A poem about loss

This is a poem I wrote a few years ago, when the mother of a close friend of mine in Germany passed away. Through my friendship with her daughter, this amazing Lady and I became friends, and her passing away was really my first encounter with the loss of a person close to my heart. As a result, I started thinking a lot about death and about losing people and about different ways of looking at it all, and started writing. I had this poem locked inside my computer for years now. In the past year several of my friends have gone through sad times and had to let go of people they loved. I remembered my little poem and decided to post it.
So - here it goes:

Life and death

A tired body ready to leave,
No more to live for or to achieve
A life of sweat, of work, of tears
Now finds an end of pain and fears.

She closes her eyes and steps right through the gate
(She expected to stand in line and wait)
Comes by a mirror, and to her surprise
Sees herself clearly, through healthy eyes!
Her hair is full, her back is straight,
She regained all her long lost weight.
Arthritis pain she suffered from
is also magically gone.
“So – all I had to do was die”?
She asks herself and wonders why
She fought for life on earth so long,
When here is right, what there was wrong.
“Death is truly a delight”
She smiles and walks with quick steps right
Down the hall without a doubt
That death is what life’s all about.

The woman in the window

The whole thing started about three years ago, the day I departed for a ten week tour through Australia. I went out to the street that morning a few hours before having to leave for the airport, to put my first bag into our car. I looked left... looked right... looked left again, and could still not locate our black Hyundai. "Manolo"... I yelled, "did you move the car last night?" "No!" I heard him reply, and went back inside.
"Well... then it was either stolen, or towed".
We very quickly figured out, that option B was the case, and frantically started making phone calls to inquire about how to get our vehicle back. In the midst of it all, finally a neighbor came forward, saying that we were parked in the handicapped spot across the street, and that the daughter of the old Lady who lives there called the cops on us. Within a minute I went through just about every emotion. Anger at myself, worry about my airport call only a few hours later, embarrassment about the whole situation, frustration about the money it would cost to get the damn thing back. To make a long story a little shorter... after taking several cabs, spending a lot of money and a very stressful morning, we got the car back and made it in time for my trip down under.
From the beginning on though, this whole ordeal had flaws that were hard to ignore. The biggest flaw was that the Lady who actually lives in the house with the handicapped spot doesn't own a car, and is therefor legally not entitled to a 24 hr parking spot. Months later, Manolo and a friend of ours attended a council meeting, talked to cops and found out that there was a time frame set for the space, but the sign specifying the times was removed by - probably the Lady's son in law. That, of course, changes the entire case and means that our car being towed was not only wrong, but actually a felony. We could in theory sue not only the Lady, but also the police for not investigating properly before taking action of such proportions. After all; we lost a chunk of money, and gained a lot of wrinkles over the matter.
But time went by, and we let the whole thing rest. About a year later the missing sign was back, and I now make sure to park my car there as often as possible - within the allowed time frame, and i mean... TO THE MINUTE.
Needless to say, the Lady has not become our favorite neighbor on the block, but I do nod my head "hello" when I walk by the window she sits in all day long.
Last week I passed her house on my way home from my walk, when Kitry slowed down right under the Lady's window to sniff and find out what's new and happening on the street. Within a second the fragile Dame jumped out of her chair as if she was bitten by a Tarantula, pointed at Kitry and screamed at the top of her lungs: "Pick it up!!! Pick it up!!! Do you hear? Pick it up!!!
I thought I was in the twilight zone. First of all; there was nothing to pick up except for Kirty herself. Secondly; I held a baggy with her "stuff" in my hand already and thirdly; IF Kitry was about to "make", she would've not even had enough time to position herself properly before Miss "I'm not so fragile after all" started going up the roof!
First off: I LOVE old people. I have the highest respect for them. I have grandparents whom I dearly love, and I believe that every senior citizen on the planet deserves to be treated with courtesy. But damn it... I have had it with this one. I screamed back at her:
"There is nothing to pick up, you hag!" No, I am not proud of losing my temper, but what I really wanted to do was to place the baggy I held in my hands right on her doorstep - with a smile on my face. So, considering this, the fact that all I did was yell proves a great deal of self control on my part and deserves recognition.
What bothers me about it is... well... SO MUCH about this situation. WHY is she sitting in her window, just waiting and hoping somebody will come by for her to yell at? WHY does she just assume that everybody out there is doing something wrong? WHY is she so damn bitter? WHY (and this is serious, because I actually worry about that) does she spend her last years in anger and negativity, instead of being peaceful and happy? What does this woman look back on when she is laying on her death bed? Who wants to be THAT person? The funny thing is that I would be the kind of neighbor who would knock on an old person's door before going to the grocery store, checking if he/she needed anything. Yes... this Lady could have a friend on the block, instead of a guy who writes and publishes frustrated blogs about her!
I know life is hard, and I am sure she has had her share of tough times. I also believe that time and circumstances mold a person, and I am fully aware that I myself am on my way to becoming a cynic. But at least I am laughing about things, and am not making people around me miserable. If I ever get to that point... please take a heavy object and knock me over the head with it - no matter how old, fragile, sad or tired I am. There is no excuse for nasty behavior and bad manners, no matter if you are young, old, gay, straight, democrat, republican, Christian, Buddhist, from Earth or from Mars. I don't think people get bitter and vicious because they are alone. People end up alone if they are bitter and vicious. So here is my wish to everybody - for a better, friendlier and happier world to live in: Be nice (damn it!)

