second cousin's son's girlfriend's brother - who lives in southern Italy - both "are now friends with "Bill Johnson", who is someone you don't even know. Talk about 6 degrees of separation!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Saying "I love you"
A friend wrote a blog post in which he posed 12 questions about the important things in life. All were seemingly simple tasks to fulfill, none cost anything, and all were readily at hand. One of the 12 was "Have you told your children every day how important they are and how much you love them?"
I am happy I can answer "yes!" to that. I don't talk to my children every day anymore because they are all grown and live on their own, but every time I do, whether on the phone or in person, I tell them how much I love them and how important they are to me.
To me it is supremely important to tell your children how much you love them. I never heard those words from my own parents, although they showed their love in so many different ways. Even today, my mother never tells me she loves me outright, although her handwritten messages on cards are full of love. My parents are from a generation when a simple "I love you" was so hard to say. They thought they didn't need to say it.
My parents devoted their lives to me and my brother. Still, the lack of a verbal or written "I love you" hurts, even at my age. It has also resulted in my not being able to say it to them! My dad died 19 years ago. His death destroyed me for some time afterward. I was an emotional mess. Even now I long for his presence. He was a wonderful man, loved by his friends and siblings, wife and children. I remember a conversation I had with him once. I asked whether he tells my mother he loves her. He replied that he didn't, that he didn't have to. Years later, I asked him whether he loved me. We were arguing and I begged him to say the words, to tell me he loved me. He didn't do it -- I guess he just couldn't.
Growing up, my father drove me to piano and ballet lessons after a long day of work and sat in the car reading the paper while I had my lesson. This dutiful action was something a parent did, something I have done with all six of my children. My mother stayed up until 3 AM many a day making me a costume or a dress for a school event. She made me many dresses, even my wedding gown. Those are actions of a loving parent. She no doubt thinks the silent "I love you" these actions speak is enough. Perhaps it should be. But why, then, do I feel that there's something wrong with me that my parents could never say "I love you" to my face?
We were not particularly touchy-feely either, in our family. The perfunctory hug at the door as I arrived and left on big trips or during visits after marriage was warm and physical, but otherwise touching each other was not done. Some people are constantly touching their family members during ordinary conversational banter, warm fuzzy feelings, saying goodnight even.
I was very physical with my children, but today only a couple of them are as huggy as I am. The others just tolerate the arrival and leaving hugs, returning them obligingly. Maybe it's a family gene?
I never end a phone conversation with any of my children without telling them I love them, and with a few of my kids, blowing kisses over the phone. The kisses may be over the top, but it's a "mamma tradition" from when they were little. One thing I won't ever have to regret is that I didn't tell my children I loved them. I tell them every chance I get!
I am happy I can answer "yes!" to that. I don't talk to my children every day anymore because they are all grown and live on their own, but every time I do, whether on the phone or in person, I tell them how much I love them and how important they are to me.
To me it is supremely important to tell your children how much you love them. I never heard those words from my own parents, although they showed their love in so many different ways. Even today, my mother never tells me she loves me outright, although her handwritten messages on cards are full of love. My parents are from a generation when a simple "I love you" was so hard to say. They thought they didn't need to say it.
My parents devoted their lives to me and my brother. Still, the lack of a verbal or written "I love you" hurts, even at my age. It has also resulted in my not being able to say it to them! My dad died 19 years ago. His death destroyed me for some time afterward. I was an emotional mess. Even now I long for his presence. He was a wonderful man, loved by his friends and siblings, wife and children. I remember a conversation I had with him once. I asked whether he tells my mother he loves her. He replied that he didn't, that he didn't have to. Years later, I asked him whether he loved me. We were arguing and I begged him to say the words, to tell me he loved me. He didn't do it -- I guess he just couldn't.
Growing up, my father drove me to piano and ballet lessons after a long day of work and sat in the car reading the paper while I had my lesson. This dutiful action was something a parent did, something I have done with all six of my children. My mother stayed up until 3 AM many a day making me a costume or a dress for a school event. She made me many dresses, even my wedding gown. Those are actions of a loving parent. She no doubt thinks the silent "I love you" these actions speak is enough. Perhaps it should be. But why, then, do I feel that there's something wrong with me that my parents could never say "I love you" to my face?
