RPMs, Splicers, ODDs, USBs…A Dancer’s Half-Century Trip Thru Tech

Posted on by - 2024, Dance

My heartbreaking choreographic debut

Spring 1968. 8th Grade. Pine Grove Junior High School Talent Show. For my solo, I wore a purple leotard, pink tights and pink pointe shoes, to dance my original choreography to the smash hit “Love is Blue.”

“Original”? Perhaps I stole a few signature moves from my beloved ballet teacher Sally Espino. From a young age, I’d taken her classes at Live Oak Community Center, Berkeley Parks & Recreation, an affordable choice for my parents (who were raising seven kids). When I was eleven, Sally approved me for toe shoes and sent me to a children’s shoe store on Shattuck Avenue, where a clueless, middle-aged man in a suit squeezed my feet into chunky Capezios. At age twelve, I performed with Sally, en pointe, in the Live Oak Theater, to music from the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

For the junior high talent show, I entrusted my 45-rpm vinyl single to the A/V boys, along with a plastic adapter in case the school’s turntable didn’t have a pop-up adapter.

On cue, I stepped out on the curtainless stage to face a sea of whispering, giggling middle-schoolers. My heart pounded through an awkward pause before the needle went down with a crackle. Pulling up to relevé for my first emboîté, I nearly froze. What?! A slow-motion nightmare. The turntable was set to 33 rpm! I slogged and teetered through a drawling parody of the music until, near the end, the pink ribbons of one shoe unraveled to the floor. Pretending my shoe wasn’t loose, I improvised a woeful, dying-swan-like ending and left the stage in sobs.

Dancing, Teaching, and Performing in the early ’70s

In high school, my parents upgraded my training to a professional studio, Dancer’s Theatre in Oakland, an affiliate of the Royal Academy of Dancing. An RAD examiner flew from England to California every two years to judge our progress. While seated, the examiner gave the exercises in French ballet terms and evaluated our technique as we executed the movements to live piano accompaniment.

When I was 18, I switched studios to Carlos Carvajal’s Dance Spectrum in San Francisco. Both studios often had live piano accompaniment. Pianists at Dancer’s Theatre played traditional classics, while the pianist at Dance Spectrum in SF improvised new-age minimalist kinds of melodies, occasionally adding wordless voice—appropriate for the vibe of the hippie years. We ballerinas defied convention, wearing socks for barre exercises instead of full-sole ballet slippers—that is, when we didn’t do the entire class en pointe. Flexible split-sole ballet slippers hadn’t yet been invented.

When live piano wasn’t available, teachers used LPs on turntables. Both the Oakland and SF studios had wood floors that shuddered when we jumped, causing the record to skip occasionally. At Dance Spectrum, Carlos used orchestral music for many of his center combinations—something that was different and exciting.

I performed with both companies, Dancer’s Theatre and Dance Spectrum. Recorded music for performances was played from a turntable or reel-to-reel tape player connected to the sound system. [My father had a reel-to-reel player at home and swore it was the best sound for his jazz favorites—although it required transferring music from his LPs to the tape!]

1973, a memorable performance. We danced Carlos’s choreography to live music at the SF Civic Auditorium, Arthur Fiedler conducting the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra (Fiedler’s “Pops” concert). For Saint-Saëns’ Bacchanal, we danced part of the piece in the aisles. What fun! Here are the front and back covers of the program.

When I was 18, I landed my first teaching job at—guess where—Live Oak Community Center. Every Saturday, six classes in a row, 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. They paid me $9 per class. I supported myself on this, plus an 8-hour weekly housecleaning job at $2 per hour.

As you can see in this 1973 photo, the clunky turntable was on a long, folding table, a little wobbly. I don’t remember the records skipping when we jumped, but perhaps nothing could shake that shiny linoleum-covered cement floor at the rec center, where we risked shin splints, hairline fractures, and slips-and-falls.

My second traumatic choreographic effort

1973 spring recital. The choreography was all mine and not half bad, as far as I recall, but very short. Students in all six classes performed, a couple of minutes for each class. We weren’t in the Little Theater but in the gymnasium with folding chairs set up for family and friends.

As people arrived and took their seats, I sat with my students on the floor. Every student—but one—arrived on time. Five, ten, fifteen minutes ticked past the appointed hour, people getting antsy. Finally, I gave in, made my opening remarks, lined up the kids, and put the needle on the record. Fifteen minutes later, as we took our final bow, the tardy student and parents rushed in, half an hour late. “It’s over?” screeched the angry mom. Crying child. Embarrassed teacher.

That was the first and last recital I staged at Live Oak. My dance ambitions lay far beyond Berkeley Parks & Recreation.

Soon after, I left for Amsterdam, where I studied at Theaterschool with hopes to audition for companies—a whole story I won’t go into here. After five months, an injury sent me home, where I moped around for a bit, took a temporary job stuffing envelopes at a mass mailing outfit, and decided to go to college, then law school.

Interestingly, I did perform again at Live Oak Theater with the Berkeley Mime Troupe in 1975.

The’80s arrive with high tech! And… My third and fourth choreographic efforts

Gradually, through the ’70s, LPs gave way to cassette tapes. Oh rapture! No skips or warped LPs. Actually, the cassettes did warp if left in the sun. And there were other annoyances. Like, somehow, the tape could get pulled out and tangled.

And you always had trouble cuing up your song. All that rewinding and fast forwarding, no index or track indicator.

Then there was the extra expense, time, and effort to convert your favorite music from LP to tape. Equipment, cables, magic. Turntable with output, tape recorder with input. New possibilities! Compilations: favorite songs from different LPs on a single cassette tape.

’78-’81, while in law school in Boulder Colorado, I subbed a few dance classes, using cassette tapes. Nerves…not about teaching but about the music, fast forwarding and rewinding. Those years, I danced in local performances and with the Boulder Jazz Dance Company. One piece was called “Walkmania,” and these things were part of our costume!

My third and fourth choreographies were in Boulder. 1980: a solo entitled “Amor Lejano” (you can see excerpts here—yes, that young girl with shoulder-length hair).  1981: “Inner City Drama,” a dance for me and three others, performed in Boulder and New York City. I don’t have a video and don’t remember the choreography, but it included this whacky jump.