Summer and Salsa...

It is Monday (Memorial day), and a long weekend is coming to an end. Aside from being a LONG weekend, it has also been the first really warm, sunny and summer-like weekend of the season. Finally... no more freezing at night while watching TV with layers of clothes on (I have absolutely refused to turn on the heat since early April, and our evenings and mornings have been rather chilly so far). But all this seems to be over, and there is nothing I enjoy more than to sit in our back yard or in the breakfast room with the door to the yard open. I love this time of year, and for the first time I get to really enjoy it. (For the past eight years this has been the time to start the annual 2 month Japan season with the Trocks.)
Some of you know our yard, and must agree that it is quite the lovely place to spend a quiet Sunday afternoon in! The birds are singing, Roses are in bloom, Lavender is spreading its fresh scent, the water fountain is... well, actually the water fountain isn't doing anything, since I accidentally let the pump freeze in over winter. But aside from that, it is an amazing retreat and our own little paradise. That is, of course, if your idea of paradise includes nine hours of salsa music blasting all Sunday long!
Our dear neighbors love to have every close and distant relative over to their yard for family reunions every weekend, with Latin American beats loud enough to entertain the entire South Ward! I know that I will have to say something about it soon, because there is no way I will spend the summer cha-cha-ing to Gloria Estefan. I keep catching myself moving rhythmically or tapping my foot, which is clearly the result of my past as a dancer and does NOT mean that I actually enjoy the afternoon disco! I am just amazed at people, and angry that they put us in a place where we HAVE to even say anything! Is our property not as close to theirs, as theirs is to ours??? I understand that listening to your favorite music on full volume is fun, but I can't just force my dear Whitney Houston or Cher on everybody who lives within a two mile radius of my (very powerful) Bose speakers! Although I do wonder if maybe an afternoon of "I wanna dance with somebody", "If I could turn back time", "Don't rain on my parade" and "Somewhere over the rainbow" would set an end to this situation without me having to actually confront them!? Passive aggression has always worked best for me, and so I say:
"... Thank you for the music"! I know that "Music makes the people come together", but sometimes "Silence is golden"! And "As time goes by" you'll have to learn that "You are not alone", but merely "One singular sensation" among many "People who need people"! Of course... "This land is your land", but "this land is MY land", too. So please "Try to remember" that "It's not right but it's OK" to play loud music "From a distance", but we live really "Close to you" and you need to "Think" about that.

Prostitutes in the neighborhood...