We were not particularly touchy-feely either, in our family. The perfunctory hug at the door as I arrived and left on big trips or during visits after marriage was warm and physical, but otherwise touching each other was not done. Some people are constantly touching their family members during ordinary conversational banter, warm fuzzy feelings, saying goodnight even.
I was very physical with my children, but today only a couple of them are as huggy as I am. The others just tolerate the arrival and leaving hugs, returning them obligingly. Maybe it's a family gene?
I never end a phone conversation with any of my children without telling them I love them, and with a few of my kids, blowing kisses over the phone. The kisses may be over the top, but it's a "mamma tradition" from when they were little. One thing I won't ever have to regret is that I didn't tell my children I loved them. I tell them every chance I get!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
What ballet companies look for as they audition new members
Much of what a company is looking for is not at all dependent on trends but on each company's needs at the time of hiring, given the dancers and, often, the costumes the company already has. These needs can change within the same company over the years.
This boils down to selection by, among other criteria:
1) technique, artistry, and maturity of the candidate - not maturity by age but by work ethic, i.e. one's ability to learn choreography, take care of oneself, and behave professionally
2) body type - many companies insist on very lean figures, others prefer more muscular dancers, etc.
3) height - is there a potential partner for the candidate in the company or among the new hires? How will the candidate look in the corps (in a company that does a lot of classical ballet, for example)? Will the candidate fit the costumes on hand or would she require a new one to be made to fit her? (A major consideration in a company with a low budget or a budget deficit, which many have!)
4) charisma - does the candidate project that "je ne said quoi" that makes one want to watch her? Is there stage presence? Passion? Simple, honest devotion to ballet?
5) age - some companies want younger dancers for a variety of reasons so are looking for 18-22 year olds, perhaps; others actually prefer older dancers, even those who have gone to college (if many others in the company have done so), those with experience and life skills
6) training - if it's a Balanchine-based company and your training is purely Vaganova, you likely will not suit them; conversely, if it's a Vaganova-based company and you've never trained in the method, you're not likely to learn it (it's an 8 yr. all-day program in the best circumstances) while in the company and you won't blend in with the other dancers because you don't move like them, no matter how top-notch your ballet education
7) musicality - a must-have -- enough said
8) self-respect - you are auditioning from the moment you enter the building - not the studio, the building. If you are a shorter dancer and feel disadvantaged, walk tall and carry yourself well! There are people who see you from the second you walk in the door and you don't know what function they have. The registrar you speak to at the front table might well be the AD of the company! The guy refilling the toilet paper rolls and sweeping the studio floor whom you take for the janitor could be the resident choreographer (who will also be sitting in on the audition). By the time you enter the audition studio, you have interacted with many people, from the dressing room to the bathroom to the hallway outside the studio. If you don't come across as a competent, amiable, confident individual before you even do that first plié, that may well be the reason you are not chosen - not your height.
Research the companies you want to audition for. Height is one factor, yes, but never the only factor. If it were, shorter dancers like Tamara Rojo, Alina Cojocaru, Sarah Lane, Jennifer Gelfand, Molly Smolen, Tina LeBlanc, Suki Shorer, Irina Kolpakova, Maya Plisetskaja, Alla Sizova (although the last 3 danced in a time when their short stature was more the norm) - all 5'2" or under - would not have had careers in ballet!
As with taller dancers and medium-height dancers, shorter dancers will find their niche if they're willing to cast a wide enough net.
This boils down to selection by, among other criteria:
1) technique, artistry, and maturity of the candidate - not maturity by age but by work ethic, i.e. one's ability to learn choreography, take care of oneself, and behave professionally
2) body type - many companies insist on very lean figures, others prefer more muscular dancers, etc.
