MARRIED STRANGERS

MARRIED STRANGERS

By Sharon Prater-Pope

Day by week by year

One by one by one

Negative words, actions,

Emotional pounds,

Pile up

Until all that’s left

Are two strangers

Sharing a house.

Only when one is taken

Does the other realize

What has been lost…

Walls, a Poetic Attempt

WALLS
by Sharon P. Pope

Day by week by year
One by one by one
Words actions pounds
Build walls that hold in
Emotions, anger, pain, resentment,
Disappointments, pride, and fear,
While holding out
Love, life, joy, happiness, inner peace,
And the people we love the most.
        

Happy Easter!

Wishing you all a happy Easter with bunnies, eggs, family, and friends, but let's not forget the real reason for the Easter celebration, the resurrection of Christ and what He did for us on the cross. :)

Enjoy the day!

Tree Ring Life Rings Journal Pages with Poem

More journal pages inspired by Misty's workshop. The life rings are comparable to tree growth rings, which, in my case, are 62 around. Then I needed a poem or story to go with. I don't claim to be a poet, but I gave it a try, and I used a gelatin print background page from another class to write it on with a Pitt pen. I glued the page into the journal with gel medium, transferred the bird from a magazine image onto the page. I need more practice. The transfer didn't turn out as well as I wanted, so I added some pastels and colored pencils to fill in the places that didn't transfer. I also added a couple of small stamps and colored them with colored pencils.

I am pondering adding something to the right upper corner, but I can't think of anything I want to put there. Besides, for now, I like it like it is. :)

The poem is in typed version at the bottom of the post.

The bird is holding a tiny pink heart carefully in his beak. The heart represents my birth and first ring of life. I was born in my Granny's house on a Tennessee riverbank a long time ago, and I've lived near the river my whole life, except for a couple of short periods when I was little.

My life has ebbed and flowed from these river banks for 62 years, just like the water lapping at the shores, every day the same, yet every day different.

Life Rings

By Sharon Prater Pope (Feb. 2012)

Sixty-two ripples

Spreading out from my Clifton riverbank birth rock,

Cast into life with abandon,

Each ripple encompassing

All of the people shuffling in and out through the years,

All that I learn and absorb,

The effect that I have on others,

The effect that they have on me.

Circling ever wider with each passing year,

Receding into the distance

Until I fade into oblivion

And all that remains is a faded memory

And the effect that I had on others

The short time I was here.

I tried my hand at creating poetry using found words for the writing class in Misty's workshop. I don't claim to be a poet, by any means, but this was so much fun! There will be more! :)

Reaching Out

The words to Reaching Out:

buried beneath the
loneliness in the night
I reached out
but don't hear anything
fear is momentary
imagine strength
remember childhood
connection with everything
reach out
our harried lives
somewhat intense
amnesia of the heart
I believe
clutter of voices
talking about God
always be there
reach out and listen
all my happiness has not vanished

I had a few words left over from the above poem, so I used them to create the short poem below. I was raised not to be wasteful. ;)

Black and White

The one below was created using found words in a different way. You may have to click on the pictures to be able to read the poems.

Self Discovery

The words to Self Discovery:

Overwhelmed,

I just want to be enough.

Pondering contribution,

Offering to the world

Content and openhearted self-discovery.

These poems will more than likely find their way in to one of my journals. Hope you enjoyed them!

An Exercise on Being Mindful

This is an exercise from Misty Mawn's pre-workshop in being mindful of whatever you're doing, really paying attention to and being present with one thing at a time. Living in the present moment and absorbing the essence of whatever you're doing at the time or whoever you're with.

I spent a few minutes with a burning candle, lit for my dad, absorbing the experience into my soul, and wrote about it. I feel more alive because of it. Here's what I wrote.

BEING MINDFUL
By: Sharon P. Pope

             Sitting here at my work table, actually my dining room table, with my creative supplies and my cup of coffee gathered around me, I decide to light one of the three new votive candles sitting on the shelves for Daddy, who was taken from us seven years ago right before Thanksgiving.