Each choreographer provided the sound manager with a cassette tape containing only their music. The sound person would cue each tape to the start and switch out the cassettes for each piece during the show. My tape for “Amor Lejano” was easy enough—a single piece “Utviklingssang” by Carla Bley  But the music for “Inner City Drama” combined parts of songs from the “Together Brothers” LP, Barry White’s Love Unlimited Orchestra, something I couldn’t edit. A company member adept at splicing created the tape for me. Can you imagine doing this? Cutting the tape at the exact moment with a razor blade and taping it to the next section. Some of the splicing jobs for various choreographers were none too perfect, with little glitchy sounds at the edited points.

The ’90s and new millennium

Although CDs came on the market sometime in the ’80s, dance teachers were using cassette tapes most of that decade. As I started my law career in Manhattan, I was taking dance class whenever I could fit it in. In 1989, after having my first baby, I dropped out of the dance world for a decade. When I started dancing again, everyone was using CDs. On hiatus from my legal career, I danced like crazy from ’98-’08: taking and teaching classes, performing, choreographing, and running a dancewear store.

CDs: what convenience! But…have you played a CD recently? So annoying, all those extra seconds to open the tray, insert the CD, close the tray, select the track, wait for the player to “read” the disc. These days, it seems so slow.

Again, we had to convert favorite tracks from outdated media to CD. Somewhat easier with computers connected by USB cable to a turntable or tape player. In those days, every computer came with an ODD (optical disc drive).

I soon gave this up for the new thing—music streaming. In the early ’00s, we subscribed to Rhapsody for about $10 a month [avoiding Napster, a “free” service that violated artists’ rights and was later sued for copyright infringement.] I used the RealPlayer program on my Microsoft laptop to save selected tracks from Rhapsody on my computer and “burn” them to a CD. RealPlayer could also “rip” tracks from our store-bought CDs and burn them to a blank CD. I made a lot of compilations for listening and teaching.

But, more work! No metadata, so I manually typed the title and artist onto each track saved on my laptop. This information did not transfer to CD when burning. I typed and printed a list of the songs on each CD. For teaching, my compilations grouped songs with similar rhythms for certain exercises (e.g. for jazz pas de bourrées, kicks, and pirouettes); I labeled each CD and taped the list of songs on the CD cover.

I still have tons of these homemade CDs!!! They’re all good.

For my students’ performances in the early ’00s, the sound manager asked for a CD with the single track for each dance. Later into the ’00s, this changed to a separate USB flash drive for each piece.

Moving into now

After working another ten years in law, I returned to teaching dance in 2017. A decade had passed, and most teachers were using smartphones (or tablets or laptops) connected to the studio sound system by Bluetooth or cable/dongle attachment.

I was behind for a while, still using CDs, but soon learned how to transfer all the music on my laptop to iPhone with the sync feature. I made playlists for some of it. Every studio has different equipment so, to soothe my nerves, I travel everywhere with my own little speakers and use Bluetooth. I love them, especially when I use two for “party mode.”

For performances, no more cassettes, tape splicing, CDs, or USB sticks. Simply send an MP3 file to the sound manager on a file sharing platform. I’ve also edited and combined tracks on the Audacity program to create a unique piece of music for performance.

I could write pages about the technical conundrums of teaching dance on Zoom during the pandemic, but I’m not in the mood to revisit that! One good thing came out of it. When I went back to the studio, I recorded several dance classes and uploaded them to YouTube for my students who wished to continue dancing at home. Go ahead, take a free class at home! Here’s my YouTube channel.

The latest tool for dance teachers is a smartphone wristwatch playing purchased music or streaming from a service like Spotify. Freed from the sound equipment, the teacher can roam the studio, observing and correcting students while easily starting and stopping music. But, dare I admit…

I’m kind of afraid of them. So small, and my music is all over the place, favorite tracks in albums, others in playlists. Will I be able to find what I want? I’m getting nervous just thinking about it. Perhaps I’ll skip this and all subsequent innovations until we get to the point where it’s possible to simply think of the track we want and music will fill the air. I don’t doubt this will happen one day. It’s all magic.

Thank you for tripping through 55 years of technology with me!

Keep an eye out here for news about my upcoming novel! I’ll be making announcements soon.

 

2023—Let It Be

Posted on by - 2023

Like all years, 2023 held the good and the bad. For me, the scale tipped more toward the bad side, but thankfully, most of that is well behind me. I have much to celebrate today, my 35th wedding anniversary, so let me reminisce.

Photo by Qui Nguyen at unsplash.com

Why a picture of coral? Symbolizing longevity and success, coral represents the 35th anniversary. Neither plant nor rock, coral is animal, an invertebrate that can live for hundreds, even thousands, of years! A sign that these beautiful old fossils and their strong union will last nearly into eternity.

 

Oops, those aren’t the old fossils but the young cuties in 1987 and 1988, respectively. These are fuzzy stills taken from the video interviews we did at the dating club where we met, then known as American Millionaires International (“AMI”) on West 57th Street in Manhattan. No, we weren’t millionaires or anywhere close, even further from that mark after AMI took a big chunk of our money in membership fees! Worth it, though, right? The people at AMI eventually realized the name was a little off-putting and changed it to “Invitations.”

For those of you in the dating app click-and-swipe generation, here’s how the antiquated system worked in the 80s. I filled out a two-sided, single-page questionnaire with basic info and still photos, what AMI called the “Perfect Match Profile.” I’d go there and leaf through the binders of profiles, find the ones I liked, and ask to see the corresponding videos with scintillating questions like, “What’s your idea of a romantic date?” and “Where do you see yourself in five years?” If I liked a video, AMI would snail mail a postcard to my chosen one, asking him to come in and look at my profile and video. If it’s a “yes” from him, AMI snailed me a postcard with his phone number. It was up to me, the initial chooser, to call the amenable chosen one. If someone chose me first, it would go the other way around. Don’t think I had too many of those.

What a process! Had to be patient in those days.

I’d been in the club for a year and had about eight dates before meeting Kevin. He was new, and I was his first, occasioning his tongue-in-cheek comment that he didn’t get his money’s worth on the exciting dating scene. I told him, “You lucked out big time.” The eight dates I had were painfully awkward. My favorite was the guy who had a fantasy of driving me to the restaurant on the back of his motorcycle. On the phone I said, no way, I’ll meet you outside and we’ll take a cab. He showed up at my building with his motorcycle anyway. On the intercom, I nixed the motorcycle ride again and refused to open the door so he could leave his helmet in my apartment. When we got back from the date, his helmet was no longer dangling from the handlebars.