Well... this one might have to be rated R, but I just need to put it out there.
As a proud dog owner (although, I usually refer to our dogs as "the babies", since they do not know that they actually are dogs... and I can't get myself to telling them). Anyway... where was I??? Oh yes. Having two BABIES means that I walk around the block at least once a day - on most days twice. The other day on our walk, a somewhat suspicious looking Lady asked me for a light for her cigarette. Being a smoker myself, I can relate to the misery an unlit Marlboro can cause, and handed her my lighter without hesitation. I noticed her looking at me funny, and making a remark that sounded like an offer for - god only knows. As I walked away, I kept stopping for the babies to sniff around a bit, and noticed that the "Lady" remained at the street corner, obviously working it.
First off: I am wearing sneakers that match my T-shirt, a pair of designer Jeans and have two perfectly groomed Shih Tzus on color coordinated leashes, for heaven's sake. I might not wear my heart, but certainly my sexuality on my sleeve! How gay exactly must one be in order to be excluded from the potential client- list of Trenton's prostitutes???
Now to her... and to so many working girls I have seen around here:
I understand the business. I get why they are around, and I am not against them in general (Come on... Walt Disney Pictures made a film about it. How taboo can it be? ) Their occupation is as old as the history of the world. They have always been in demand, and they will probably never run out of business. What I do NOT get is their marketing strategy and their showcasing, if you will.
No matter what we sell or where we sell it, don't we generally make sure that we present it in the most positive light possible? If I put my house on the market, don't I take good pictures of it and don't I clean it when I know a potential buyer might come over to look at it?
My dad used to be a car dealer who would tell me: If you sell your car, make sure it is clean - inside and out. Patch up rusty spots, make sure the lights are working and do all you can to make a good first impression. He would say: If the paint is chipping off, the oil is leaking and the windows are filthy, you probably don't even want to look under the hood.
I always found that to be a very good piece of advice - not just for car sales. Let's transfer these words of wisdom to the situation I am talking about, shall we?
What kind of a marketing strategy is it to stand at a street corner, wearing filthy clothes that could stand on the corner by themselves, with unwashed hair all over the place, missing teeth and dirty finger nails? I want to scream at every one of them: MISS THING!!! YOU ARE IN SALES!!! CLEAN UP!!!
To me - like I said - prostitution in itself is really not the issue. At home in Germany, it is a completely legal job and therefor a pretty normal part of society. The girls pay their taxes, the red light districts are protected by police forces and equipped with stations for the girls to get blood tests, condoms, pills and what else they might need. When I lived in Munich, I would actually drive down the famous street just to look at them hanging out in their BMWs, looking like Las Vegas showgirls.
I am not criticizing the fact that in the US prostitution is considered unlawful. God knows... I wouldn't benefit either way!!! But the truth is that they DO exist. Doesn't it seem logical to deal with this reality by trying to make it as safe and as clean as possible - for them and for their "clients"? Because under the current circumstances I fear my Shih Tsus might catch fleas just by stopping to sniff at THE corner!

Madrid, 2007

In September 2007 I was invited to dance the "Dying Swan" at a gala in Madrid, honoring Maya Plisetskaya (for the none- dancers, she was one of the most legendary interpreters of the role, and actually danced it until she was well into her 60s). She is now 82, and meeting her was such an experience, that I started writing about it while on the airplane back to the states that weekend.

Madrid, September 10^th 2007

When I was first asked to perform the Dying Swan at a Gala in Madrid, I had no idea how important this event was going to be. And even when I heard that it was a Gala honoring none other than Maya Plisetskaya, I still had no way of knowing what awaited me on the 10^th of September at the Teatro Real.

Here I was – in a taxi in Madrid – all by myself, with a suitcase and a Tutu. Tatiana, the coordinator of the spectacle greeted me at the Hotel and asked me if I wanted a tour of the theater. I dropped my things, took a quick shower and met her downstairs just a few minutes later.

We walked the two minutes to the backstage door and entered the only 10 year old theater, which was built in a very grand, traditional way. Tatiana took me to the stage, and I was instantly overwhelmed by the size of the space. I could not believe I was going to perform here only 24 hours later.

As we walked through the halls and met some of the organizers, a very nervous lady walked up to one of the managers, telling her: “Mme Vishneva has changed her mind regarding her return to Moscow. She learned that the crown prince will attend the reception after the show, and she now wants to post pone her flight in order to attend the reception as well.”

Oh dear……… Vishneva… Crown Prince… reception…

What was happening???

I went back to the hotel to take a nap and to reflect on my life. I slowly realized that this weekend might very well turn into an experience I would never forget.