             I take the little candle and set it directly on the table, feeling the cool waxy smoothness as my fingers curl around it, then release it to stand on its own. I love the rosy coral color and the faint smell, although I’ve forgotten the name of the scent.

             I pick up an old matchbook lying nearby, flip the cover open with my thumbnail, tear out a red-headed match, and tuck the cover back into place, noticing the scratchiness as I do so. After multiple attempts to light the match on the strip provided, I give up and toss the now smudged red-headed match into the trash can. It lands with a barely discernible click atop a crumpled up sheet of paper.

            The matchbook cover is flicked open again, with a clicking of my thumbnail. A second red-headed match is torn out, and the cover replaced. This time I succeed with only a couple of strikes, and the match bursts into an angry flame, then quickly settles back down to calmness, the smoke curling toward my nose in a tendril of bluish smoke, bringing the slight smell of sulphur with it.

            The flame wavers as the match rides between my fingers to touch noses with the whiteness of the candle wick. For a second they blaze up as one, before I remove the match and gently blow out the fire, watching another wisp of smoke dissipate as the flame is snuffed out.

             I toss the bent, now black-headed, burned out match into the trash can to join the one whose flame never got to burn. Another flick and the cover is back in place. As I lay the matchbook down, I notice the dark blue background with the diamond shaped logo on both sides, done in shades of yellows and blues. The word, diamond, in white lower case lettering is ensconced across the logo. I suppose the match tips are supposed to be as hard as diamonds?

            My attention returns to the candle, whose flame has now settled down into a mesmerizing point of light, slowly undulating this way and that. The tiny flame is so beautiful, yet so dangerous. Its capabilities are frightening.

             The sounds of cars passing on the highway, my husband’s gentle snoring, as he sleeps on the couch, the ticking of the grandfather clock that daddy made for us, the rattle of the fan, the fridge’s humming, and the ringing in my ears, which is akin to a heard of crickets, all fade into the background as I focus on the candle.

             Melted wax is now dribbling down the wick, melting out a well in the candle top, which was once slightly rounded. The wick is turning black as the fire feeds from it, causing the wax to melt and fill the well, which is getting deeper by the second. The hot wax releases a lovely tropical scent into the air. It delights my sense of smell.

             My breathing is calm.

             Yellow-oranges and purply-blues meet and form soft shades of gray where the flame and wick join. It continues to hypnotize. The rosy coral candle is no longer one color. It is now several shades around the top where the heat has gently transformed it. The sides are now translucent, allowing a soft warm glow to emanate from within.

              It is gorgeous, and somehow comforting, as I feel the sadness of no longer having my dad around wash over me. My life has not, nor will it ever be, the same without him. I always knew that it would be hard to give him up when the time came, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain of loss and vulnerability that comes with losing a parent. Slowly, I’ve learned to live without him physically being here, but I always feel his presence in my heart, and I am grateful for that.

            I turn the page in the journal where I am hand writing these words. It slips from my fingers, twice, landing on the candle, angering the flame, causing it to squat and reach out to grab the edge of the paper. My journal narrowly misses becoming a blaze itself.

            Next time I will set the candle down in a proper container.

            My page is secured and safe and my thoughts return to Daddy. Now I’m remembering all the happy times with him, the wonderful toys he made me when I was little, how he understood me, maybe more than anyone else, and that I always knew that he loved me and was proud of me, even if he couldn’t say it. I am grateful that he cared enough to teach me morals, values, and respect for myself and others. I am grateful that God gave me the parents I have, and grateful to still have Mama.

             I watch as the well of melted wax overflows and spills over the side, creating a deep groove as it glides down and forms a puddle on the table. As the wax hits the chilliness of the table top, it hardens, connecting the candle to the table.

            There is now a second well forming inside the first well inside the candle walls. The wick has burned down into the candle until it isn’t getting much oxygen. It is now very small and docile, but still struggling to survive, and still dangerous.

             I lean over and with one puff blow out the tiny flame still grasping for life. The candle no longer has the warm glow with the dancing light. It is now dark and still. Its spirit, in the form of a blue-gray trail of smoke, dissipates and scatters, as it rises toward the ceiling, or heaven.