Six months to the day after our first date at Windows on the World, Kevin proposed—also at Windows on the World. I could guess what was coming as he nervously whispered his practice lines. So could the party of four sitting at the next table. Before Kevin could take out the ring box, one of the men blurted in a Texas accent, loud enough for us to hear, “I think he’s going to propose!” It was a “yes” from me, of course, uttered shyly to Kevin as he put the diamond on my finger, with my back partially turned to that boisterous (drunk?) group.

Soon after, we went back to AMI and politely demanded our profiles and videos as keepsakes. When they found out we were engaged, the cry went out, “Engagement here!” Three or four startled singles in the library looked up from the profile books and started clapping. AMI agreed to release our profiles and videos only after shaking us down for a Member Profile Interview to publish in their newsletter. The writer got creative and colorful in exaggerating our respective career titles and “quoting” our remarks about the fabulous AMI system.

And the rest is history.

I owe Kevin, as well as other family members and friends, my gratitude in helping me through my 2023 health setback. Chemo, surgery, and most side effects are now out of the way with complete success, so it’s full speed ahead with good health in the New Year! I had to quit teaching dance for several months, but I’m back now and looking forward to teaching many adult classes in 2024.

This photo with some of my students at Scarsdale Ballet Studio was taken in February before I went on break. I danced at home during this period to try and keep in shape.

 

Here is a still from a short piece of choreography I recorded in July, pre-surgery. You can watch it here on YouTube.

 

The writing life continues. Had a lot of fun appearing on the Voice of Indie podcast in August. You can hear it here. The two hosts, Beem Weeks and Stephen Geez, are excellent writers with interesting books I recommend.

Didn’t get anything published in 2023 but wrote a few stories and I’m close to finishing a book-length collection of short fiction. Murderous Ink Press will be publishing my story, “A Father’s Duty,” in one of their 2024 anthologies. I’m most excited about my new novel, Indelicate Deception, a character-driven family drama with an element of suspense and social thematic underpinnings. Although one of the characters is a lawyer, the novel is a far departure from my Dana Hargrove suspense novels. I finished the first draft early in the year, polished it, and am sending out queries to literary agents. Wish me luck trying to get this book out to the world sooner than later!

Dear friends, here’s to health, happiness, and peace in 2024 and beyond,

Vija

Gratitude and Curiosity…and a Post Script

Posted on by - Ballet & Mystery, Dance

My Royal Academy of Dancing certificates, faded and stained, hang on the wall near my computer desk. I see them every day, but like so many things in the home environment, they fade into the background and go unnoticed. Today I focused on them with feelings of gratitude—and curiosity.

The gratitude: For my parents

With seven children and very little money, they still found a way to give me ballet training. They knew how much I loved it. I lived for dance class, twice a week as I remember, plus rehearsals. Professional-level training should be daily, but that was something well outside the family budget. As a teen, with my own income, I added classes and somehow made it to a performing artist. Ballet, and later, jazz and contemporary styles.

Dance has stayed with me for more than 60 years and now I dance daily, either taking or teaching class. No other form of exercise includes all this: full-body strengthening, flexibility, stamina, and coordination; musicality, mathematical precision, and artistry; mental acuity and memory improvement; organization and discipline. Surrounded by other dancers in the studio, you absorb their energy and gain inspiration. You walk out of there feeling happy the rest of the day. An endorphin high.

Okay, you get it. I’m grateful.

The curiosity: Who were my RAD examiners?

My RAD certificates are signed by my examiners: Ruth French and Jean Bedells. I was a teenager when I took those exams. Like most teenagers, I lived in blissful ignorance of the backgrounds and daily lives of my teachers and elders. I knew next to nothing about the RAD examiners.

All I knew was this. The studio I attended in Oakland California was an affiliate of the Royal Academy of Dancing in England, whose president, Dame Margot Fonteyn (1919-1991), was the prima ballerina in a storied partnership with Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993). In 1962, when Fonteyn considered retiring from the stage, she reluctantly agreed to dance with the Russian defector, who was 19 years her junior.

 

As it turned out, their unlikely partnership was magical and lasted for decades. Nureyev once said of Fonteyn that they danced with “one body, one soul”. Their last performance together was “Baroque Pas de Trois” in September 1988 when Fonteyn was 69 and Nureyev was 50; they danced with Carla Fracci, then 52.

Click here for a video of Fonteyn and Nureyev dancing the Swan Lake pas de deux on the Ed Sullivan show in 1965. Fonteyn was 46 years old. Gorgeous.

I digress. Back to my exams.

My training in classical ballet followed the RAD syllabus. Every two years, RAD examiners traveled from London to our studio in California. As I recall, a few students took the exam together. We wore a regulation outfit: black leotard and pink tights with a particular kind of skirt and headband. The examiner sat at the front of the studio and gave us the exercises and dance combinations using the French terms. What’s the difference between a “pas de bourrée dessus” and a “pas de bourrée dessous”? The words sound almost the same, but you’d better know which one the examiner wants you to do. Nowadays, when I teach, I call them “pas de bourrée over” and “pas de bourrée under.” So much easier.

In my recent search for information about my examiners, I couldn’t seem to find the “Royal Academy of Dancing.” Isn’t that the organization on my certificates? Mystery solved when I learned that the name changed to “Royal Academy of Dance” in 1999. Does “dancing” sound too pedestrian? Better to say “the dance,” pronounced like “the sconce.”

My elementary examiner was Ruth French (1903-1986). It was 1970, I was 16, and the lady from England seemed ancient. In fact, French was a year younger than I am now—and, of course, as you surely will say, I’m not ancient, or even very old (!)

French danced before the so-called birth of British Ballet, so she had to develop her own career. When touring, she advertised with her own publicity boards—like the one pictured above. She twice appeared in Royal Command performances and danced with Anna Pavlova in the 1920s. In a 1935 production of Swan Lake, young Margot Fonteyn and Ruth French were co-stars, Fonteyn dancing Odette (the white swan), and French dancing Odile (the black swan). French later became a respected teacher and an examiner for the RAD. In 1973, she received the Queen Elizabeth II Coronation Award.

My intermediate level examiner was Jean Bedells (1924-2014), daughter of Phyllis Bedells (1893-1985), who was a founding member of the RAD in 1920 and helped develop its first syllabus. Jean Bedells performed with Sadler’s Wells Ballet, the precursor to the Royal Ballet.

Here is a photo of her as a teenager in 1938. A list of Bedells’ performances includes a 1942 performance of Coppélia in which she danced the part of one of Swanilda’s friends. Thirty years later, in 1972, I danced that role in the RAD company I performed with in the East Bay Area, Dancer’s Theatre.

