back en pointe and it feels s̶o̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ like I'm dying

No, actually, it was fine. My ankles are in need of some serious work, and I have to figure out how to move my feet while they are encased in cinder blocks again, but it went better than I expected. I even kept my shoes on for the entire hour. I talked to my teacher about changing my schedule around, and while it'll mean more evenings of commuting/washing tights it will also mean I have a little extra energy for pointe. I also got the go-ahead to wear pointes at barre in any class I take. I may try that eventually, but for now I am just trying to get back in to the swing of things.
So, here I am, after five months off pointe and a summer spent mostly working with very few dancing interludes. After a solid vacation, a bit of perspective shifting (you know the Butte fire? I have family up there) and a wretched RA flare (over now) I am feeling positive about ballet again and am ready to feel graceful again (as much as I ever do...)
You know what the best part is? I now get to watch one of my regular classes as an outsider. It's really remarkable how lovely and beautiful everyone looks when they're moving, something you rarely get to experience while taking the class yourself. No one has a perfect body, or flawless technique, or 180* turnout, but they all looked so pretty anyway, turning across the floor.

terrifying, honestly

BAM! And she's doing piqué turns en pointe, everybody.
'Betta recognize, mothafuckas.*

*EVERY single time I try to type "mothafucka" it comes out as "mothfucka". I don't even know.

The Hardest Thing

Last night's 2.5 hour block of class was taught by a substitute instructor. She's a nice gal, one that often attends those classes herself, but is obviously a ballerina extraordinaire. Like, seriously ass-rockin'ly good. Does those one-footed relevés en pointe without so much as a twitch of difficulty while I laboriously haul myself up there using 10% muscle power and 90% barre. That sort of thing.
It's okay to have subs, but they do throw off your groove. You learn to expect a certain type of combination with a certain type of port de bras to a certain type of music and then BAM! Suddenly you are trying to figure out what the hell is going on and you haven't even made it past tendus at the barre, yet. And you spend the next hour+ sort of shaking your head and guessing and/or flailing around hoping you hit a ballet position of some sort by blind luck.
Anyway.
When we would universally botch the hell out of an entire combination this teacher would give us another shot at it (or torture us by making us repeat something we obviously can't figure out? You be the judge.) which meant we ended up doing quite a few things over and over again. After watching us glide gracelessly across the floor for the requisite bourées en pointe she stopped us with a question. "So. Who here loves doing bourées?" and everyone just sort of stood there, listening to the crickets chirp (honestly, I enjoy them more than most things en pointe, but after two hours of class there are few things in the world that I like). SO! "Okay, you are doing them again. AND I want to see those happy faces and softened arms. You're performing, guys! You can do this! Smile!"
I suppose we smiled. Or perhaps we just grimaced in a convincing approximation. 
I think smiling is probably the hardest thing about ballet.

Maybe She's Born With it... Maybe it's Photoshop

From this Huffington Post article: Anna Pavlova in a famous picture you've probably seen before. But now in high enough resolution to see the century-old "photoshop" job on her pointe shoes! She was famous for having her photos retouched to make her feet look extra pointy and small, because she got a certain amount of crap for wearing modern-style shoes. This same crap-flinging tendency still exists in ballet, of course, but now it's mostly aimed at inovations like plastics and anything that reduces your pain level. Because dancers are crazy mofos.
Anyway, I just thought this was great.

Does this bother you?

This. This weird new use of the term "on point" to mean something is good, right, or trend-conscious. I've only really seen it in the past couple of years... and now it's everywhere. Oh god. It's so... it's so wrong. The only things that should ever be described as on point are A) dancers, and B) hunting dogs.
So just... no. Just don't. Don't do it. Think of some other way to say what you are going for. Some other way. There is always another way...

Okay, honestly this paragraph has allllll sorts of issues. Like... at once symmetrical and what? You can't just be "at once" one thing. At once symmetrical AND delicate? Exotic? Severe? Beautiful? FIND AN ADJECTIVE. 

Ahem.

Halcyon days of yore, balletversary!