             I feel the chill on my bare arms on this cool morning, as I think about how our lives are similar to the candle flames. Our flame burns brightly, as we struggle through life with all its twists and turns, learning and growing, leaping, dancing, stumbling. It dims some as we get older, then it is snuffed out, many times without warning, leaving those who loved us bewildered, trying to make sense of it all.

             Some people would say that the candle is no longer beautiful, or even pretty. It’s true that it has been transformed by the fire, and is no longer shaped perfectly with a snow white wick protruding from the smooth slightly domed top.

            The tiny wick is now charred black and almost covered with re-set wax down in the double wells. It not only no longer stands on top looking down, but it cannot see over the edge, now ragged, translucent, and faded. There is a deep groove down one side and a solid puddle of wax around the bottom. It has dents and dings.
 
             Now it is flawed, full of character, and has an even deeper beauty.

              It has lived. It has held onto fire and has been re-shaped and molded. It has brought me a sense of peace, tranquility, and beauty for the few brief moments it burned.

              It has survived. Changed. But still beautiful in its imperfection.

Long Time No See!

Surprise! I know I've been really lax about posting here for a long time. The fact is I've been taking online workshops in mixed media journaling and art and my other blog, Moxie Blue, has been getting all the attention and pictures.

I have signed up for three online workshops, all beginning in January, and I know that at least one of them includes quite a bit of writing, which I will also post here when I am wearing my brave britches.

The post before this one includes the first writing from Misty Mawn's Open Studio Workshop in sort of a poem form. I also have the rought draft for a journal entry on being mindful done, which I plan on sharing as soon as it's typed.

In the meantime, I just wanted to say hello, that I'm still out here, and to wish you all the best of New Years! Have a safe and happy weekend. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Thanks for your support and I'll see you next year!

I AM HERE

Misty Mawn's Open Studio Workshop doesn't officially open until January 9, but she gave us a few preliminary things to do to get acquainted. One was to write a poem, of sorts, titled "I Am Here". This is my effort. The lines are not in any particular order, but in the order they came to me.

I'm a little nervous about sharing it, because some of it I've never shared with anyone, plus the fact that I'm not a poet. But for some reason, I want to share it. I hope you can make sense out of it. :)

I AM HERE

By SP Pope

I AM HERE

Still
By some miracle
By the grace of God

Despite childhood illnesses and accidents
Despite polio’s paralyzing attack
Despite being an only child
Despite the mistakes of my youth
Despite close calls with divorce
Despite being childless
Despite the pain of an adoption falling through
Despite suffering many losses
Despite being paralyzed by grief, trauma, and fear sometimes
Despite menopause
Despite many disappointments, heartbreaks, and heartaches
Despite life lessons learned the hard way
Despite bouts of anger and depression with suicidal thoughts
Despite not getting to spread my wings beyond my home town
Despite the guilt that my parents had no grandchildren
Despite a job I was unhappy doing
Despite all of my weaknesses
Despite rejections
Despite loneliness at times
Despite being made fun of in school for walking with a limp and having a weak bladder
Despite feelings of being totally overwhelmed at times
Despite the adjustments of retirement and hubby and I learning to live together 24/7
Despite the aches and pains of aging
Despite waning eyesight and memory lapses
I am here

Because of loving and caring parents
Because I survived polio to walk, run, and dance
Because of amazing friends and family
Because of wonderful grandparents
Because of having loved and been loved
Because of rejection
Because of the encouragement of teachers
Because of bosses who believed in me
Because of three best friends, who, since childhood, have stood by me through thick, thin, and weirdness
Because of all the wonderful pets I’ve been privileged to have in my life, who loved me unconditionally
Because of all the happy times
Because of a mother who loved me enough to encourage, and sometimes push, me to live life
Because of my strengths
Because of being an only child
Because of my imaginary friends
Because there are many sides to me
Because of accepting God as my personal savior long ago
Because of my husband of almost forty-two years
Because of the love of learning
Because I enjoy solitude
Because of my passion for art, writing, music, and reading
Because of finally finding peace within
Because I’m learning to live in the present
Because of life’s lessons learned through the people and experiences I’ve crossed paths with
I am here

