Perhaps I’m a natural complainer, or I truly do have a lower happiness quotient as I was getting pretty cranky at the building itself, but it was a valuable lesson in finding positive moments where there were major challenges. Then again, I’m pretty darn good at Where’s Waldo. So, I played the game & didn’t even need a guy in a red & white hat!
I love the ballet. I danced myself from when I was three until I was in about 4th or 5th grade. I knew I wasn’t built to fit the dancer’s life even that early so gave it up to my geeky awkward teen years. But, I never forgot the emotional joy of the physical strength, agility, or grace. I wanted my 12 year old to see the magic that a professional elite dance troop could create. The Moscow Ballet, with its tiny ballerina’s and strong assured graceful male dancers did just that. She loved it. I was pleased that she loved it. I was happy. That’s all that matters in the end.
The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies was as if cotton candy had come to life, floating on air. The dancers who had special parts during the fantasy numbers were amazing with their vibrant costumes and let’s face it, beyond perfect bodies! The couple doing the Arabian number had a 24 pack of abs as the male flipped the female around as if she were a child. Their poise; indescribable as they effortlessly bent or bowed with each other in a unison that made them look like one fluid motion. The tiny child dancer’s dressed as the mischievous mice scampered and played in a world clearly made for their very essence of innocence. All of this, of course was during the 2nd act. The one I could see.
What doesn’t matter, or didn’t really matter too much during the first half was that I couldn’t see more than about 10% of the stage. The Turning Stone Casino is built beautifully, with its fluid curving lines and natural earth tones. They had delicious food, courteous staff and a spectacular life size gingerbread village donning one section of the foyer. The overwhelming cigarette smoke made me want to gag. I hate cigarettes, and I figure, if someone wants to kill themselves with the stuff, they have the right. But, what a place like that doesn’t get is that the rest of us who choose NOT to be addicted to the toxic, smelly stuff have to suffer the flings & arrows of the cancerous air.
Inside the concert/performance room that would ordinarily be perfect for a comedian, was disastrous for a ballet AND, for children. I go to great lengths to keep smoke away from my kids. The air was thick with it. The tables were placed so close together that even the worst of airlines have better seating for their passengers. We were crammed in like sardines. There was cocktail table service for beverages which would have been great if I was drinking. I had my 12 year old with me and it was a 1 pm show. I was not drinking. I ordered coffee. The people at our table ordered alcohol. They won. They got their beer & margarita’s in about 2 minutes. My $2.00 8 oz. cup of coffee? An hour. I tipped the woman another $2.00 anyway. She works for a living. It made me feel better about my mean spirit.
The tables were vertical to the stage, so we all had to take our very tight space chairs and turn them on an angle to see. That was fine, until the tree of a man (seriously, about 6’6” & as broad across) and his 6’ rather grouchy wife sat in front of us. They turned, and the stage abruptly disappeared from site. Then, the server put someone at the table behind me that decided that he was going to require more room than I deserved. He slid over and if I had turned my head a little to the right, I could have licked him. I thought about it. His wife looked the type who wouldn’t appreciate it. And really, he didn’t look that appetizing.
So, I sat. My daughter sat on the end next to a lovely woman who was there to celebrate her birthday with her 19 year old. I missed my 19 year old and I’m very convinced that she would have made it a laugh out loud funny time from the beginning as she always sees the humor in things like this. My girl could see the show. I saw the tree. I decided to tweet the experience but as I began my twitter rant, I began to quickly find it to be more of a game. A challenge to find something positive in the experience. So, I discovered that for one thing, an oak cannot help its mighty size. He was a gentle giant, so I forgave him his girth. The poor guy couldn’t help that they stuck in him front of me any more than he could help the chairs to be too small for my buxom buttocks.
I thought about how I could benefit from the experience, so thought back to the original performances of this ballet, back in Moscow, Russia and what they were like for the people who sat at the crowded tables in the back. I had a full hour of day dreaming. Of deliciously wicked scheming, creating, having fun in my own head. Trying to watch the performance was fruitless, so I thought back to when my own Mom first brought me to see the Nutcracker when I was little.
I watched the little girl of about four at the next table. She squirmed and fiddled in her pretty dress and fly away dark hair as she bored with the show. Her Mom did everything she could to make it a magical time for the little girl, who in the end, won the fight of attention, and got to leave early. I thought hard about what sight is like for our grand-Mapa who has macular degeneration and can only see about 10% out of one eye. None out of the other. How frustrating it must be for a woman once so active. That is what I did. I spent the hour staring at the back of the tree, wondering if this is what it’s like for Genny every day. I am blessed in that I can look away and have perfect sight again.
The first half ended and so did my struggle. The tree made like a tree at the express insistence of his wife with her front row, perfect seat…and left. I’m trying to say, “Make like a tree and leave” but it’s not working out for me. Know why they left? The wife didn’t like their seats! Irony huh? The second half was all that enchantment and miracle in a tutu I just spoke of. My daughter sat in front of me. The man behind me was well, still egotistical in his choice of “close sitter” like behavior. But, I saw most of the rest of the show and it was grand.
I now have to go for a brisk walk and try to get some of the tar from my lungs, but this too shall pass. I’ll know better than to try to see any kind of show at the Turning Stone, unless I’m there as an addiction specialist. And, I will look forward to having a great day with my children again. The really funny part for me? It was horribly snowy here in my little village today. I got a text & a call to be safe. But, for us, the roads were clear all the way home. The other really funny thing, in a bitter sweet way? There’s a HUGE addiction counseling center right across the street from the Casino. There were three people outside smoking.
I’ll remember the beauty of the ballet, the lovely lunch with my precious daughter and the fun we had. I’ll think about the very nice women & the adorable little girl. I’ll forever admire professional ballet dancers & their dedication to their art. I’ll even admire the Turning Strong architect, the master gingerbread artists and the very nice people who worked there. But, what I’ll intentionally forget about is the discomfort, the horribly dirty air and the sad, cranky people who were throwing away their lives on the smoke infested slot machines.
The Moscow ballet doing the Nutcracker is a good juju romance. Every good romance story has a dark or ugly side to it. All in all, it was a day worth spending thanks to the love of my daughter.
So, here’s to the Ballet. I hope it’s always there for Mothers & Daughters to share a day.
Peace during the Holidays!
Karen
