Reasons I like living in the metrop (among others):
Yarn selling emporia
My lovely chums
Shops open on Sunday nights
And sometimes the fact that you catch a familiar sight in a different slant of light and your whole perspective changes
I’ve been floundering with ballet for the last few months, bogged down and overworked making me lose perspective but I think I’ve found the light at the end of the tunnel now.-
And ballet is now less of a fight against myself.
I am spending a wee while sanding down the points of my favourite 4mm bamboo knitting pins because they were starting to look a little too well… Chewed, I think is the adjective I’m after.
I confess that I do actually chew the points of my knitting needles which is a disgusting habit but helps me think.
On the other hand, I don’t chew my ballet shoes because that would be seriously disgusting, but you do have to do a little maintenance to them as well. Just simple things like not leaving pointes languishing in my bag with their padding still in them or washing my flatties because they’re dirty and smelly.
Keeping your needles clean and fit for purpose is like making sure your elastics and ribbons are still secure.
But mostly I just wanted to post about sanding my knitting needles..
It’s Sunday evening and I’m sprawled on my bed, watching Bones, wearing in my new pointe shoes and converting my holey knee high rainbow stripy socks into legwarmers. I really do not understand how I am so cool sometimes…
I’d do a proper post about how I converted my socks but my sewing is so truly terrible I wouldn’t inflict that on you…
…finally nailing a double pirouette to the left which is lazy, slow and incredibly controlled. Also, crucially, noted by your teacher (who is blithely accepting of your post-pirouette victory dance).
…piqué turns en pointe.
…an attitude balance on demi pointe that feels so perfect you could stay up there forever.
…a sense of calm in adage complete with not wobbling and not minding catching yourself in the mirror!
…feeling suspended in the air during a jump.
I’m not sure I’m “good” at ballet yet, most days I’d barely describe myself as “competent” but sometimes, just sometimes, I start to feel “okay” with what I’m doing.
On the other hand, happiness is definitely not crashing into the barre doing a fouetté pirouette and taking your knee out. I can heartily not recommend that kind of thing.
So maybe “okay” is a good adjective to stick with for now…
Because normal people stay up past midnight making meringue to serve up a dessert named after a ballerina to their chums the following day, right?
Mes pals, I present my pizza de résistance: pavlova.
Last time I made pavolva it was an emergency affair one Christmas morning following the Lamentable Tragedy of the Unsettable Champagne Jelly. This time may have involved post class, late night kitchen adventures but a vastly more preferable state of affairs… I think.
The proof, as they say, is in the pudding and we’ll see how my
victimschums feel about it later!
One day I will sort out the contents of my dance bag and decide I don’t need to lug it all around on a pretty much daily basis.
That day is not today.
And you know that when that day arrives, the next day I will wonder why I don’t have a blister plaster/deep freeze/hairspray/spare shoes/other item from the Generation Game conveyor belt, eg cuddly toy, microwave…
Well, technically it happened yesterday but just shy of midnight so I’m counting it as today. Three months of late nights obsessively finishing squares and sewing them in and it’s done. Now I need to find something to cast on for knitting club tomorrow…