Today I am loving retirement
Today I am enjoying my husband, despite the occasional disagreement
Today I am battling type 2 diabetes
Today I am ecstatic with my creative endeavors
Today I am still learning new things daily
Today I feel vibrant and alive
Today I don't have to be busy every second
Today I love my own company
Today I have gray in my hair and I am overweight
Today my body is all soft and mushy, the way grandchildren would have loved it
Today I am more concerned with inner beauty than makeup and fashion
Today I let things go that “should be” done, in order to enjoy the things and people I love
Today I am still making mistakes and learning from them
Today I am living one minute at a time
Today I still grieve and feel overwhelmed sometimes
Today I still live in the small town where I was born
Today I love and am loved
Today I still have my mom and my husband
Today I am still an only child, but with many “adopted” siblings in the form of friends and cousins
Today I still have a home and I am able to live in it
Today I can still take care of myself
Today I still have my old friends, and I continue to make new ones
Today I’m having adventures and looking for the everyday miracles and magic
Today I am on my computer discovering all the wonderful things that the web has to offer
Today I am older, wiser... and a little more forgetful
Today I am content on my little patch of earth
Today I am learning how better to cope with life and all its ups and downs, now that its winding down, but
I am here

I am who I am
I AM HERE
Still
By some miracle
By the mercy and grace of God
And I am grateful

Happy Holidays From Rabbit Hop!

(Hallmark Card)

Merry CHRISTmas and Happy New Year! I appreciate each and every one of you that take the time to read my blog, even though I haven't put much on it this year. I wish each of you a stocking filled with an abundance of health. love, peace, and happiness for the coming new year, and I look forward to sharing a creative 2011 with you. :)

REACHING FOR THE STARS--Fictional Short Story

I wrote the following fictional story in the late nineties, before there were plus-sized dancers on TV much. It was a 3000 word assignment for fiction in the writing course I was taking at the time. It came close to being published a couple of times, and I used it as the basis for a novel in the novel writing course I took last year that I've never finished. I decided to share it on Scribbles with you. I love the two characters and hope you do too. They are not based on anyone in particular, but are a composite of people that I love. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

REACHING FOR THE STARS 

(copyrighted)

By

Sharon Prater-Pope

“Fedora Isabella Quintana, you’re next, please,” called a voice from the doorway.

Fedora, whom everyone called Fizzy, froze. Her legs refused to move. She had never been to an audition before, and it had been a long, nerve-wracking morning. They had already watched thirty-six other hopefuls, out of forty-seven, go and come back through that door.

“I can’t do this! What was I thinking?” she said to Dana, her best friend and moral support.

“Yes you can, Fizzy. This is what you’ve wanted your whole life. If you don’t take the chance, you’ll always wonder ‘what if’. You have to at least try. I believe in you. Believe in yourself and reach for the stars!” Dana gave her a quick hug, then a little push. “Go get ‘em, Fizzy!”

The studio was a large room with hardwood floors. Mirrors and warm-up bars lined one wall. Fizzy stood in the middle of the floor, heart pounding and perspiration beading her face, while the two middle-aged ladies seated behind the table looked over her application. Once dancers on Broadway, they were now overweight instructors, who had decided to start their own troupe.

At 230 pounds and thirty years of age, Fizzy was the smallest and youngest to audition. She felt conspicuous in her black and yellow jogging suit, with its matching yellow shoes. The long chiffon scarf, which she was nervously twisting in her hands, had belonged to her grandmother. It was also yellow, her lucky color. She was sure she looked like a big bumblebee amidst the others in their black leotards and tights. She didn’t even know leotards came in her size.

“Hello, Fizzy.” The red-haired lady smiled at her. “I’m Renna, and this is Tanzy.”

Fizzy forced a smile. Her knees shook so hard that she was sure she would fall before she got to dance. She tried to remember that dance was her one true passion, and that she felt more alive when she danced than any other time. But she hadn’t danced in front of anyone except Dana since a middle-school party, which had turned into a nightmare. The boys wouldn’t dance with them, so they danced together. This made them the butt of many cruel jokes, she being short, dark, and heavy, and Dana being tall, blonde, and bony. An odd looking pair, they had stuck together through thick and thin from then on.