When I woke up later in the afternoon I had the sudden urge to buy a phone card, call people and tell them about my excitement. I went to the front desk to get directions to a store, when I felt a hand rubbing my back. I turned to my right to see who it was, and almost fainted when I saw that the hand belonged to Maya Plisetskaya. I just stared at her. I tried to speak… but I couldn’t. There she was, smiling at me, and I could not say a word. I was just not prepared. Finally her hand moved down my arm, she held my hand and said:”Hello”

“It is very nice to meet you”, I answered.

She asked me how my flight was and said that she was looking forward to seeing me perform. I said that I was excited to be here – and a little nervous. She squeezed my hand and said:” Don’t be! Relax and enjoy”. Even her Russian accent (which usually gives me the creeps) sounded wonderful. She held my hand for a few more moments until she pulled me towards herself, hugged me and said:” I will see you tomorrow. Sleep and rest.”

I completely forgot what I came down for to do, went back to my room and sat on my bed. Needless to say: there were not enough sheep in the world to count for me to go to sleep, and I finally had to take a pill.

I was woken up by a phone call from Tatiana.

“Do you want to go to the Theater already?”

I knew it was way too early (it was not even 10am – my rehearsal was not until 3pm), but I said I would be in the lobby in twenty minutes. She walked me to the theater and I changed into dance clothes. My dressing roommate was Igor Kolb – soloist with the Bolshoi and Diana Vishnevas partner in Manon for this evening. I went to the studio, thinking I would just do some warm up – maybe a barre, stretching and breaking in my emergency pair of pointe shoes. I sat down near the door, looked around me and saw that I was surrounded by some of the most amazing dancers in the world. Tamara Rojo was already doing center exercises… across from me was Diana Vishneva and Igor Kolb. Down the barre were Ilza Liepa, Maria Aleksandrova, Andre Uvarov, and Natalia Osipova…

Suddenly somebody started counting in Russian, and I realized that Nikolai Tsiskaridze – principal dancer with the Bolshoi – started to teach class. There was a side of me that instantly freaked out and wanted to run. But there was a stronger side of me that made me get up, hold on to the barre and think:” I will never have another chance at taking class with Bolshoi stars”!

Drenched in sweat I went to my dressing room, got changed and walked back to the hotel. I had two hours until my rehearsal, and there was still the question of what to wear for the reception. I mean… what does one wear at a party for – and attended by – Mme Plisetskaya?

With the right outfit in the bag I went to have a coffee, and back to the theater. It was almost time for my run through. This is when I first met Andris Liepa – chairman of the Maris Liepa charity foundation, and artistic director of this evening’s event. I was called onto the stage by the stage manager, and started my rehearsal with music and light – without costume. The thing about us Trocks is that a lot of things only make sense once you see the complete picture (Tutu, make- up, wig, audience…) and so I could tell that Mr. Liepa was not quite sure what to think of the guy in pointe shoes, doing the dying swan in sweat pants and t- shirt. He kept quiet, gave me some hard to judge looks and continued his Don Quixote rehearsal. But to me the rehearsal went well, and the people helping me were great.

After some last minute technical clarifications and another break I started doing my makeup. I thought about what makeup to wear for days now, and it went on without problems. I was the last performer in the first act, but wanted to be done by the time the show started. Igor asked for makeup tips, and kept making fun of my “fans” – the administrative staff of the Kirov, who kept coming in to witness my transformation.

The gala started with a ten minute film, showing clips of Maya Plisetskaya’s most important roles. I stood backstage (next to Carlos Acosta) and watched it on a monitor. When the music for the Dying Swan started, and I watched the black and white clip of this legend dancing, my eyes started tearing up. I guess this was the moment when I really realized what I was about to do.

Roaring applause filled the house, and the program started with Tamara Rojo dancing a tribute to Isadora Duncan. She was amazing – especially since I have never seen her do anything like it. Next were Ilza Liepa and Marc Peretokin, dancing a Pas de deux from Madame Bovary, followed by Maria Aleksandrova and Andrei Uvarov dancing the Black Swan Pas de deux. This incredible performance was followed by Diana Vishneva and Igor Kolb dancing Manon. I luckily saw their rehearsal earlier in the day, since I could not see them perform. I was on right after, and had to get prepared in the back.