 

Here is another photo of Bedells from a performance of “The Quest” in 1943. Not sure, but I think she’s the one in the middle.

 

In performance, 1973, when I had enough hair for a bun

I never took the RAD advanced level exam. I was training for it when I decided to switch studios. In 1973, I joined Carlos Carvajal’s Dance Spectrum in San Francisco.

This is me on stage in Carlos Carvajal’s “Iridis,” to Ravel’s “Le Tombeau de Couperin.” Beautiful music and choreography.

I’ve enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, along with everything I learned with a little extra research. Now for a….

Post Script

Here’s a bit of news about my other passion—fiction writing!

As many of you know, the sixth and final Dana Hargrove legal mystery, Power Blind, was published in January 2022. A few years ago, the first four novels were combined into two e-book double sets, making them available at a discount and free to Kindle Unlimited members. Now the third and final “Dana Hargrove Double” (novels 5 and 6) is on pre-order, to be released February 17.

Here’s the real news. During the preorder period, all three double sets are priced at just 99 cents (regularly $5.99). All six novels, for pennies. So, load up your Kindle before February 17 for rainy day reading to come!

I’ve just finished writing a new novel (very different from the Dana Hargrove series), and I’m on a hunt for a literary agent. Wish me luck!

Ciao for now.

Summer into Fall…

Posted on by - The Dana Hargrove Novels

Summer sure flew by! As we acclimate to cooler days, I have a few summer highlights to share.

While fine-tuning the sixth Dana Hargrove novel (announcement coming soon!!!), I’ve been running giveaways and sales on the earlier novels. A big thank you to the many, many readers who entered and won the Goodreads giveaways and those who purchased 99 cent copies of The Dana Hargrove Double: Thursday’s List and Homicide Chart in September.

NOT TOO LATE! A big sale is still going on through October 6. Get two novels in e-book for a mere 99 cents: The Dana Hargrove Double: Forsaken Oath and Deep Zero. Don’t miss it!

Later this month, I will have news for you about the sixth Dana Hargrove novel of legal suspense, so stay tuned!

Meanwhile, exciting short story news. Coming in October from Unsettling Reads, the anthology Autumn Noir, which includes a season-appropriate tale by Yours Truly! I can’t wait to read the entire collection. It promises to be gritty and atmospheric.

Besides writing, I had a great summer in the world of dance. After more than a year of teaching ballet on Zoom, I took the summer off and made a few dance class videos, ballet and jazz, for my students who continue to dance at home. All available on my YouTube channel. Here are a few stills:

My husband installed that beautiful wood floor in our favorite sun room, great for dancing!

I’m back in the studio, teaching and taking class in person. Screens away! Great to be back.

Cheers!

2020: Positivity and Perfect Vision

Posted on by - 2020

Perfect Vision

In 1989, the lure of big cash, fame, and glory, inspired me to write my first novel. The “Turner Tomorrow Fellowship Award” called for unpublished works of fiction on the theme of creative and positive solutions to global problems. Set in 2020, with an oh-so original title, Perfect Vision was to be my stunning debut novel, featuring a cast of fascinating, prescient characters who creatively avert a future dystopia. I gave it a happy ending. Sadly, however, Ted Turner passed on this masterpiece, cliches and all. The trash can wasn’t so picky.

Accentuate the Positive

Now, as we say goodbye to the actual 2020, I’m giving the final page a happy ending. “You’ve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative,” Bing would sing. I hope you’ve been cheered by at least a few positives this year. Here are mine.

The year started out great with the January launch of Seven Shadows and two sets of Dana Hargrove Doubles on Kindle Unlimited: Thursday’s List & Homicide Chart and Forsaken Oath & Deep Zero.

My writing brain took a while to refocus, but now I’m well into a draft of the sixth, and final, Dana Hargrove novel. Title to be announced! I’m also working on a new story collection.

In February, before the pandemic hit, we had a fantastic road trip through Southern states. Click on my travelogue for all the highlights: routes, sights, events, food, and more.

Social Distancing = More Socializing

Say what? This year has seen more frequent socializing—but of a different kind—with neighbors, friends, and family.

Used to be that the only breathing creatures out for a walk on our quiet cul-de-sac were the deer and squirrels. That changed with homeschooling and work at home. Now everybody needs to get out for a little fresh air and a walk. We’ve had many socially distanced conversations with our wonderful neighbors, and during the warm months, even had a few happy hour gatherings in the turnaround at the end of our cul-de-sac.

Speaking of walks, we are blessed with many beautiful nature trails in the area, and it’s been nice to see more families out together walking. One day, I was surprised to hear a lone saxophone player in the woods. Click here to go to my Instagram post to hear the beautiful sound.

We’re all Zooming, of course, and this has meant more interaction on screen with my children, siblings, and other family members who do not live nearby (why didn’t we always do this?) My longstanding book group of close friends, the Lit Chicks, have had more meetings online than ever before, and I found a new online book group full of smart, insightful fiction lovers, Books and Bars. Great books and intelligent conversation!

Dance, Dance, Dance

Virtual dance classes at home make it easier to get to class! Kevin installed a beautiful wood floor in our sunroom this spring, giving ample space to take class and teach class.

Wasn’t so easy, figuring out camera angle, sound, and virtual teaching techniques, mirroring and saying “left” when I’m on my right. A fun challenge. The sides of my brain may be permanently switched. To my dedicated group of adult dancers at Scarsdale Ballet Studio: thank you! It’s been wonderful teaching you ballet and jazz and watching you dance on my screen.

Not having to deal with driving or riding the train long distances has made it easier to take classes I would not otherwise get to. Big thanks to all the wonderful ballet and contemporary dance artists whose classes I’ve taken this year: Christian Claessens, Igal Perry, Nina Goldman, Tanner Schwartz, David Fernandez, Tobin Eason, Noriko Hara, Kate Loh, Nancy Bielski, Teresa Perez Ceccon, Diane McCarthy, Laurie DeVito, Jana Hicks, Tyrone Monroe, and Johanna Bergfelt.

And so ends another year, with great things to look forward to in 2021. I’m grateful for my health and the health of my family. Yesterday, December 30, Kevin and I celebrated our 32nd wedding anniversary.

Here’s wishing you a Happy and Healthy New Year full of laughter, dance, fiction, and fun.