“According to your application, you’ve had no formal training. Where did you learn to dance?” Renna asked.

Fizzy fought panic. “I’m self taught. I grew up in a tiny rural town where the emphasis was on sports, not the arts. Instructors in other towns wouldn’t take me because of my weight. Dancing is as necessary as breathing to me, and I’ve made up dance steps in my head for as long as I can remember. I studied and learned from every book and video I could find, and since I love all kinds of music and dance, I learned to improvise different movements to express my feelings to whatever music I was in the mood for. I had a lot of time to practice.”

“You are to present an original, three-minute routine for this audition.” Tanzy was speaking now. “When everyone has finished, there will be a break, during which we’ll cut the applicants by half. The remaining twenty-four will do a brief impromptu routine to music of our choice. From these, we’ll pick the final twelve. Let’s see what you can do.” She looked doubtful.

While the lively classical selection she had brought was being put on the CD player, Fizzy closed her eyes, took deep breaths to center herself, and silently prayed, “Please, God, help me to do my very best, and don’t let me fall down.”

Keeping her eyes closed as the music washed over her, Fizzy began to feel it in every fiber of her being. She forgot about the video camera and her potential employers. She forgot about her bumblebee suit and her weight as she glided gracefully and effortlessly over the floor, imagining herself as Isodora Duncan, thin, free-spirited, and sensuous. The chiffon scarf swirled about her as she ran, twirled, and leapt, using her body to express the joy in the music. Ending in a curtsy, head bowed, she whispered a prayer of thanks. She had done well, without stumbling once.

“Thank you, Fedora.” Renna was scribbling something on a paper.

Fizzy couldn’t tell by their expressionless faces what they thought, but she had triumphed over her fear and she felt great.

The whole thing had taken only a few minutes, but to Dana, waiting in the hall, it had seemed an eternity. She was a nervous wreck.

“How did it go?” she asked, meeting Fizzy at the door.

“You wouldn’t believe how scared I was. I wanted desperately to run, but my feet felt rooted to the floor. Then the music started, so I pretended that I was alone and put my heart and soul into it. I don’t know what they thought, but I know that I did my best, and even if I don’t make the troupe, I’m glad I gave it a shot. Thank you for coming with me. I couldn’t have done it without you.

“Now we have some time to kill before the next audition and I’m starved. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Dana looked surprised. “What next audition? You mean we have to go through this again today?”

“Only if I don’t get cut with the first half.” Fizzy grinned.

“I don’t know if I can take another audition or not,” Dana said.

They laughed as they stepped outside into the bright sunshine. It was a warm spring Saturday and the first hurdle had been jumped.

There was a restaurant up the street, and as they went in, some of the other dancers motioned for them to join them around a large table toward the back.

As they walked by the other tables Fizzy heard someone giggle and say, “Must be a fat convention in town.” Laughter rang out behind them.

It hurt, but Fizzy refused to let them ruin her day. Besides, her mother had always told her that people who made fun of other people were lacking in themselves.

“Hello, I’m Fedora, but everyone calls me Fizzy,” she said, as they sat down.

A woman named Cheryl was tearfully recounting how she had fallen during her number, but that she had kept going.

“I know I blew it,” she said. The others tried to console and encourage her.

Time went by quickly as the women ate, got acquainted, and discussed how their auditions went. They hurried back to the studio together to see if any of them had gotten a call back.

The list for the second audition was posted in the hall. There were shouts of joy and tears of disappointment as the women looked for their names.

“You made it, Fizzy!” Dana squealed, as they found her name listed. “I knew you

Fizzy was a little stunned. They had picked her over formally trained dancers?

The remaining women, and any support partners, were called into the studio together and told to assemble along the walls.

Renna and Tanzy were now standing with clipboards in their hands. The table had been pushed against the wall.

“Congratulations for making this cut,” Renna began. “For this tryout we want to see how you respond to music that’s different from what you used before and how an audience affects you. Just go with the music and dance what you feel. We’ve been to many auditions ourselves, so we understand, and allow for, nervousness. Ready?”