And here I was. The applause for Manon calmed down… the spot light for my Dying Swan did its usual crossings of the stage… the music started and I went out there. I don’t remember much. I remember seeing my shadow on the back drop during my entrance. I remember wondering if I have crossed the center mark yet, and the last thing I remember was Diana Vishnevas face right in the wing, and thinking: “how nice of her to stay after just finishing her Pas”. And then I stopped thinking, and started enjoying. I relaxed, and relied on everything I know about what I do.

My music ended. I was on the floor in my final pose, the light faded to black and I started hearing applause and screaming from the audience and from the sides of the stage. It was an unforgettable moment.

I got up in the dark – as rehearsed -, posed, waited for the spot to pick me up, and started my bowing routine. After my bows I walked off the stage and was instantly congratulated by all the dancers and Mr. Liepa, which I appreciated very much. The great thing was that we all came from different places, with different backgrounds, carreers, goals and different things to offer. But no matter how different our lives are, for this one night we were all here with a common goal, working for the same thing. And when I walked off that stage with my little bouquet of flowers in my arm, I could feel exactly that. The place was filled with respect and appreciation – from and for every person involved.

I got to watch the second act from backstage, which included some great Ballets and artists. The most notable to me were Tamara Rojo and Carlos Acosta dancing a Pas from Mayerling, and Natalia Osipova and Dimitry Belogolovtsev in Don Quixote Pas de deux. She is a young girl – just graduated from school, and is considered a “new” Bolshoi star. She was wonderfull, and one of the best Kitri’s I have ever seen!

Finally Maya Plisetskaya took center stage. She danced a three minute solo with two Japanese fans. Bejarts choreography was called “Ave Maya”, performed to Bach’s “Ave Maria” – now that’s what I call a diva, in the best possible sense. Her presence was overwhelming. All of us dancers stood on the sides of the stage in awe. You could hear a pin drop. There was nothing to do but cry. I don’t think I can find the right words to describe this Lady. She is pure beauty – inside and out. At 82 years old her body may have lost its youth and some of its strength, but her eyes are filled with passion, knowledge, love, fire, warmth, grace and peace. A truly great person.

After repeating her solo, she called all of us back onto the stage for the final bows. It was magical. We kept applauding her, and she kept blowing kisses in our direction. After about ten minutes of applause, the curtain finally fell, and we all surrounded her – bowing. She slowly moved from dancer to dancer, shaking each ones hands and saying a few words. When she reached me, she stepped back and applauded. She came close again, and gave me the most wonderful compliments. I had no way of responding, other than thanking her for her kindness and for the honor of performing for her.

A group of people approached the stage, and it became clear very soon that it was Prince Felipe with wife and staff. There is really not much to say about him – it is not like he came in with horse and sword. Just a really tall guy in a really expensive suit. He was very nice though, making his round shaking hands with all of us while being surrounded by reporters and photographers. His wife followed very elegantly, we applauded one more time (cause when in doubt, applaud), and the royals left.

I thanked Mr. Liepa and some of my Russian staff “fans”, and went back to my dressing room to get changed and ready for the party.

The reception was amazing. It was held on the balcony of the Teatro Real, overlooking the park and palace. The night was warm and clear and perfect. I got a glass of wine and enjoyed a nice conversation with our European presenter, Gillian. After another glass, I finally had the courage to mingle and take pictures with people. I had a photo op with my favorite Kitri, who – aside from being a great dancer – turned out to be the sweetest girl one can ever meet. Shy, humble, funny, nice, and more of a tom boy than a Ballerina. Mr. Liepa insisted on taking a “guy-picture” with his principal dancers and me. My Russian “fan” called anybody over I was interested in talking to (it is good to have connections!), and the whole thing was a blast.

Suddenly a very nervous Gillian came running, saying with her British accent that “ you simply must come with me NOW. Mme Plisetskaya agreed on taking pictures with you”.

