Girl in Dreamland

I think when I write my book about my amazing life it shall be titled, 

Girl in Dreamland.

Yup.

That's my life.

Love Notes, totes. +

Cooking with Mary+

Taxes are DONE! Bazaam!+

Gluten free pizza at the new East Village L'asso+

Walks around the city with love messages & spending time with my favorite boyfriend+

A flower parade!=

My dreams coming true, day after day.

Sometimes it lasts in love

Sometimes it hurts instead. -Adele

 "Love isn't a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun, like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now." -Fred Rogers

 As I walked to work this morning, I saw all these people with their flowers, wrapped and ready to give to their sweetie. The local bodega had a plethora of flower options available to purchase (I'm sure with a nice little markup....) and I think half the people are thinking: "Screw you!", while the other half are thinking, "Awwww".  I had my Muppet valentines that were more appropriate for a five-year-old than a thirty two year old lady. I think Valentine's has become this divisive day. I just think of it as a day of spreading some love. Since it happens to fall on a Tuesday this year, it's just another Happy Tuesday.

 I, for one, celebrated Galentine's Day yesterday and had a wonderful time at my new favorite local place, The Wayland, with delightful Emily. I brought some readings from my favorite authors and we had a great night celebrating our friendship.

It's interesting to me, because I think in my romantic relationships, I've always had that side of love that ends up hurting. Maybe this year I'll find a love that lasts instead. A love like my best friendships. Maybe my boyfriend will get gently sidelined for something real. For now, I'll just put on In Your Eyes and sing to myself knowing I'll find someone that accepts me right here as I am...all in good time.  A dear couple whom I adore, said to me today, "I think that you being single means there can't be a God. How is it possible?!" (and they are good Catholics :)!). I can appreciate all the love I get and give in other ways. I'll find peace in those beautiful words of Kahlil Gibran, those that help me see the joy and the sorrow in love. Each love revealing the secrets of my own heart even more to me.

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

He loves me, He loves me not

My boyfriend has been a bit lackadaisical lately.

 Thank goodness he's back. I've been needing a little love note from him. 

Love notes, totes--crackin' the nut

This past week, I picked up my Christmas tree. I love putting on the Christmas music and lighting my pumpkin candle, while having some cookies in the oven. 

Most of my fellow dancer friends are getting excited about Nutcracker--from the first time they hear the Sugar Plum Fairy while gliding through the grocery store, the endless advertisements for a Nutcracker, to the little girls seeing the ballet for the first time--me, I tend to get very melancholy.

For me, this time of year represents something different.

It was 14 years ago that I was poised to dance the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker. Always a coveted role, I was excited and terrified. My dance teacher, Kirk Derby, was also my cavalier. We had rehearsed for months. He was dreading wearing white tights. Always fit and debonair, he was very self conscious and those darn tights is what I know he was least looking forward to wearing. The two of us would meet in the afternoon once I got out of school and rehearse until we both had to teach. 

I danced that Nutcracker as a solo. 

I received a phone call one night before the performance that Kirk had died. He died many years too early and it's always this time of year that brings him back to me the most.

For Christmas that year, one of the mother's of a student of mine got me a tree as a remembrance of Kirk. My little Christmas tree this year reminds me of that tiny little tree that she gave to me. Now, when I go back to visit my family, that tree is planted at my parents house and has grown much taller than me. 

One year during our session for school photos, it was just myself and Dani Snodgrass that showed up for picture day for our routine, Kiss From a Rose. Kirk had such a great sense of humor and our photo ended up being, "Kiss From My Butt". I still have that picture in my teeny apartment, reminding me of him. There are moments from our time together that were paramount in my teenage years. My favorite moments are from our time together in the studio, rehearsing together. Just the two of us, laughing and having a great time. 

I can remember walking around backstage at the theatre that year with my dear dance teacher, Kathy Milo, by my side as I cried my little eyes out. She got me through that Nutcracker and I am forever grateful. Having to hold myself together for all my students at the time was one of the most difficult masks I've ever had to wear. I will forever miss his smile, his warm & gentle nature, teaching my mom and I all about "fag hags", the same self doubt that we shared, his tales of cruise ship dancing, his calm demeanor in the classroom. He was my teacher. My friend. My partner. 

When I hear those opening notes of the Grand Pas, I just think of putting my hand in his, the biggest grin on my face and him greeting me with that beautiful smile. I sit here next to my tiny tree thinking of him. I will always miss him.

Love notes, totes

I always enjoy a good love note from my boyfriend. 

Love notes, totes

love notes, totes

He keeps me mindful...

awww...and thinks I'm great. 

I know, I know

My boyfriend....ahh...he always knows just what I need:

love notes, totes

Grateful Grazies--Agriged

Deborah Lohse is one of my favorite people in the universe. We danced together many moons ago when we were kids at our local studio in CA. We were 'award winning' choreographers at the time, although Deb is the only one that has maintained that title.  She is vivacious, warm and welcoming. For me, she's this beautiful bottle of champagne that pops every time I see her and her excitement bursts out and fills up a room. We reconnected in New York when she saw my feet in a ballet class--my feet! I remember turning around to do the second side of barre and there she was sitting criss cross apple sauce on the floor. Ever since then we have seen our friendship blossom and have been there to support each other through the rough patches, as well as celebrate the little successes in each day and the life changing moments in our lives. She gave me the opportunity to perform again and my soul was recharged just when I needed it most. She is an amazing performer that captivates everyone that has the pleasure to watch her. She is unafraid in her new adventure in film. She is such a source of comfort, care and support in my life and I love her. She knows just when to call me out and tell me I'm full of shit. She knows how to greet me with a hug that takes in my entire being. She can sit on a rock and say nothing at all and I can feel her care and love. She makes me laugh hysterically, holds me when I cry and can rock a fan at a dance party like no one else. Man, I think my boyfriend has some stiff competition. No need to worry though, he sent his love via Deb this week...

whew!

...and he's always so reassuring!

Thanks hon

My boyfriend just keeps getting sweeter...gosh, I love hm.

love notes, totes

for you my darling.

My lovely friend Deborah gifted me a beautiful little letterpress poem this week. She knows how much I 

a) love stationary

b) love letter press and

c) love my boyfriend.

Letter to N.Y.

For Louise Crane

In your next letter I wish you'd say

where you are going and what you are doing;

how are the plays, and after the plays

what other pleasures you're pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,

driving as if to save your soul

where the road goes round and round the park

and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green 

standing alone in big black caves

and suddenly you're in a different place 

where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can't catch,

like dirty words rubbed off a slate,

and the songs are loud but somehow dim 

and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house 

to the gray sidewalk, the watered street, 

one side of the buildings rises with the sun 

like a glistening field of wheat.

—Wheat, not oats, dear. I'm afraid

if it's wheat it's none of your sowing, 

nevertheless I'd like to know

what you are doing and where you are going.