Day 74: Today, on this mid-March Thanksday, I am thankful for a mom who taught me to dabble, though she never actually used the word. You wouldn’t know she was a dabbler to look at her. You wouldn’t know she’d been a dancer to look at her. A lifetime of dabbling was encased in a sick and withering body.
She kept her pink satin toe shoes and her black patent-leather tap shoes in an old brown leather case with a handle on the top. It was the same case she had carried to dance class in her youth. Sometimes I’d ask to see it. Opening the case felt like peeking into a dance studio where a perfect little girl made the perfect leap in her fluffy pink tutu. Even though the satin toe shoes were old and watermarked, the pink ribbons still wound around my ankles. Those old toe shoes only had cork in the toes! Mom laughed every time I said I was certain no human foot was meant to balance on one toe on top of a cork.
The tap shoes were a bit more manageable. At least they were flat. With Mom’s limited mobility, she showed me the steps from her chair, laughing at her own versions. Under her direction, I mastered the seated shuffle ball change.
I didn’t grow up to be a dancer, but I grew up taking dance classes, because I knew I could dabble if my mom could. I knew there was value in the trying.
It’s not about the perfect leaps. It’s about the seated shuffle ball change, people. It’s about the trying it out.
More dabbling tomorrow. #MomsCompanyTowels #happydabbler #itsaboutthetryingitout
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