Thoughts of ghouls and ghosts and all things nasty come to mind as we
head through the month of October and Halloween approaches. Opinions on this
phenomenon are divided and although I celebrated the occasion as a child, with
simple apple bobbing, buns on strings and the odd Meg and Mog story, today’s
marking of the 31st of this month seems to have far more of the macabre and
overtly horrific about it. Consequently as a parent, I didn’t let my children
take part in the practice of Trick or Treat - something that they didn’t thank
me for.
I didn’t feel comfortable about the process, how it goes against the
message we instil of not talking to strangers and instead, because it’s
Halloween and they are dressed in a scary mask they can knock on anyone’s door
to demand a sugar fix. Aside from the stranger danger and how intimidated the
random resident might feel on their doorstep, no one needs an entire bucket
full of sweets to devour. I also question the proliferation of frankly disturbing masks, costumes
and props that find their way into high street stores in the lead up to
Halloween and wonder what young children make of such images around them. It
certainly can’t help their bedtime routine.
In case you are reading this thinking I am just a party pooper, my children
didn’t miss out entirely and I recall a few Halloween parties attended with
friends or family. An image of my daughter in a witch’s hat and purple tutu
skirt whilst my son wore a Dracula cape comes to mind and of course, casting
spells in the style of Harry Potter was always a popular past time. Such days
are a distant memory now and my children may be found at a Halloween gig at a
pub or watching a scary movie screening whilst I am at home, cradling a mug of
hot chocolate.
My wickedness is currently confined to playing the role of the evil
fairy in my drama group’s annual pantomime. Within that I find that I am being
thwarted by a subtle serpent. The symptoms of ageing, the menopausal Medusa,
slithering in to sabotage my performance. Each week I find myself battling with
confidence issues, memory loss and an ongoing problem with my foot that causes
a fair amount of pain as I try to dance. Working on my confidence to convince
myself that I can actually manage the part I have been given, takes a fair amount
of effort. This week I am trying to get some of the lines into my head, as the
performances draw nearer, but this is no easy task when on a daily basis I can
walk into a room and forget why I went there and I am increasingly aware that I
can stop mid-sentence as my brain plays a somersaulting game, trying to find
the word that I need next. Whilst this is indeed a concern, I am working on it
and making adjustments to be able to succeed by starting the whole memorising
task earlier than I usually do and keeping my fingers crossed for that strategy
to work.
The thing that I am finding most difficult is the pain and discomfort with my foot
and it saddens me, after dancing in some shape or form since the age of three,
that dance is proving problematic. Ironically the issues are typical for a
dancer so it is even more poignant that I feel my dancing shoes may soon have
to be hung up. Throughout my life, whatever size or shape I became at different
points, dancing has been my release. A way to forget about everything else for
a while and to let my mind focus upon the movement, the joy of the expression
and the fun of being part of a performance- whether alone or in a group.
Dance has always come naturally to me, to move in time with the beat, to
flow from one part of a routine to the next, to extend an arm line with poise
and a smile, were all aspects I learnt early on and are now just second nature.
My mind is still willing and imagines me succeeding in the spotlight but the
body is finding it hard to deliver the goods these days. Then, of course, that
wicked snake slithers in to strike a confidence blow or a lapse in memory and
that which I had always thought was a strength of mine, begins to crumble.
My pointe shoes are wrapped up in a dusty box in a corner of the attic,
for pointe work is a young girl’s game and I never quite had the whole slimline
package for that. But I do not want to wrap up all my dance shoes yet. I have
noticed the work of this evil ageing process but I am not ready to surrender to
it yet. I am determined to keep dancing, with my painkillers and massage
techniques at the ready for the recovery process.
I have heard that something wicked this way comes but she’s ready to
rock an evil fairy costume and to kick ass! With a high kick and a pirouette,
obviously.
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