Joni Mitchell

Okay, so this weekend is my big show. I'm part of a community of 10 women vocalists who are honoring the music of the (still living) Joni Mitchell through a tribute concert. Its so weird, I've been on the radio promoting it, we have been in rehearsals with a full professional band, I've been utterly speechless with admiration over the talent of the other women in this show, and I've nearly thrown up from nervousness about this whole thing.

So tonight is opening night, and my whole family will be there, as well as co-workers, friends, random community members, blah blah. I'm so scared I'm going to forget the lyrics to one of my chosen songs and have a full scale breakdown in the middle of the stage and start trying to solve for x like I'm teaching pre-algebra, or list off the chores I have to do when I get home, or pee my pants or shake uncontrollably. One of the songs I'm singing is Carey, which is off of my favorite Joni album, Blue. I'm singing it for my husband, so I really don't want to mess that one up. I'm sure it will be fine(?).

Last night at our dress rehearsal, this really odd lady who is in the show wanted us to turn after the last song and bow to the two large images of Joni that are hanging at the back of the stage. Our producer was there and a little tipsy (damn musicians), so naturally thought it was a great idea. I don't care how fantastic Joni Mitchell is (and she is fantastic), but I'm not bowing, no how. A bunch of us started laughing at the idea, stating that Joni is still very much alive and bowing would be a little over the top, like she had left the land of the living or something. I think we hurt the woman's feelings, but come on. Aside from that though, the rehearsal was amazing. The singing was first rate, and the band backing us was totally wonderful. I am so looking forward to tonight. I just really hope I can hold my own among these women. Wish me luck.

Hobby Horses

There are some times in my life when my identities as a teacher, parent, performer and social drinker all clash together in a chain of embarassing events that I wish I hadn't remembered the next morning. Such events happened to me last Saturday at my school's annual fundraising event, which is a silent auction and wine tasting extravaganza.

Everyone gets really dressed up for this function because we have nothing better to dress up for in our tiny town, (some men even wear tuxedos) drinks wine and auctions on whatever we have beaten out of our local shop owners, massage therapists and restauanteurs. By the end of the night, we close the auction, hoping the generous pours of the people running the tasting booths have inspired reckless spending on the part of our guests. I go to this event every year and generally keep a very tight leash on myself because I'm dealing with fellow teachers, parents from my daughter's class, administrators and past and future parents of my students. However, this time, my husband was being pissy and decided not to go at the last minute, so I offered to pour wine at one of the booths. Big mistake.

The champagne at my particular booth was discovered early and generally only shared amongst those of us at the booth. I don't remember a lot of details, but from what I can piece together, at various points, I was extremely chatty with many different people, talking to one parent in particular about how I loved her blousy hairstyle, and generally overdoing it. I remember my friend on several occasions telling me I was yelling and kind of slurring words together. I have to put in here though that everyone was a little tipsy so I think many conversations got animated and a little slurry... I remember dancing by myself, with a circle of people watching me, I remember hugging lots of people, not recognizing people I have associated with before on our school board, and making fun of a giant tarantula under glass which was one of the items to be bid on. The cake topper, however, came at the end of the evening when I saw the giant hobby horse.

The horse was handcrafted out of wood and stood about seven feet tall. It was exactly like a child's hobby horse, complete with rocking chair style legs and everything. Its mane and tail were made of silky white rope, and there was a saddle on it. When I saw it in the lobby, I immediately wanted to hop on. Apparently it was an auction item that didn't sell and was awaiting its creator (one of our parents at the school) to take it home. I couldn't believe I had missed it before. I immediately started talking to the fourth grade teacher about the horse, asking her if she dared me to ride it. She did. I asked if she double dog dared me to ride it (because anyone can be forgiven if they are acting on a double dog dare). She did. I got to work putting my foot in the stirrup and making jokes. Once in the saddle, I began to "entertain" the small crowd of onlookers. I whipped the horse with the reins and at one point put up the rocker style devil horns to the delight of the people below who cheered in response. My friend walked in (the one who told me I was yelling earlier) and immediately told me to dismount as I was making an ass of myself. I did, and escaped to another room to get some coffee and distance.

