In one week we'll be in Lexington, KY helping our DD dedicate her life to DIL2. I am wearing my wedding shoes as I type to get my feet a little used to dress shoes since I spend my life in sneakers or snowboots. I hope it'll be warm there; it has to be warmer than here. Today it's supposed to rocket into the teens. *sigh* There's so little hope of spring here in March. At least it's bright and sunny today but there's no melting I can see. I'm sorry I talk about the weather so much, it's the major governor of my days. Walk outside or in? Wear shoes or fur-lined boots to work? Polar fleece or parka? Cotton sweater or wool? Three layers of shirts or only two? It's a lot to think about.
March 25--Edgar Degas, The Dance Class. Most of them won't make it, Gina thought and then she corrected herself, most of us won't. She stared at the row of young women in the long mirror on the studio wall. They were various heights and not uniformly thin. The desire to dance was indiscriminate, it struck in those who could perform the steps like a language they were born to and those who could not stay on tempo alike. She fit somewhere in between but her body was betraying her and she plunged headlong into puberty. She'd never be any taller but her bust was growing by the day and her hips expanded to keep pace. No one would ever call her a sylph. She still loved to dance, loved the silver feel of the music as she moved to it. She wasn't destined for the corps de ballet in some great company but she could enjoy the feeling of putting her muscles through their paces twice a week for the rest of her life.
Today's going to entail finding Durwood something to wear to the wedding that he feels good in. Tally-ho!
--Barbara
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