Fizzy was near the last to be called, and by the time she had watched all the others try out, her newly found confidence was waning. Even Cheryl, who had also been given a second chance, was amazing.

“They’re all so good. I might as well go home now, “she said to Dana, as they watched. “I can’t compete with these women. They’re all professionals.”

“So were the twenty-three they sent home.” Dana always viewed the cup half full instead of half empty.

“Fedora, you’re next. In contrast to the classical piece you did before, we’re going to play you a pop number by Michael Jackson. Okay?”

Fizzy nodded. She might as well get it over with.

“The Way You Make Me Feel” blasted over the speakers.

Ah! This was a feel good song, made to strut to!

Fizzy assumed an attitude, and let the beat fill her senses as she strutted around the room, allowing her body to freely express what the music and words made her feel, which was sheer joy at the moment. Her short dark hair bounced and her green eyes sparkled, as she cavorted around the room, becoming unaware of all those watching, until the music ended abruptly.

She blushed.

“You were wonderful!” Dana exclaimed, as Fizzy rejoined her.

When the last five had finished, Renna stepped forward. “We’re sorry to have kept you so late.” she said. “You were all much better than we expected, and it was difficult to choose only twelve. In addition to technical ability, we looked for adaptability, expressiveness, and most of all passion. To those of you who didn’t make it this time, it wasn’t because you weren’t good. Unfortunately, we only have a limited number of slots available, but we have your tapes, and should we need a replacement, or decide to expand the troupe, we’ll be in touch. Thank you for auditioning.

“Now, it’s been a long day, but if you can wait another few minutes for us to compare notes, we’ll call the names that we’ve chosen.”

Fizzy shifted from one foot to the other as she waited anxiously. She and Dana clasped each other’s hands as they heard eleven names called, and watched the excited women laughing and hugging in the center of the floor.

Fizzy’s heart sank. She hadn’t realized how truly disappointed she would be if she wasn’t chosen. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“And the final name to be added is Fedora Quintana,” called Tanzy.

Fizzy’s heart felt like it did a triple somersault. She was laughing and crying at the same time as she joined the others on the floor.

“Congratulations, ladies. You now make up the Dance Troupe Rubenesque. You have a lot of hard work ahead of you, so we’ll see you back here in two weeks to begin rehearsals. Good night.”

“What does Rubenesque mean?” asked Dana, as they left the studio.

“You know. It’s like the women in the Rubens paintings, full-bodied, voluptuous, colorful, sensual…….,” Fizzy explained.

“That description definitely fits this group.” They both laughed.

It was so late that Fizzy and Dana got a motel room for the night, rather than make the two-hour drive back to Riverview, the tiny riverbank town they had both grown up in. It had been a long day, full of endless waiting and roller-coaster emotions. They were both exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily to Fizzy. Her mind buzzed with all the changes that were about to be made in her life.

The next two weeks were a blur. Fizzy quit her job at the day care center, bought proper clothes to rehearse in, packed, and found a place to live in the city. She was glad she had lived with her parents all these years. It had allowed her to accumulate a nice bank account.

Dana helped her move to Nashville and settle into a tiny furnished apartment not too far from the studio. She noticed that Fizzy looked a little down, as she was preparing to leave for home. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m scared,” Fizzy said. “I’ve never been on my own before. How will I ever make it without you?”

“You’re going to be fine, Fizzy,” Dana answered, with a cheerfulness that she didn’t feel. “Think of the adventures that lay ahead of you. I’m going to miss you terribly, but I’m so happy for you. Call me. Okay?”

Hugs were exchanged before Dana got into her car. “Break a leg!” she called as she drove out onto the street.

Fizzy felt lost and alone. They both knew that although they would always be friends, their lives were about to go in opposite directions.

The first day of rehearsals was spent getting to know one another, discussing choreography and costumes, and finding out what was planned for the troupe. The amphitheater in Centennial Park had already been reserved for a free recital, a trial run, in six weeks.