Discovering America Travelogue (4) — February 2020

Posted on by - 2020, Travelogue

 

I started writing this travelogue a month ago. Now, as we shelter in to flatten the curve, the crowded restaurants and traffic jams mentioned in this post are from a past world. Let’s hope we’re all on the move again soon.

What do Charlotte, Atlanta, Naples, Savannah, and Washington D.C. have in common? They were all stops on our latest mileage consumption, February 13-25. Twelve days of great discoveries.

First leg, New York to Charlotte, N.C., mostly on I-81. Back roads are nice, but if you must take an interstate, I-81 is quite scenic, especially in the rolling hill country of West Virginia.

Charlotte is a sizable city with a small-town feel. The skyscrapers are beautifully lit at night.

We enjoyed dinner at Duckworth’s (I’ve never seen so many beer pulls and TV screens), where the waiter carded me when I ordered a glass of wine. Yes, you say, that’s because I don’t look a day over 20. (Has nothing to do with Duckworth’s carding policy.)

The next morning we had breakfast at the Red Eye Diner, where the motto is: “Life is Short. Eat Great Food and Have Fun.”

At the Red Eye, you’ll enjoy your comfort food surrounded by iconic photos and souvenirs of rock ’n roll legends.

Then, on to Atlanta, mostly on I-85, where entry into peach country is marked by the tall “Peachoid” water tower in Gaffney, South Carolina.

By late afternoon, we settled into our Airbnb apartment on Peachtree Street NE, then headed to the Cumberland Mall for dinner. It has tons of restaurants and is close to the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Center, where we had tickets for the Atlanta Ballet. Got there, and oops, little did we know that 99% of Atlanta descends on the Mall for Saturday dinner. After circling like raptors, sheer luck got us a spot in the outer reaches of the enormous parking lot. Our trek began. A sea of shimmering cars, inquiries at half a dozen restaurants, all with an hour wait. Time to pull out our tried-and-true strategy. The trick is to spy a couple of empty seats at the bar and waltz past the crush of people at the door. We did this (with the hostess’s blessing) at Ted’s Montana Grill and had a delicious dinner. Seats at the bar can be just as comfortable as a table and far more interesting: You get to watch the bartenders at work.

The Atlanta Ballet was simply excellent. We saw “Elemental Brubeck” (delightful choreo by Lar Lubovitch, music by Dave Brubeck), “Tuplet” (unique, contemporary, surprising, and funny choreo by Alexander Ekman, music and sound by Mikael Karlsson), and “Sunrise Divine” (contemporary ballet Complexions-style by Dwight Rhoden, arrangement and original music by Dr. Kevin P. Johnson, awesome live gospel performance by the Spelman College Glee Club). And (reality check), at the Cobb Center (unlike Lincoln Center), there are no lines for the ladies’ room at intermission. I commend the architect.

The next day, Sunday, was rainy and cold (45-50˚), not the best for outdoor sightseeing. We started the morning with toasted bagel and coffee at Einstein Bros. Bagels (a favorite of ours when on the road!), and went to the Atlanta History Center. Really interesting. A refresher course on the Civil War, Reconstruction, and the U.S. Supreme Court’s abysmal opinions, 1870s to 1950s, which gutted the early Civil Rights Act and the Equal Protection Clause. Here is a good historical summary of Court decisions on civil rights.

On the museum grounds, we visited the historic Swan House, maintained in the style of a wealthy Atlanta family in the 1930s. My favorite room was the kitchen.

Later that afternoon, my husband gave in to my repeated demands to see the Georgia Aquarium. Once we were there, he had to agree—fish are fine entertainment. They come in an amazing variety of shapes, sizes, and colors, and appear to be just as happy in those large tanks as they would be in their natural habitats, unlike caged and restless zoo animals that stir up your guilt feelings.

Here is the cool place where they swim on top and all around you.

The Aquarium is in Centennial Olympic Park where the 1996 Summer Olympic Games were held. By the time we finished with the fish it was dinnertime, so we walked across the park to Ruth Chris’s Steakhouse.

A chilly night, but the fog, obscuring parts of the buildings, was very beautiful.

 

The huge restaurant was half empty, but they still denied us a table. “Reservation only.” (Did we look that bad?) The real reason seemed to be the limited staff for a Sunday. So, again, we grabbed seats at the bar and had a delicious dinner. The best steak I’ve ever eaten. No kidding.

 

While packing the next morning, I narrowly escaped death from a hidden hazard in our Airbnb: a huge picture came crashing down. Only after the crash did we see that it had not been fastened to the wall but merely propped on a table.

I was so unnerved that I left my travel buddy behind on the bed—not my husband, my favorite memory-foam pillow. A hundred miles down I-75, I noticed the loss. At our next stop, Brooksville FL, I bought another pillow at a Bed Bath and Beyond, and then we had dinner at Carrabba’s Italian Grill. The food was good, but the service somewhat hilarious. The very young, eager-to-please waitperson was so intent on delivering her rehearsed lines that she was deaf to our needs. For example, “Take your time,” was her cheerful directive upon delivering the check as she swept away, with a smile, our coffee and pie, only half-consumed and still desired.

The next morning, we started the last leg to Naples, taking a scenic route. At Tampa, we took I-275 across the bay, picked up to-go lunch at a Publix, and went to Indian Rocks Beach to eat. Finally some warmth after the chilly temperatures in Charlotte and Atlanta! After lunch, I couldn’t resist a stop for ice cream at Tropical Ice Cream & Coffee, on Gulf Blvd. Highly recommended!

 

Then, down the peninsula on Routes 699 and 19, through the resort beach towns, to St. Petersburg and onto the amazing Sunshine Skyway Bridge, I-275. Spectacular. Later, I Wikipediaed the Skyway and learned of the disaster in 1980, when a freighter slammed into the southbound span of the old bridge, causing its collapse, killing 35. They used the northbound span until the new bridge opened in 1987, and kept a small section of the old bridge for a fishing pier.

Got to Naples and spent three gorgeous days of sunny weather, 80-85˚, much better than our trip in January 2019, when it was unpleasantly cold and rainy. Naples isn’t new to us, a place to visit family, to have good times, great food and conversation either at home or on the beach or by the pool. A new experience this trip was a pleasant boat ride on the Gordon River at the Conservancy of Southwest Florida. Our boat captain/tour guide, who may have been 101 years old, was very knowledgeable about the mangroves and wildlife. I was only mildly nervous about his navigating abilities.