This week is my three year balletversary! And my one year pointeversary (even though I have spent so much time out with injuries that it's more like month 9 or 10)! In celebration I executed my first real, full, honest-to-god pirouette en pointe last night! In truth, I am pretty sure I did it backwards. But, we were ALL doing them backwards (it's easier because the momentum of pushing off your working leg automatically pulls you around toward your center) so I am not going to complain too much. 
I am now going to be out of class for a couple of weeks while I take a well-earned vacation with my hubby and then have (not earned at all!) oral surgery about which I have been having panic attacks (two hours awake with people in my mouth! ARGH!) so they prescribed me an anti-anxiety drug called (I am not kidding) "Halcion". Ah ha ha. I see what you did there.

An Ode to Vintage Ballet Photography

Modern dance photography is all about captured movement. Graceful arabesques, dramatic leaps, and that fraction of a second when a dancer is perched just so on the front edge of her pointe shoe platform. Photography meant to inspire and thrill. To make you feel like you have seen a dance, not a photo. Dare I say it? This sort of fabulousness is ... well. Not really all that attainable for most of us.

from Gene Schiavone Photography

But Oh! for the days of classic ballet photography! Where a dancer could simply stand in her gloriously ornate costume and still cause a stirring in your heart:

Ornate and GIGANTIC. Did I mention gigantic?

How many modern dancers have even 

worn a costume big enough that you can't

get through the door?

I ask you.

Or better yet: lean subtly against the wall. Cuz mama don't need to be supporting her own weight for this whooooole dang long exposure. Walls were invented for a reason, right? Use 'em.

Look, if Margot Fonteyn can lean subtly against a wall then so can I.

Or. You know. Not so subtly:

Defiance

I don't have a lot to say right now because, let's face it, at the moment the whole ballet part of my brain is still excited about my acceptance to MIT (the Moose Institute of Toe-dancing. It's a Rocky and Bullwinkle joke, and I am terribly sorry if you are too young and/or not cool enough to get it. Netflix streaming, guys.) and my slow and steady progression in class. Two classes in I could already feel the difference in strength during technique class and three classes in I am starting to find my balance, though it is still pretty shaky business. I am also pretty sure I will NEVER get tired of hearing my teacher say "RPrin! You look so god en pointe! I just can't get over it!". I wanna hear it, babe! Don't get over it on my account! Flattery and compliments are a very strong motivating influence in my life, so keep it coming.

I shall now change the subject, because I know you are tired of hearing about pointe class, pointe shoes, and pointe EVERYTHING. Geeze, girl, get over your silly satin shoes and talk about something else for a while! Okay, okay! You don't have to be so grumpy about it, sheesh.

It occurs to me that it has been a bit over a year, now, since my last disastrous appointment with my rheumatologist. It took months to work up the nerve to file the complaint about it. It has taken me this long to even contemplate calling Kaiser for another appointment. I sometimes wonder if that is their goal: to make you so angry, depressed, and otherwise emotionally exhausted that you just give up and leave them alone.
Anyway, I am trying to psych myself in to it, but I think it's going to take me a little while.

My new goal is to combine these two topics by having someone photograph me standing en pointe and holding my cane. Ballet is my defiance.

Pointe Class!

Pardon me if I use a lot of exclamation points!* Because I had my first pointe class tonight! Woo! It was... exciting. When I was told to take my shoes off after half an hour I was THRILLED. My left foot is slightly longer than the right one, and HELLO I became aware of that left big toe in all new and exciting ways. Next time I guess I will cram some lamb's wool down in there. Or, you know, just amputate my toe like the ugly stepsisters after the ball.
I have been informed, though, that I am better on pointe than on flat. The teacher sat on the floor directly behind me at the barre and asked "are you sure you've never taken pointe before?"
Nope! I'm pretty sure I would remember that.
Anyway. I am glad it's over, and I never want to take my fuzzy socks off again.
But dude. Achievement unlocked (as the whippersnappers are saying these days. I assume it's some sort of video game reference but I don't know because I only play Katamari Damacy and Tetris.)

* !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shit Just Got Real

For the past few weeks I have been failing horribly to keep up with the relevés/calf lifts/basically anything at all with any potential to increase strength. I've been going up to brush my teeth at night and just feeling so exhausted that the entire concept of doing anything more demanding than sitting on the toilet lid while my electric toothbrush magically cleans my teeth for me is just TOO much. But there is no choice, now, dudes. I had better double down or GTFO.
Because tonight my teacher looked at me pointedly and told me she wanted to test me in to pointe within the next few weeks.
To which I say: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Basically.

So, what did *you* do this weekend?

Oh, you know. Just went for a walk with my pet turkey. En pointe.