Last week as Chris and I drove up the Massachusetts Turnpike on our way to the Big E (the Eastern States Exposition) in Springfield, we enjoyed the beautiful colors of the leaves as they began their cycle into fall and winter. The yellows, browns, and oranges were lovely, but the reds really caught my eye and put me in the mood for spiced apple cider and warm wooly sweaters. I believe there is something truly magical about autumn in New England.
Stormy weather prevented me from attending the Exeter Fall Festival I mentioned in last month’s newsletter but I did spend a fun-filled day selling books at the Big E. So this month, I will share some photos of the Big E, tell you about two upcoming events—one book event and one music event, and then include the rest of the short story I started last month, “Flash Mob Ballet.” I’ll begin by saying…
THE BIG E
Eastern States Exposition
West Springfield, MA
September 13 to 29, 2024
A big shout out of thanks to fellow author PK Norton for kindly sharing her booth at the Big E with me. We had a wonderful time selling books and chatting with customers on Thursday, September 26, 2024, and thoroughly enjoyed a full day of people-watching.
Paula Norton is the author of the Amy Lynch Investigations Book Series, which Paula describes as “Nancy Drew for grown-ups.” Check them out on Amazon,com.
Chris and I returned to the Big E the next day as tourists and had a blast walking around, seeing the sights, tasting the treats, and going to a Draft Horse Show with gigantic horses being expertly guided through balletic maneuvers with huge wagons. We were very impressed!
If you’ve never been to the Big E, consider attending next year. It’s a lot of fun!
SCITUATE ART FESTIVAL
On the Village Green
North Scituate, RI
Sunday, October 13, 2024
10 AM to 5 PM
Come celebrate the fall season by visiting me at the Village Green in North Scituate on Sunday, October 13, from 10 AM to 5 PM. Browse and buy original fine art, handmade crafts, antiques, and books in an open-air market. Enjoy tasty treats and support local, non-profit organizations by visiting the food court. I will be there selling books and stained glass ornaments so stop by for a visit!
THE FALLOUT SHELTER
61 Endicott Street
Norwood, MA
Friday, November 1, 2024
7:00 PM
Chris and his new band, Black Cat Crossing, are having a major gig at the Fallout Shelter in Norwood, MA, on Friday, November 1, at 7 PM. Come on out to see Chris (fiddle) with Steve Healy (vocals & guitar), Kathy O’Connell (vocals & banjo), Ted Mellow (vocals & bass), and Brian Sargent (vocals & mandolin) as they play some original tunes and some bluegrass favorites. The tickets are $30 apiece and are expected to sell out, so make sure to buy yours now by clicking HERE. See you there!
That’s all the news for this month. And now, here’s the end of “Flash Mob Ballet,” a short story I wrote about an older woman who still loves to dance—like me! I hope you enjoy it.
Thanks for reading!
Lynne
FLASH MOB BALLET
by Lynne Heinzmann
(Continued from last month)
“Great.” I caught Fred’s collar and scooped him into my arms. “Now look at what you made me do.” I tucked him safely outside the studio, shut the doors, and limped over to the fallen picture, broom and dustpan in hand. Carefully lifting the photo from the bits of glass, I saw it was an image of me as a sixteen-year-old dancing in my first lead role as Cinderella. The photographer, my older brother Phil, had captured such a look of joy on my face that it made me smile even now. “Sure makes it easy to see why I stuck with ballet for so long.” I placed the picture frame on the windowsill and slowly swept the floor, starting with the broken glass but then expanding outward to sweep the whole dusty room. With thoughts of Cinderella still in my head, I awkwardly attempted some of the steps I’d danced while wielding a broom in that role, amazed that I could still remember them forty years later.
As I slid the dust and glass into the trashcan, I recalled that sixteen-year-old-me hadn’t known for sure if she would be dancing the role of Cinderella until the day before the show. Three weeks prior, I’d fallen down a flight of stairs and had severely sprained my ankle. Our ballet company director—the one who’d made the snarky knitting comment—had told my understudy that she’d probably be performing the lead role in my place. But there was no way I was going to let that happen. Even before the doctor gave me the green light to dance again after my injury, I had strapped on my pointe shoes and rehearsed my part, first alone, and then with Andrew, the boy cast as Prince Charming. I’d had to bribe him with a Pizza Hut gift certificate to get him to practice with me after hours, but it’d been worth it. Standing on that stage as Cinderella on opening night, receiving the applause of the audience, I’d felt happier than I’d ever been in my young life. That night—the night Phil took that photo—I had first realized that performing ballet on stage gave me my ultimate high. Gracefully moving my body to the music allowed me to soar through space and time, completely weightless and unencumbered by any worldly cares. For hours on end, I escaped my physicality and became ethereal—dance incarnate.
Four decades later, I hobbled over to the stereo table and placed the damaged photo next to my phone. Fred scratched to be readmitted so I flung the doors open once again and announced, “I’m just going to see what I can do.” Then I grabbed a yoga mat and practiced some more ballet warm-up exercises while seated in a patch of sunlight on the studio floor with Fred climbing over me and nipping at my leather slippers. It wasn’t much of a workout, but it was a start.
* * *
On February 1st, I wasn’t surprised to see Chris seated at the mall food court, since he often went there on his lunchbreak from his job in a nearby office building. He was, however, shocked to see me and was even more so when two dozen other women and I took off our winter coats, strapped on ballet slippers, and forcibly occupied a large area of floorspace near the escalators. We were dressed alike in the standard ballet teacher’s uniform of a black, long-sleeved leotard, black chiffon skirt, and pink tights, with our hair pulled tightly into firm buns.
Precisely at the stroke of noon, the jazzy tones of Fame’s “Hot Lunch” blared from our cellphones as we performed Theresa’s original choreography in unison. For two minutes and thirteen seconds, we glissaded, developpéd, and entertained the Providence Place Mall lunch crowd in honor of National Ballet Teachers’ Day. As the last bars of music streamed from our phones, I struck the final pose with a huge smile on my face and tears in my eyes. Afterward, while the onlookers applauded wildly, I relished a prolonged group hug with the other ballet teachers, many of whom I hadn’t seen in nearly a year.
Chris’s forehead creased with worry as I limped over to his table. He kissed me and wrapped me in a strong embrace. “Hon, that was amazing. You were amazing. I can’t believe you did that.” Stepping back, he peered into my face. “But I can see you’re hurting, now. Was it worth it?”
“Oh, yes!” I said with a huge smile. Because even though that performance had been far from my best—I hadn’t even been able to do some of the steps, and I had probably set myself up for some extended sessions with ice bags over the next couple of days—for a few moments toward the end of the piece, I had achieved my ultimate high, joyfully soaring through space and time once again. And, for me, nothing’s better than that.