On Friday, Feb 21, we left Naples and drove to St. Augustine, arriving about 6 p.m., after construction and traffic jams around Orlando. Goodbye warm weather. Freezing and windy! We crossed the Tolomato River on the Francis and Mary Usina Bridge from St. Augustine to Vilano Beach. Do I look like I’m having fun?

As you might guess, our “walk” on the beach lasted two minutes. I’d like to visit the beautiful Vilano Beach again someday—when it’s warm.

We had a nice dinner at 180 Vilano Grill (seafood for me, pizza for Kevin). The food was delish, but we were seated in the last available booth, directly across from the bathroom door, which I kept closing when people left it open. Our tendency to choose crowded restaurants must be a sign of our instinct for finding the best ones!

That night, we stayed at the Hampton Inn & Suites in Vilano Beach, where dozens of ladies wearing pirate hats were having a convention, eating pizza and salad in the lobby and ballroom. Our room was very nice, but gave us an unpleasant surprise. As usual, I got out of bed in the middle of the night, not bothering to turn on the lights. Too blinding. Then, very strange. Was I dreaming? In the dark bathroom, I padded through a thin layer of water. There’d been a slow leak in a pipe under the sink. The bottom of my PJs got wet. Luckily, I had another pair.

The next day, Saturday Feb 22, we left St. Augustine and drove north on Route 1, a nice wide parkway (part of the “Dixie Highway”) Near Jacksonville, we took I-295 over the St. Johns River on another impressive cable bridge, the Dames Point Bridge (officially the Napoleon Bonaparte Broward Bridge).

About 2 o’clock we stopped in Savannah GA for lunch. The historic district was hopping with live music and people shamelessly imbibing on the streets, already half drunk. Then it dawned on us, oh, yeah, this is the weekend before Mardi Gras (either that, or Savannah is a 24/7 party town). Drinking and carousing didn’t appeal to us, so we got in line for a table at Vinny Van Go-Go’s Pizza. Yes, another crowded restaurant. The pizza was pretty good. Cash only! Not many places like that are still around. Luckily, we had the cash, and not much was needed. Conveniently next door was a fabulous ice cream place, Savannah’s Candy Kitchen. As you might guess, I was not about to resist.

Thus refreshed, we drove to our next stop, Fayetteville NC, for an overnight rest before completing the drive to Washington D.C. The next day on I-95, there was an accident near Richmond VA, and the Google lady told us to take exit 104 to US 301. A lovely detour. We enjoyed this nice little highway with cows and farms and hills before getting into D.C., late afternoon. Checked into the Washington Court Hotel on New Jersey Avenue. Comfortable and very convenient to the Mall. After a stroll at sunset, we had a lovely dinner at the bistro in the hotel.

Monday February 24, legislators were back at work after their Presidents’ Week break. We went to Kirstin Gillibrand’s office in the Russell Senate Office building, and an intern gave us passes to the House and Senate Galleries. The Russell building, like all the government buildings we visited, is fitted with opulent amounts of marble, hallways as wide as two-lane highways, and ceilings 20 feet above our heads. Grand and beautiful, with its implicit statement of lofty purpose, but undoubtedly a fortune in tax dollars to heat, cool, and maintain.

Our next stop was Congress, where nothing was happening. We saw the empty House chamber and decided to return at 3 p.m., when the Senate would be in session. We walked past the U.S. Supreme Court, where oral argument was underway in the case of U.S. Forest Service and Atlantic Coast Pipeline LLC v Cowpasture River Preservation Assn. At stake in this case (read here) is a permit for a right-of-way for a natural gas pipeline to tunnel 600 feet beneath the Appalachian Trail. Outside the Court were a few news reporters, demonstrators opposed to the pipeline, and a blocks-long line to get inside for a three-minute look at oral argument.

We declined the opportunity to spend hours in that line, instead going next door to the Library of Congress, resplendent with beautiful art and inspirational quotes on the walls, ceilings, lunettes. Here is one of the paintings of the ideals (all female, of course) Wisdom, Understanding, Knowledge, and Philosophy.

Another favorite of mine is the mural panel “Courage” by artist George Willoughby Maynard, not to be mistaken as COVERAGE, spelled with a typo. I suppose our desire to look erudite is the driving motivation behind adherence to the ancient Roman convention of using V’s instead of U’s.

The Library houses several interesting exhibits. We spent the most time in Exploring the Early Americas (read: Invading the Early Americas), with its interactive maps of indigenous peoples dealing with and defending against self-entitled Europeans.

Here is the Gutenberg Bible, the first book printed from movable metal type in 1455.

We had lunch in the spacious 6th floor cafeteria in the James Madison Memorial Building. Tons of food choices, a wall of windows on the city, and swarms of government employees (giving me flashbacks of my lunch breaks in years gone by). We returned to the Supreme Court (oral argument now over), and sat in the courtroom, listening to an energetic former federal law clerk, who finished her lecture about the Court with a punchline: The highest court in the land is not the one we were sitting in but the one directly above us on a higher floor—a basketball court for the Justices and their staffs. Yours Truly, Esq., did not learn much of anything new from the lecture, but my curiosity was satisfied, seeing the space where important cases are heard. The magnificence of the courtroom does not outclass the beautiful New York appellate courts where I have argued and worked, the First and Second Department Appellate Divisions, respectively.

We were back on Capitol Hill at 2:30, hopefully in time for the pledge of allegiance and opening prayer at 3:00, but security took too long. When we tiptoed into the Senate gallery (balcony) at about 3:20, Senator Tammy Baldwin (D-Wisconsin) was standing at the podium, facing the empty chamber, reading a speech. We were mystified. Was this a rehearsal of some kind? All 100 seats were empty, each desk with a little white booklet in the middle. Behind Senator Baldwin sat the presiding officer (not VP Pence or President Pro Tempore Grassley but a designee). At the long desk in front of her sat a few officials (e.g. legislative clerk and secretary), and on the carpeted steps on the sides sat a dozen or more 16-year-old pages, eager for something to do. Occasionally, one would jump up and deliver a glass of water to the presiding officer, who seemed to need four or five cupsful during the speech. It was quite long.

Soon enough, it became clear that the speech was a relic of the past. I peeked over the shoulder of the woman sitting next to me, who was following along in one of those little white booklets. (How did we miss getting one of those?) It was President Washington’s Farewell Address from 1796. Later, I learned of the yearly Senate tradition, dating back to 1888, for a different Senator to deliver the Address during the week of Washington’s birthday. Perhaps it’s time to reconsider this tradition? We could save on printing costs for all those wasted little booklets. The Senators aren’t interested.

