What Once Was Lost....

Looking for the silver coin

No one, no one at all, ever talked about what was involved when a girl or boy starts Irish dance lessons.  Those dancers look amazing as they skim along a wooden dance floor, as they kick high to the sky, and as they leap without effort. Some costumes/dresses are impossibly ugly, the colors are day glow colors.  

But no one tells about the money all that costs.  Dresses straight from Irish designers can cost up to $3000. Children have a habit of outgrowing these dresses.

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$1000 worth of Swarovski crystals
on an already expensive dress

Oh, the hard shoes. How can any pair of shoes cost so very much? Apparently, those hard shoes can cost a lot.  

In 2017, new shoes cost about $350. Used ones are slightly less. But what happens when one shoe is lost?  Disaster.

After a huge Irish Feis (fesh) dance competition held in a hotel near Disneyland, my daughter discovered that Clara, my gr-daughter had only one shoe.  They searched all over the hotel with staff help, to no success.

This is how a competition looks

As irony would have it, a few days later John and I attended a math conference in the next hotel over. Time was on my hands, so I went to the hotel and asked about the lost shoe.

Obviously, Lost and Found was the place to go. No luck. But then the hotel maid recalled one shoe and turned it in the next day after the Feis. 

That correct lost and found box contained the shoe. Huzzahs all around!

The lone lost shoe

What was lost was found. Was the search worth it? One shoe, was it important enough to find?  

No one warns us about the cost. But everything costs money, what matters is where it is spent. A new sofa and love seat or a life time of dance memories and skills? Just where do you invest your time, money, self?


The dresses are crazy out-of-line, no matter what. 

Questions, questions

Source

It is winter here in San Diego, CA.  Supposedly.  It is 83 º F (about 32º C).  Grass is brown, wildfires looming here, etc….

When this occurs, my mind starts casting about for diversion since the brain cannot take the heat and pressure.

Today I am asking questions, and would appreciate any suggested answers.

First question:  Why are men—in general—fascinated with knives and weapons?  And for that matter, what is it about movies with fast cars and big explosions?  What the heck? I realize there are 3 questions here, but go with it.

One of my husband's weaponry

Second:  Why are some women obsessed with shoes?

Source

Third:  Why do people smile involuntarily? I see a baby, a commercial with a baby, a photo of a baby…and I smile.

My grandson

Fourth:  What kind of underwear is worn under skin-tight underwear? Thinking mainly about women, but hey, it goes for men as well.  No photo on this one.  Use your imagination.

Do you have any questions you would like to toss out in print?  Go ahead, use this as your stage.

The Dancer Is a Child

Satellite view of Ireland

From the first slip jig of the day to the last reel at the end, one fact was abundantly clear:  every competitor in this Irish Dance Feis (Fesh) was still a kid. 

Oh, each one gave their best to stand tall and be mature. 

Their toe points were perfect.  The arms were straight.  Knees straight on the kicks.  1 2 3 4 5 6 7, Hop 2 3, Hop 2 3, Back you go 4 5 6 7, Hop 2 3 and Hop 2 3. 

Wigs are now required as dancers move up the ranks—curly crazy wigs that bounce to accentuate the dance.  The dance schools each have their own school color and design.  It can be blue with red pleats, the Celtic designs in bold embroidery, white with orange pleats, or any of many variations.  The shoes are either soft shoe or hard shoe.  The white socks are held in place up to the calf with sock glue.

This is a long way from the surge of Irish dance of Riverdance fame.  

For an article that compares the past to the present click here.  You will see the before and after photos of Irish dancing!

Many words could be written about how something simple and pure morphs into a huge business in the world of dance with rules and regulations, expense (one “worn only twice” solo dress was for sale: $1,200) and dedication.  They won’t be written here.

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After the dancers finish and the dance costumes carefully put away, the dancers are children.  The shoes are packed, and flip flops replace them.  Tee shirts and shorts don’t glitter, and the wigs are off with a pony tail in their place.   

They stand before the wall with the results numbers.  There is both joy and disappointment.  One little girl (in the beginners 1, under 8 yrs. competitions) searched for the scores for her dances.  There she was:  a 3^rd place, another 3^rd place, oh and a 2^nd place.  Oh, Mommy, there I am!  I got a 1^st place!! 

That little face lifted to her mother, those sparkling eyes, and a huge smile say that the dancers are still kids-- kids who want a hug and then go to get some ice cream, and maybe a movie.

Special for Special

Oh, I could have used this jar of change!

When we were young parents with three small children, we were always struggling with finances.  ‘Struggling’ is a mild word, for I was doing down-right brutal, in-the-mud, hand-to-hand battle with money, or the lack of it. 

I was frugal, careful with every penny.    I was so frugal that I would stop in the middle of a roasting parking lot in 114 degrees to pick up a flattened penny. 

