Sunday, March 2, 2008
Kids and vacation.
I was up early yesterday, watching the sunrise as I wrote my last post. It seemed to be saying "LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM WITH ALL MY NEAT COLORS IN THE SKY AREN'T I PRETTY YOU ARE UP AT 6AM LOL WHEE." Just for me.
I gave my advanced students another "speed barre" today-- I dictate the exercises quickly, so they get used to being able to understand and execute enchainments with less detail and explanation-- a good preparation for taking classes from different/more advanced teachers and for being able to learn choreography more quickly. Right now the exercises are not terribly intricate, but the more we do "speed barre" the more complex the exercises will get. After a few exercises in centre, they put on pointe shoes. During the last half-hour they worked on their Paquita variation, which is coming along very nicely. Most teachers complain about teens, but I've been really blessed to have a group that works well and works hard. * knocks on wood *
I worked with younger students in the afternoon, and had a happy conversation with a parent. This is my first year teaching a jazz class for children in....a long time....and since I'm used to the structure and discipline of ballet classes, and since most of the parents watch from the lobby I've always been nervous about their reaction to my "teaching (Do they think I'm too strict? Do they like my choreography? Do they think their children aren't learning anything?). Yesterday, however, I had a parent tell me that "we [the other moms] are all very impressed," they love the class, and the kids love their dance (I do too, actually. It's pretty fun). So, that little exchange made my afternoon.
After I got really sick last month, I vowed that I would take a brief vacation after the company's performances were over. My destination of choice? Just home. See my family, stay in my old house, chill out in small-town obscurity for a few days. I leave Wednesday morning. Four days with no daily class, probably no Internet access, and no rehearsals. You're probably wondering what in the hell I'm going to do with myself. I am, too.