Spotlight

The drive to the city seemed longer than usual, but when I looked at the clock we had actually made good time.  I had been waiting for this day for so long: To see her back in her element.  Back in her city.  Back on her stage.

5:45 pm: It was raining, so we parked the car and walked quickly to the restaurant.  We ate and talked.  I repeatedly checked my watch.  Is it time yet?  No.  I guess we’ll have coffee and force ourselves to wait a bit longer. I checked my phone. We still have an hour to go.  We paid the bill and walk around the block in the rain.

6:30 pm: Thirty minutes before the doors open.  We go across the street to a wine bar and sip our wine as slowly as we can.

6:55 pm:  A text from our other daughter.  I’m here and the doors are open.  I’ll go in and save seats. Wine still in our glasses, we motion to the bartender, asking for the bill. We pay, and practically run across Second Avenue to the theater.

7:00 pm:  We go in, take the elevator to the fifth floor.  We enter the theater, find Mackensie, and settle in to our seats. Still 30 minutes to go.  We talk, catch up on how the week has gone, what the weekend plans are, etc.  I pull my cell phone out of my bag about every five minutes, counting down until…. finally….. the lights dim.

7:30 pm:  The lights are down.  The music starts.  The spotlight comes on, and there she is, front and center, poised on the stage, bathed in light. One arm extends….then the other.  Her beautiful arms and hands begin to move.  She’s dancing.  She’s back on the stage doing what she loves – creating and moving and making something beautiful.

Feeling Whole

There’s no room on the coatrack.

A white puffer and a navy pea coat take up the hooks where my coat usually hangs.

The chair by the door is piled high with two purses and a camel-colored scarf.

There is a tea cup in the sink.

An empty Pellegrino bottle and Starbucks cup sit on the table.

The white throw is tossed on the couch.

The New York Times sections spread over the living room.

The bedrooms that spend so much time sitting empty are filled with suitcases and clothing and beds unmade.

As disorganized as this sounds, I am complete.

My girls are home.