Last week was such a busy one that I really looked forward to the events of Friday night. I was joining my friend for an evening at the Boston Ballet. It was the 100th anniversary of the Ballets Russes which seemed interesting. It was but the drama started with my arrival one minute before the curtain was set to go up. And there is no late seating. I made the mistake of taking the T one quick stop. It would be faster than the walk across the Common, or so I thought. It was not. We got halfway between the stops and we came to a stop. The announcement that followed was that we were stopped due to "a move". A move? That was all the detail given and it left me wondering were we moving a train, a body, performing a dance move, moving furniture? I do not know and as I sat looking at my watch I knew I was going to have to sprint to the theater. And sprint I did. I made it with no time to spare, but it was not the way I wanted to start the evening.
No sooner did we settle into our seats, the lights went down. We were getting ready for the curtain to raise when this older couple stood right in front of us, clearly looking for their seats. Of course the man was sitting right in front of my friend. He had this big shopping bag that he was trying to wedge into the row without success. He then sat down and put the bag over the railing into the aisle where it fell and dumped it's contents with a lot of clatter. It was full of empty cans and bottles. We were dying to know the back story of how this man came to be at the ballet with a bag full of redeemable bottles and cans.
The four dances we saw were quite varied. One did not so much resemble ballet but more, as my friend pointed out, indignant moving. We got more dancing with the last dance. There is something about seeing a troupe of dancers moving in unison and the sound of the toe shoes as they land.
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