I left my wine, dropped my cigarette, left the guys and fought my way across the crowded balcony. There she was, looking absolutely stunning. She stopped her conversation as soon as she saw me, reached her hands for me, gave me a long hug and looked me in the eyes, for what seemed to be an eternity. She finally said:” You were wonderful! Your legs, your arms, your performance. Beautiful and funny.” She looked around and paused when she realized that we were surrounded by photographers. She put her arm around my waist and posed. At some point she looked up at me and said:” You know… anybody can learn how to do fouettes. But what you have, one cannot learn. You are a true artist, and I want to thank you for being here.” I could just smile and thank her as she was holding my hand and complimenting me on a role that was her signature. I finally looked at her and said:” I have a confession to make”. She pointed at her ear and said:” Tell me quietly”. I whispered: “I can’t do fouettes!” she started laughing and answered:” No need. There are more important things!”

We talked for a little longer, still holding hands until she was called for another photo. I was left standing there in amazement. I think people around me tried talking to me – I may have even answered. But my thoughts were caught up in the fact that I just had a moment with the legendary Maya Plisetskaya. I kept saying to myself: now I can die happily!

A Russian reporter was very interested in Trockadero, and tied me into an interesting conversation. It was great, because he knew so much about dance, was such a lover of ballet – and understood and appreciated our approach to the art form instantly. We were interrupted when Maya (I call her by her first name now) took my hand, saying good night, and that she needed to get some sleep now. I wished her a good night and thanked her one last time. She walked away, and I followed her with my eyes as she stepped through the theatrical red velvet curtains into the foyer of the theater. What happened now, I will never forget in my entire life. She stopped just inside the door, turned to me, looked me in the eyes, blew a kiss at me with both hands and bowed down to her knee, putting her hands to her chest. She got up, smiled one more time and disappeared. I could not even breathe. So many thoughts went through my head… “how did I deserve this?”… “what an honor”… “I need a drink”… ”I am so stealing this bow for my dying swan!!!”

I went for a little walk on the balcony, and started talking to Tamara Rojo. She was very sweet and funny – telling me that she saw Trockadero perform several times in London, and that she loves what we do. She invited me to take class with the Royal Ballet anytime I was there, and told me about having danced Mayerling instead of Corsaire because she broke her foot recently ( now THAT’S commitment!).

It was now time for me to leave as well, and I made my round saying good bye to all the people I had met. I went back to my dressing room to get my things (took a picture of the name tag on the door saying “Sr Igor Kolb & Sr Bernd Burgmaier”… some things just scream for photographic evidence) and made my way out. I ran into the “guys” and Natalia Osipova (who seems to be part of the guy- group) in the hallway, and chatted for a few more moments. They assured me to come see our shows in Russia next year, and went on their way.

Back in my hotel room I didn’t know what to do with myself. I went for another glass of wine to an outside restaurant with Gillian, which was great fun. I usually only know her within the atmosphere of work and it was very nice to share some more personal moments with her. The restaurant closed, and we were forced to go back to the hotel and get some rest.

I sat down at a computer in the hotel lobby to write some e-mails. I just had to tell people about my experiences and my excitement of the past two days. As I wrote, I heard Russian voices approaching. It was Andris and Ilza Liepa with Marc Peretokin. They smiled, and walked past me to the elevator. While waiting for the doors to open, Andris turned to me and said:” You know… I called Maya a few weeks ago and asked her if she was sure about having a man dance her signature role at her gala, and she said “yes, it will be great!” so I said, Maya – it is your gala and your choice.” I didn’t quite know where he was going with his comment, and after a pause he continued, “I was skeptical – even after your rehearsal. But once the show started and you danced, you stole the show. Maya was right, and I will never question her judgment again. Congratulations.”

I thanked him for his support and for allowing me to be part of such a great evening, as he reached into his pocket. “Here”, he said, holding his hand out. “Take my card, and contact me if you ever need anything.” We said good night, and they disappeared into the elevator.

This is how my weekend in Madrid ended. I treated myself to a small bottle of champagne from the mini bar and went to sleep.

The days I spent in Spain will forever remain in my memory as one of the greatest experiences of my life. Having danced the Dying Swan for the most famous interpreter of the role… having held her hand… having watched these amazing artists work up close… having met the people I have met. There are no words to describe how much all of this meant to me. Having been part of something so big is more than I ever dared to dream of. These days have touched me on so many levels – artistically, mentally, and intellectually, and it is amazing to me how one experience can open a person’s mind, heart and soul.