It was about the end of the month that I noticed that our 2 ½ year old son, Johnny, was walking slowly and seemed to have problems with his feet. 

The GP doctor said that his feet were pronating which means… 

to turn into a prone position; to rotate (the hand or forearm) so that the surface of the palm is downward or toward the back; to turn (the sole of the foot) outward so that the inner edge of the foot bears the weight when standing.  

Laces on, tie shoes; untie shoes, look for shoes

He sent us to an orthopedic doctor who would diagnose and write a prescription for special shoes.

Centipede from James and the Giant Peach

Specialty doctor?  Special shoes?  Money, where would we get the money?

Somehow, God provided, and we brought home the ugliest shoes a boy has had to wear from Stride Rite shoe store (good store, by the way).  They were brown leather, laced up over the ankle, and the sole had been adjusted for Johnny’s feet.  Putting them on and off reminded me of the centipede in James and the Giant Peach.  They cost $85.

 That may not sound like a fortune now, but in 1981 when the mortgage rates were 16.5% and we had no money, it was a fortune.

 Needless to tell any mother out there, boys misplace everything.  Everything.  At the end of the first day after bath time, the shoes were somewhere.  My oldest daughter found them, and I talked straight into Johnny’s face about where the shoes would/should go each time he took them off.  He nodded, as if he understood a word I had said.

 For the next two days, we played hide-and-seek­ with these shoes made of gold.  Finally at the end of the third day, I pulled Johnny up into my lap, and gave him the shoes, telling him (with tears in my eyes) that these shoes were made especially for HIM, because he was so special.  With big eyes and a solemn nod, he went off to bed.

 Before I turned in, I decided to make sure the shoes were where they were supposed to be, and they were not.  Growing more and more frantic, I searched the house with my husband.  We looked everywhere, no shoes.

 I was ready to burst into Johnny’s room and wake him up, to ask him where the shoes were.  I opened the door and walked in.  What I saw changed my whole perspective.

 Johnny was lying on his back with that soft kissable baby face.  Tucked under each arm was a shoe, with his special arms tightly wrapped around those special shoes. 

 I kissed his rosy cheeks and brushed back his hair.  God bless this child!  I tiptoed out.

 

 

 

 

 

Go! Go!

“Ready!  Steady!  GO!”  The intensity was thick as the group of seven-year old boys sprinted forward, as was the dust.  It was the Annual Sports Day for all the primary schools of Cork City, Ireland.  St. Luke’s School was there, with my own seven-year old son, Johnny, running with all his strength against other little boys. 

The day had not started well.  Johnny had brought his runners to me, tears in his eyes.  “Mummy!  Look at the soles of this one!  It has come off.”  He held it up for me to examine.  Sure enough, the sole had come unglued and the other shoe looked perilously close to do the same.

‘Damn cheap shoes!’ I swore in my mind, and then prayed for strength and forgiveness.  We knew when we bought these runners that their life expectancy was short.  But Johnny was growing so fast, that his shoes never wore out.  He wore them one week, maybe two weeks, and then he needed a larger size.  Dr. Kenney once said, “Johnny, you’ll grow to be a fine big man, Lord help your parents.  Keepin’ up with you will be a job, so.”

My husband walked into the kitchen, and Johnny held up his shoes, silent tears now on his ruddy cheeks.  The sports day would start in a few hours.  We did not have time, and certainly not the money, to buy new shoes.  He examined them, with that sweet concentration that I loved.  “Well, it seems to me that we can make these shoes better than new.”  Then he went to the mudroom, emerging with a roll of silver duct tape.  Johnny put on the cheap runners, and his father patiently, carefully wound the silver tape around and over, under and up again, until the instep and toe bed of the shoes were firmly held together.

Bing.com is an amazing source!

“Won’t m’mates tease me?”  Johnny looked down at his silver shoes. 

“Nah.  You just tell them that you were practicing, and the shoes melted, ‘cause you were running so fast,” I told him, again praying forgiveness for my lie.  “Now, your shoes are like silver wings, and you’ll run faster than ever.”  His face lit up, and a big smile told me that even he believed me.

So, we watched as Johnny and his silver winged shoes turned the curves of the track.  “GO!  GO!  JOHNNY, GO!    Then we danced with our arms high as Johnny and his silver shoes crossed the line first.

I love watching their faces!

As we walked back to the car park, laughing and listening to Johnny tell and re-tell the story of the race, we overheard his mates pointing to the shoes, and demanding that their parents fix their shoes like Johnny’s shoes.  They wanted silver wings.

Remembering this event, the vision of my young son with his friends, my husband's solution--would I have written this memory on my own?  Most likely not.  Thank you, Arlee Bird and your amazing friends who are hosting this A-Z blogfest!

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