To give you a flavor, here is the opening paragraph-long sentence of Washington’s speech:

“The period for a new election of a citizen to administer the executive government of the United States being not far distant, and the time actually arrived when your thoughts must be employed in designating the person who is to be clothed with that important trust, it appears to me proper, especially as it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the public voice, that I should now apprise you of the resolution I have formed, to decline being considered among the number of those out of whom a choice is to be made.”

Translation: “I’m not running for a third term.”

Washington’s advice, designed to inspire and guide future generations (i.e. us), is to beware the forces of geographical sectionalism, political factionalism, and foreign influence as potentially undermining our national interest, our independence, and republican form of government. Here is Washington’s Farewell Address, just in case you are dying to read it.

Still awake when the speech ended, we stuck around for another hour and saw several senators speak for about 10 minutes each. One by one, they addressed an empty chamber, as a stenographer stood nearby, typing on a steno machine hanging from her neck. Sen. McConnell recognized the career of retired Navy Adm. Joseph Maguire whose service as acting Director of National Intelligence “concluded last week” (read: he was replaced); Sen. Casey honored three people from Pennsylvania for Black History Month; Sen. Cornyn spoke in support of bills to prohibit abortions after 20 weeks and to protect babies born alive during late-term abortions; and Sen. Boozman spoke in support of a bill to improve delivery of veterans’ health care, then paid tribute to the author of True Grit, Charles Portis, who had just died in his home state of Arkansas. At the outset of each speech, the presiding officer granted, “without objection,” the senator’s request, stated differently by each, that “the quorum call be rescinded” or “be dispensed with” or “be vitiated.”

This experience disabused me of my impression that a quorum of senators is present in the chamber during speeches like this. If you watch Senate proceedings on TV, it’s not so obvious that no one is in the room. At about quarter after five we had to leave, not knowing that (found out later) the session went on until almost 8 p.m. You can watch the entire five hours here on CSpan.

We met our nephew at Reren Lamen & Bar for delicious Asian fusion cuisine and good conversation. The wall with the big green dragon is great background for selfies. The next morning was rainy and cold and we were all vacationed out. We abandoned our tentative plans for more touring and hit the road home.

A final, very important note: With all those hours in the car, audiobooks are essential. We listened to two. On the way to Florida, it was The Accident by Chris Pavone, about an anonymous manuscript that contains a dark secret about a powerful mogul and the various people who get murdered for trying to publish or profit from it. Entertaining for a car trip, but I found Pavone’s first novel, The Expats, a better thriller. On the way home we listened to the classic, A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. I highly recommend this audiobook, read by John Slattery, who brings the characters alive with his excellent narration.

Yes, this has been a long blog post, something to fill up the stay-at-home-itis. Congratulations are due anyone reading this to the end. Email me for your free prize, an e-book of your choice!

Let’s hope we’ll all be traveling and dining out again soon. Stay safe and healthy.

 

Ballet, Law, and Mystery

Posted on by - Ballet & Mystery

I was a guest recently on Something is Going to Happen, the preeminent blog of Janet Hutchings, editor of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine.  I share the post with you, below, and you may also click here to view the entire post with Janet’s comments.  Mystery lovers: take the time to scroll through the blog entries on the site: some interesting articles!

Also, check out the exciting July issue of EQMM.  My story, “Journal Entry, Franklin DeWitt,” will appear in the August issue!

Ballet, Law, and Mystery

Before writing fiction, I was a dancer and a lawyer. Still am, both. Oxymoron? You’d be surprised how many attorneys I meet in ballet class. Maybe it’s because law books and toe shoes are both hard—dancing attorneys are gluttons for punishment. On a positive note, ballet and the law share many nicer attributes. An idealized world, perfectionism, intellectual puzzles, exacting discipline, technical precision, and personal expression. The expressive medium of ballet is the more artistic, you might say, but I could debate the point (sounding like a lawyer here, even if we swap “point” for “pointe”).

My experience in the courtroom informs my fiction more often than my experience in the dance studio (although the protagonist in my novels, prosecutor Dana Hargrove, does take a weekly dance class with her sister Cheryl, a Broadway performer). With pleasure, I dove into the world of professional ballet in writing “Journal Entry, Franklin DeWitt,” for EQMM. Memories from the time I owned a dancewear shop came in handy for this story. It could take hours fitting those potential instruments of torture, pointe shoes, on the feet of persnickety ballerinas—always a Cinderella-esque exercise in frustration.

As for this blog piece, I thank Janet Hutchings for humoring my obsession and allowing this small offering, a short-short mystery. The style is not my usual, but like every word buff, I look for any excuse to have fun with language—here, the beautiful language of ballet. Consider, for example, this direction for a lovely petit allegro enchaînement: “Glissade précipitée en avant, temps levé, tombé, saut de chat.” If the ballet instructor were to say it like this—“Quick steps forward, hop, fall, and leap like a cat”—I might just walk out of class.

You will find, at the end of the story, a glossary of the less obvious ballet terms.

Doctor Coppélius Meets an Untimely Death at the Opera House

As the only child of two physicians, Sylvia Musette was destined for a future in the healing arts. So it seemed, until destiny took a detour on the occasion of her eighth birthday, when she was treated to a matinee at the National Ballet. From that moment, every step she took was a chassé toward her dream.

At seventeen, she signs with the company. Passion is no guarantee of talent, and Sylvia’s passion falls short of artistic distinction, her grand jeté an inch below soaring, her port de bras heartfelt but uninspiring. Ever hopeful, she languishes in the corps, one of many cygnettes, sylphs, and Wilis.

In her fifth spring season, the light of good fortune shines upon her. Ballet master Stanislav Gliadilev, towering over the diminutive Sylvia, twirls a waxed end of his mustache and declares: “Friend!” She fights to remain à terre. It’s her first supporting role! One of Swanilda’s six Friends in the comic ballet Coppélia. Her heart nearly sautés from her leotard before the impresario qualifies the offer: “Understudy!” Sylvia wilts.

An exhausting rehearsal schedule fails to wilt Les Amies, who remain remarkably healthy and uninjured while Sylvia shadows them, unnoticed, a fly on the studio mirror. With too much time on her hands, she is, quite unintentionally, on a gradual pas de bourrée couru toward her true calling in life. Nothing escapes her eye.