This eye opening weekend reminded me that I should be very proud of many things - which I am. I am proud of me for having followed my dreams, for having worked hard, and for having instinctively packed my favorite shirt to wear to the reception, before I even knew there was a reception! I am proud of being part of Ballets Trockadero, and for having been allowed to make my artistic home there. And finally, I am very proud of the fact that Ballets Trockadero has reached a point where we perform at places like the Bolshoi, the Chatelet and at Galas like the one I had a chance to perform in. It says so much about our efforts, our work and about the world. People recognize what we do and appreciate that – show by show, city by city, country by country – we make this world a little more beautiful and a little more fun.

Kitry and Fiby

Well... here they are, looking all cute. Fiby is a little over eight months old, and is actually Kitry's grand daughter. Needless to say - both being girls, they tend to argue at times. Add to it the family issue and generation conflict, and you have (in dog- form) what we all know from our own experiences...! But for the most part they are doing great together, and enrich our lives every day.

Finally home...

This summer signifies a big change in my life, and I guess this is the reason for me to start writing.
I have been a dancer for the past (almost) 20 years; well... I started studying ballet about that long ago, but worked as a professional dancer only for the past ten. Nobody really knows why I wanted to be a dancer - not even I, since it is clearly not the "normal" dream of an 11 year old boy, growing up in a tiny village in southern Germany. But here I was, nagging my parents day in and day out about wanting to take ballet lessons. They finally gave in, and I started attending a small studio in a neighboring town. I still remember waiting in the sitting area for my first class to start, as a constant stream of students entered - consisting of only girls. My mother kept asking me: "should we just leave? it's OK..."
Needless to say, I stayed around and was taught my first dance steps a few minutes later. I couldn't tell how well I did, since i was mostly concentrating on following the teacher's instructions, but I must have done OK, which became clear when Thea (that was her name) asked me right after the class if I wanted to become a professional dancer. My face started glowing, and I took a deep breath to answer to her question... but was interrupted by my slightly nervous mother, who answered on my behalf.
"The boy is eleven years old! How is he gonna know what he wants to do with the rest of his life? This was his first class... maybe we should give him a chance to figure out if he even likes it some time down the road..."
Well... i did. It didn't take long before Thea came to speak to me and my mother again. This time she told me about a famous ballet school in Stuttgart, that held annual auditions for children from the age of twelve. She made clear that a school of that caliber would be the only way for me to become a professional, and that she could help me to get ready for the entrance exam.
I went home that night and wrote a letter to the school, requesting information- and registration material without my parents knowing about it. What a surprise, when a week later a large envelope from Stuttgart appeared in our mail box!!!
Long story short... After weeks of torturing my parents and a few months of preparing, I went to the audition, and was accepted.
A new era started, with me in boarding school about two hours away from home. It was a tough time for my family... giving a twelve year old boy into the custody of complete strangers cannot be an easy thing for any parent (Today I joke with my mom a lot about it... saying that she never liked me, which is why she sent me off to boarding school when i was a little, defenseless boy. Mind you - I was the stubborn one, while they scraped together every cent they could find to pay for my extravagant wishes).
Back to the story.
As proud as I was of my accomplishment of having become a student in a world renowned school, what followed were the six hardest years of my life. While the teachers most certainly knew how to teach a kid how to dance, they were just about the meanest and most abusive people one can imagine to run a school. But hey... it's results that count, right!?
Anyway... I rather skip this whole chapter of my life for now.
At age 18 i decided that it was time for me to switch gear, and I entered a modern dance school in Munich, which was amazing. I learned a lot about different dance styles- and techniques, and realized that ballet is not the only thing out there. I lived on my own for the first time, I got drunk for the first time, come to think of it... I stayed up until after 10PM for the first time!
Life was great; I felt free, respected, appreciated and supported by teachers and directors - which was something entirely foreign to me. Even though the schedule was draining (six hours of dance classes, followed by three hours of classroom hours per day), I LOVED it. I regained the passion for dance, that had been beaten out of me during the past six years.
I was able to cut my three years in Munich down to two years, and i danced in the Company of the director during my second year as a student. In the evenings i taught kids ballet classes, and was altogether pretty much dancing about 23 1/2 hours a day - or so it seemed.
Through one of my teachers in Munich, i got in touch with the Merce Cunningham studio in New York, where i auditioned in 1998 and was accepted for the fall of the same year.
So... off I went, with two suitcases and enough money to support myself for a couple of months. I stayed with a friend on the upper west side, and attended my daily classes. A few months into the quarter, I was offered to be part of the Repertory Group - a select group of dancers, who perform Merce's choreographies for smaller events. In my case, I did several months of performances in High Schools as part of the Lincoln Center Arts and Education Program. Let me tell you... there is not much more humbling, than performing in a pastel yellow leotard in front of 200 teenagers! Fun, Fun, Fun... (for them).
One evening I was walking past Lincoln Center, and saw that a free performance was about to start. Without an idea what was playing, I made my way further to the front. And this is when I saw Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo for the very first time.
I was blown away!!! This was it!
I never stopped loving ballet, but during my Stuttgart experience I have somehow learned to connect ballet with pain, humiliation, abuse and negativity. But what i saw at this out of doors event that evening brought back my memories of WHY i wanted to be a dancer in the first place! Because it was FUN for me. When i first started, I wanted to turn my passion into my profession, but instead my profession turned into a hell even before I was a professional!
Through a series of events I managed to get in touch with the Director of the Trocks, auditioned one fine Monday (January 3rd 2000), and was on tour with them on Wednesday (Jan. 5th). It all happened so fast. Before I knew it I checked into one Hotel after another, learned how to put on pointe shoes, Make up, wigs, Tutus, and was on stage almost every day.
I guess dreams do come true sometimes...!? But there is another saying: "If the gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers".
I cannot tell you how many times i have asked god to give me a chance to travel. I wanted to see the world and visit cities I could barely find on the map. Back in Stuttgart I would leave my High school grounds during my 15 minutes break, run to a travel agency to get a catalog and spend the next days studying it. I literally prayed every day to go to all the places I "knew" from those catalogs. I guess god must have gotten sick and tired of my nagging him, and he finally said: "you want to travel??? I'll give you travel!!!
So this is what i did. Dance and travel for the next eight years. At this point it is easier for me to list the countries I have NOT visited during my time with the Trocks, and I am very thankful for every single thing I got to see. Time flew by... I had highlights and low points, loved and cursed my job, but never lost the pleasure I felt once I was on stage, making people in the audience smile, giggle or simply enjoy what I had to offer. I guess it didn't occur to me for a long time, but an artist can actually make differences in people's lives. I went through a whole period of my life where I thought I didn't contribute anything important to the world - comparing myself to doctors, nurses, ambassadors or even garbage men, who very directly make this world a better, healthier, safer or cleaner place to live in. But one day I heard about a Lady who was in one of our performances. She told our ballet mistress about her very sick daughter, and that this evening was the first time in years that she actually laughed - really laughed. I guess this was when i realized that I also made a small difference to the better in the world. It felt amazing.

