Those Dancing Feet

The above pictures are from another’s camera taken last summer (thanks to the amazing MA). I think Sira’s gaping-mouthed examination of the tree is the same way he will sum me up, when--oh Jah, there goes my heart a fluttering again and my knees have gone week and my keyboard is getting damp with sweat—I take the stage for a showcase at the Community Theater next Saturday. For a whopping 5 weeks—not near long enough!—we’ve been learning the opening act of 42nd Street: The Audition. It is a fast, and I mean fast tap number; it’s faster from your own tapping feet’s perspective than from a flaccid audience member’s. Too fast to think and fast enough to slip and fall. The part where we waddle in place from foot to foot, penguin-like, and flap our arms furiously (watch for it) . . . kills; I gasp for air. I’ve got the feet, slower anyhow, but not so much the stamina or the memory. Help me! Oh, I mean, “Yes I Can!” (Had to get that in—you rock America!)

Hey, and the Great Miss Vickie, if you happen to read this, cast me in the 42nd Street chorus next June!

Minus the wings (phew!), THIS is what I will be doing over and over next week until at least Saturday and hopefully it ain’t over yet (no, this isn’t our class, silly!).