She studies the principals: prima ballerina Peony Torne in the role of Swanilda, Enrique Dagloose as her fiancé Franz, and Morton Avunculario as Doctor Coppélius. Peony is known for the delicacy of her petite batterie, Enrique for his ballon, and Morton for his danse de caractère. What is the secret of their success? They’re strong and beautiful, Morton the most powerful, a favorite of Gliadilev who always gives him what he wants. Fifteen years older than the others, Morton is made to look 85 on stage with a painted face and a wig of scraggly gray hair, stooped and teetering with the aid of a cane.

Hmm, Sylvia thinks, did this help Peony make it to the top? Perhaps if I cozy up to Morton the way she does, gazing droopingly at him while Enrique scowls with glints of daggers in his slitty eyes . . . ? The whole thing is backward from the story in the ballet. Swanilda isn’t attracted to that crotchety, diabolical inventor, Doctor Coppélius, a disturbing figure with a toyshop full of spooky, life-size mechanical dolls. And Swanilda is the jealous one, not the faithless Franz. He’s duped and smitten by the lifelike doll Coppélia, sitting on the balcony of the toyshop, reading a book.

On the eve of opening night, an hour before full dress, company class is held on stage with portable barres. Peony, Morton, and Enrique plié center stage, and the others fan out from center, the Friends, the Dolls, the townspeople, and finally the understudies, lining the dark edges. Sylvia is a useless appendage, she feels. At least she would like to observe the greats, but they’re barely visible behind all the bodies executing les exercices à la barre: tendus, dégagés, ronds de jambe and finally, battements en cloche.

A small commotion erupts. Rats! What’s happening over there? Enrique mutters something to Morton, who gives an audible harrumph and stumbles away in the hunched posture of Doctor Coppélius, hand at the back of his neck. The dancers disperse to dressing rooms, wishing each other “merde.” The maître de ballet spies the understudies and shrieks: “Get off the stage!” In the midst of chaos, Sylvia slithers behind a wing, unnoticed.

Second act, it’s the dead of night, and something is astir, a menace of unknown origin. Swanilda and Friends break into the toyshop, setting the mechanical dolls to life. The Troubadour executes a stiff tour en l’air, the Spanish Doll a sharp coupé fouetté raccourci, the Scottish Doll a nervous pas emboîté en tournant. The Doctor bursts in! Friends scatter, Swanilda hides, Franz sneaks in through a window and is caught! Intending mockery, Doctor Coppélius produces two tankards, and they drink heartily to Franz’s love for Coppélia.

Franz is passed out when Swanilda appears, impersonating the mechanical doll Coppélia. But the Doctor is not quite himself. Deathly pale, he staggers off stage, totters and collapses behind the façade of the toyshop. With a brisk brisé volé, Swanilda runs to him. The music stops. “Morton, darling!” She cradles the gray-wigged head in her lap and looks up, searching blindly. “Please, somebody, help!” The Doctor needs a doctor. The maître drops to her knees, frantically feeling for a pulse. It appears that Morton est mort.

From center stage, Gliadilev quiets the crowd. “Remain calm! I’ve called for an ambulance.” From behind the curtain, Sylvia discerns, in the tensing of muscle, the pain that the impresario feels for the loss of his friend. Or maybe he’s remembering the inferior quality of Morton’s understudy. Opening night will be a disaster.

“How can this be?” The tear-stained Peony stands, bras croisé, mindlessly stabbing piqués en croix with her right foot. “There!” She points to the tankards. “He’s been poisoned!” She whirls in renversé. “He did it!” Enrique is fingered. But Peony pirouettes anew, unable to make up her mind. “No . . . it has to be him!” She points at the mousy little props man, scratching his head in confusion.

“Wait! You’re wrong.” Sylvia chaînés swiftly out from the wing. Quickly, before Gliadilev can banish her, she grabs the tankards, one at a time, and drinks from each. “It’s water.” She licks her lips. “Maybe a bit of iron oxide.”

Dumbfounded, the company awaits Sylvia’s next move. Like magic, a path to the body is cleared. Sylvia kneels, removes the wig, and palpates gently. “Basilar skull fracture, occipital bone, subdural hematoma likely. Suffered a blow with a blunt instrument. He’s been dying slowly before our eyes.”

There’s a communal gasp amid darting, wary glances. Was it the Troubadour’s lute, the Scottish Doll’s bagpipes, the Spanish Doll’s fan, or that little hardcover book Coppélia was reading? Maybe the assailant used the Doctor’s own cane, or a dismantled section of the barre? Sylvia examines the shape of the injury, mentally calculating height and velocity. She stands to face Enrique, his head drooping en bas. For weeks now she’s been studying him, getting to know every habit and quirk of technique. “You were standing behind Morton at the barre. It was your battement en cloche, wasn’t it? Directed straight to that nice little groove between neck and skull.”

“But,” Enrique protests, “I didn’t mean for him to die!” The suspect attempts an échappé sauté, but Gliadilev seizes him before he can run.

Intentional, reckless or negligent? A question for another day, a question for a jury. With a joyful sissone fermé, the case, for now, is closed. Sylvia is arisen from the corps.

A Literally Figurative Glossary of Ballet Terms

ballon: lightness, the ability to remain suspended in the air.

battements en cloche: beats like a bell. Basically, you swing your leg front and back, very high, like the clapper of a bell; it’s fun and relaxing.

bras croisé: arms crossed.

brisé volé: broken, flying. A beautiful light step with a small beat of the legs.

chaînés: chains, links. These are fast turns in a line, spotting your destination. Really fun to do and a good way to get dizzy if not done properly.

chassé: chase. Slide forward, one foot chasing the other.

coupé fouetté raccourci: literally cut, whip, and shorten. Does this give you any sense of what it looks like? Too difficult to explain.

échappé sauté: escape leap. As you jump, the feet “escape” from fifth position into second.

merde: I don’t need to tell you what this really means. It’s a dancer’s “good luck” wish.

pas de bourrée couru: a series of tiny rapid steps on pointe. When ballerinas look like they’re floating across the stage, this is what they’re doing.

pas emboîté en tournant: a springy, boxed-in step in a circle.

petite batterie: small battery in the sense of beating. There’s a lot of beating in ballet terminology, although it’s far from a violent art form.

piqués en croix: sharp piercing taps with the toe, front, side, back, in the shape of a cross.

renversé: reversed. You wouldn’t think this word is enough to describe the actual movement. It’s a turn with a pitched body and a high, circling leg.

sissone fermé: a leap from two feet into a split, landing on two feet in a closed position.

tour en l’air: turn in the air. Jump straight up, do a full revolution like a pencil, and land. Harder than it looks.