Anyway...
As of February 2008, I left the Company. Although I enjoyed dancing and traveling until the very end, I decided that it was time for me to take some time at home with my partner of over eight years, and our two Shih Tzus. (For the ones who don't know... Manolo gave me a little puppy for my 30th birthday. Her name is Fiby, and she is just amazing!!!) Being separated from Manolo for months at a time became more and more difficult for the both of us, and I chose to settle down. This is where the title to this story comes in... FINALLY HOME.
I can't even begin to describe how happy I am to be here, without constantly seeing my suitcase ready to be packed in the middle of our guest bedroom. It is such a joy to have time for everything. Before, there was always this pressure for time... everything had an expiration date attached. If we were having a great time, fun and happiness, I would say: "Let's enjoy it now... on Sunday I am leaving again." If we had discussions or arguments, I would say: "Let's wrap it up now... on Sunday I am leaving again." Finally we can have fun, laugh, argue, discuss and enjoy without the thought of a departure date.
We have also just taken our first steps into a new, bright and exciting future, by attending the certificate program in interior design at the college. After decorating our own home one room at a time, we have clearly developed more than a taste for the business, and can't wait to see what the future brings.
OK... enough for today. Fiby (the puppy) is desperately trying to get me away from the computer. And she has got me wrapped around her little claws!