3) height - is there a potential partner for the candidate in the company or among the new hires? How will the candidate look in the corps (in a company that does a lot of classical ballet, for example)? Will the candidate fit the costumes on hand or would she require a new one to be made to fit her? (A major consideration in a company with a low budget or a budget deficit, which many have!)
4) charisma - does the candidate project that "je ne said quoi" that makes one want to watch her? Is there stage presence? Passion? Simple, honest devotion to ballet?
5) age - some companies want younger dancers for a variety of reasons so are looking for 18-22 year olds, perhaps; others actually prefer older dancers, even those who have gone to college (if many others in the company have done so), those with experience and life skills
6) training - if it's a Balanchine-based company and your training is purely Vaganova, you likely will not suit them; conversely, if it's a Vaganova-based company and you've never trained in the method, you're not likely to learn it (it's an 8 yr. all-day program in the best circumstances) while in the company and you won't blend in with the other dancers because you don't move like them, no matter how top-notch your ballet education
7) musicality - a must-have -- enough said
8) self-respect - you are auditioning from the moment you enter the building - not the studio, the building. If you are a shorter dancer and feel disadvantaged, walk tall and carry yourself well! There are people who see you from the second you walk in the door and you don't know what function they have. The registrar you speak to at the front table might well be the AD of the company! The guy refilling the toilet paper rolls and sweeping the studio floor whom you take for the janitor could be the resident choreographer (who will also be sitting in on the audition). By the time you enter the audition studio, you have interacted with many people, from the dressing room to the bathroom to the hallway outside the studio. If you don't come across as a competent, amiable, confident individual before you even do that first plié, that may well be the reason you are not chosen - not your height.
Research the companies you want to audition for. Height is one factor, yes, but never the only factor. If it were, shorter dancers like Tamara Rojo, Alina Cojocaru, Sarah Lane, Jennifer Gelfand, Molly Smolen, Tina LeBlanc, Suki Shorer, Irina Kolpakova, Maya Plisetskaja, Alla Sizova (although the last 3 danced in a time when their short stature was more the norm) - all 5'2" or under - would not have had careers in ballet!
As with taller dancers and medium-height dancers, shorter dancers will find their niche if they're willing to cast a wide enough net.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
As Canadian as ... poutine!
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| TJ's Fries' poutine |
I'm an American living in Canada. I've been here for over two-thirds of my life. When I first started my monthly visits to Toronto in 1970 to be with my now-husband I heard about a uniquely Canadian fast food - poutine. (Pictured to the right is the first poutine I ever ate, from TJ's stand on the Trent River.)
It was about the same time I found out that "fish 'n' chips" was simply battered, fried fish and good old french fries. Prior to that realization I envisioned a British delicacy
wrapped in newspaper, not quite sure at which stage between potato chip and french fry the neat-sounding "chip" was!
Poutine posed a similar problem. I had not yet seen any poutine, only heard that it had to do with said chips, gravy, and some kind of cheese called "curds". (I never understood "curds and whey" either, in the nursery rhyme about Little Miss Muffet.) I've eaten curds for nearly forty years, introduced to them by hubby, and they're really, really tasty, but never went all the way and had them in their natural environment as part of poutine.It was about the same time I found out that "fish 'n' chips" was simply battered, fried fish and good old french fries. Prior to that realization I envisioned a British delicacy
wrapped in newspaper, not quite sure at which stage between potato chip and french fry the neat-sounding "chip" was!
Mike's French Fries
Today I had my very first poutine at one of my favourite chip stands, TJ's (see first post of blog). I arrived at the riverside stand hungry - on purpose. :)
It was divine! Poutine is fast comfort food. The gravy was delicious, the cheese curds were just the right consistency - squeaky! Cheese curds and gravy are the perfect combo! Who knew? The chips were their usual outstanding (as described in my first post), so I won't go on about them.
I can't have this heart-stopping meal every day, or even every week, but once a month? Sounds good to me!
Mike's poutine (great curds and fries, but the gravy is not completely homemade; he says they - his wife does the cooking while he takes the orders - use Campbell's beef gravy as a base.)
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