Upon returning to school on Monday, some parents (blousy hair) are not really interacting with me anymore. Others are more friendly, probably because some unknown myth they created about me has been dispelled. I don't know, but I guess that's what happens when you mix wine, certain teachers and novelty items. I'm trying not to worry about it, telling myself that its not like I drink at school, or even during the week at all, and when you teach seventh and eighth graders for a living, you do tend to lose it a bit and need to cut loose anyway. It is time for me to go back into my "cage" though, so I will chill out and be completely subdued when next year's event rolls around.

fragility

Okay, so I'm a really bad mom. I did a horrible thing to my 8-year old daughter yesterday. She has been taking tap lessons at a local studio and they have a performance coming up this weekend. She decided YESTERDAY that she wanted to be in the show. It was all mass confusion at first, she whisked me down the stairs to the stage while I clutched her dance bag with a bewildered expression on my face. "Its the tech rehearsal, mom, right now!" she said in a commanding tone.
She commenced to ordering me around and telling me who I should talk to about her being in the piece, etc... I was quite flustered, and on top of that, my husband is pretty strict about when we come home. If we are a half-hour late, phone call or not, he is immediately frustrated and we have to spend the next couple of hours rebuilding healthy interactions in the house.

So, she flew on to the stage as I spoke with her teacher about her being in the tap piece. He said she was welcome to try it, to see how it all would go. I sat and watched them go through it 5 times at least. There were all different ages and abilities represented on the stage for the tap piece, and every time my girl came on she just watched the person next to or in front of her because she didn't know the moves. I was stymied at first because she has performed different styles of dance many times on that same stage, both with and without me, because I teach dance, choreograph and perform with a local troupe. The dance teacher in me began to get frustrated that she couldn't figure out her blocking on the stage, that her teacher had to continually place her and another girl in positions that they seemed to forget in two seconds. Then, slowly, I remembered the times when she told me that she just wanted to take a break for a week or so from tap class. I had indulged her, not wanting to press or be a "stage mom". So, yesterday, as I watched her and more and more my heart began to break for her. She wanted to perfom so badly, but just wasn't ready. All the high school sulker kids in the advanced tap class who were also in the piece were rolling their eyes and showing general frustration. I looked at my cell phone and saw that an hour had passed, and knew my husband would be furious. I was beginning to come undone.

They tried the piece one more time, and sure enough, my girl came dancing out and right out to the front where she wasn't supposed to be. Against everything I know as a dance director, performer, teacher and mother, I got up and approached the stage. Its funny because it all seems like it was in slow motion now as I reflect on it.
"Emma," I hissed, "Get BACK".
Silence. And then the director saying into his microphone from the soundbooth: "Mom, get away from the stage."

I looked up in horror to what I knew would be there, my daughter with her face distorted into the biggest saddest silent cry (right before the screaming) look I have seen in a long time. Everything became horribly tense. It was like a nightmare. Everyone on the stage and in the theater was focused on us. I collected her off the stage and we had a long conversation about what went wrong. I apologized profusely and tried to rouse her back into good spirits about dancing, while other parents quietly tsk, tsked and gave me disapproving looks. We worked it out soon enough, learning our lessons about dedication and what it means to "take breaks" and how that ends up translating into not being prepared for performance. I thought we both had it together when we finally walked out of the theater, but once we got into the safety of the car, we started crying, sobbing uncontrollably. I realized after we calmed down that we are both really fragile for one reason or another, and that sometimes we are just dancing on that knife's edge of happiness and sorrow, on the edge of freaking out and being under control. On our drive home, I held my girl's little hand with my free arm and thought of how she seemed so sure and bossy and old enough when she was ordering me around for the tech rehearsal, but I have to remember that she is still just my eight year old sweetie. We got home, appeased her dad and ate dessert before dinner. She's looking forward to tapping in class next week.