The troupe consisted of women from different ethnic backgrounds, married and single, ranging from thirty to fifty-five years of age, 230 to 250 pounds, and 5’5” to 5’9” in height. They were not a stereotypical group of dancers. The common thread was a passion for dancing.

Renna and Tanzy wanted to prove that there should be no barriers to achieving a dream, and that one didn’t have to look a certain way, be a certain age, or fit a particular mold, to do anything that they wanted to do badly enough.

Rehearsals were long and tedious as the women struggled to learn new steps and incorporate them into the routines Renna and Tanzy had worked out. They were also encouraged to offer their own suggestions. It was truly to be a team effort.

When they weren’t rehearsing, they were being fitted for costumes and taught about makeup and wigs.

Fizzy never wore makeup and she had always had short bowl-shaped hair. The male species had never noticed her, so what was the point? She couldn’t believe that the beautiful woman with the shoulder length hair and made up face staring back at her in the mirror was actually her.

There was no time or energy to be homesick. Fizzy fell into bed bone tired every night, but it was a good tired. Dreams are only achieved with commitment, sacrifice, and hard work, so it was worth it. But she wondered if they would ever be ready for the recital.

By the fourth week they had learned the routines, and synchronization and timing became the main focus. Costumes were almost ready, and the women had formed a strong bond of friendship, determined to make the troupe work as a unit.

Flyers were posted everywhere promoting the show, and the local cable channel ran it in the community news segments. They had had a number of dress rehearsals, and the day of the recital finally arrived, a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon.

Now it was real. The dancers huddled together off stage.

“What if nobody shows up? What if we’re not ready? What if nobody likes us? We’ve put in all this hard work for nothing!” Fizzy was wrought with anxiety and talking to no one in particular. “What if I mess up? I wish Dana were here.”

It was time. The women wished each other luck and lined up to go on stage. They were all twittering with nerves and excitement.

“You’re all going to do fine, and everything will be great. Don’t worry. Just do your best. Tanzy and I are so proud of you. You’ve worked very hard for this; now just go out there and have fun. If you’re enjoying it, the audience will too,” Renna told them.

“Please welcome the newly formed Dance Troupe Rubenesque!” Tanzy raised her voice to cue them, after she had the audience’s attention.

The women filed onto the stage and assumed their positions for a classical number, their long Grecian style gowns flowing softly around their bodies. Their long curled hair glistened in the sunlight, as they waited for the music to begin. They surveyed the fairly large audience before them.

“Should have called them the old elephant dance troupe. They’ll never be able to move them big old butts, let alone dance,” a skinny teenager in front, who obviously didn’t want to be there, said a little too loudly to the woman next to him. She looked mortified and people around them laughed.

Fizzy’s eyes stung with tears. “Oh, no! It’s the school dance all over again,” she thought. She briefly considered running off stage, but she couldn’t do that to the others. They were a team.

Then her eyes found her parents and Dana.

Dana, who seemed startled by the new Fizzy, gave her a big smile and a thumbs-up sign. Fizzy relaxed. It was going to be okay.

The music came up and the recital began.

The show was choreographed to allow each dancer to be featured in a number. They performed everything from ballet (minus the toe standing), to tap, jazz, Broadway, big-band, classical interpretation, reggae, and rock.

Quick changing costumes had become an art in itself, as they donned poodle skirts and saddle oxfords for the finale, which was a medley of “oldies but goodies” fifties and sixties numbers. The last song was “Do You Love Me (Now That I Can Dance)”, by the Dave Clark Five, which ended the evening on a highly energized, positive note.

The boy who had made the elephant remarks looked dumbfounded.

With arms intertwined, they took a bow. The clapping grew louder. They were being given a standing ovation!

There was no other feeling like this. Everything that they had endured during the last six weeks had paid off. Their performance had gone off with only a few minor glitches. The audience, which had grown larger as the recital progressed, had been won over by the gracefulness and agility that these large women displayed. They loved them, and this was only the beginning. Anything was possible now!

Fizzy smiled as they rose from another bow. She was no longer just plain, shy, intimidated little Fizzy with a dream. She was now Fedora-- the dancer.

Not bad for a country girl named after a hat.

THE END