When to clap

It’s been quite the week, and I again attended the ballet tonight. I was so inspired by last week’s performance, I purchased a ticket for the Louise Nadeau retirement extravaganza. And, again, I ponder … when should the audience clap at a ballet?

I’m not that much of a snob, but I feel Seattle audiences are much more generous with applause than necessary. I sometimes find it annoying, but got over it tonight. Why be a crab at the very last performance of the year, especially when I’ve realized lately how happy it makes me to see the dance?

Lots to love tonight at PNB, including La Valse with Mlle Nadeau, Chaconne, the West Side Story Suite, Urlicht and La Sonnambula, with Miranda Weese. She’s also retiring but didn’t get the big shindig.

On the docket for this week – send letter to Peter Boal, artistic director. He does such an amazing job with this company, and I love the works he chooses. I feel inspired, and want to return again and again. I know, it sounds dramatic. But it’s true (and it’s late).

Apart from ballet that is ending this week, I had quite the week. I finally got out on my Kona Lisa, thanks to Nicole. I was afraid to ride it because it has a tricky gear shift system … and because I haven’t ridden a 10-speed-like bike since, oh, high school.

Well, the bike kicks serious butt – it is fast and smooth, and I still need to learn the gear system, but I love it. Seriously.

The week began with sad news – the murder of Dr. George Tiller in Kansas. I attended a vigil in Seattle Monday (June 1) and was reunited with friends and former colleagues from Planned Parenthood. (That’s my arm, I believe, on the left. Black shirt)

It was sad, and touching and inspiring. One of Dr. Tiller’s patients spoke about her abortion when she was 17 and had been raped. Her story is one that everyone should hear – abortion services are about trusting women, compassion, and a seemingly busy doctor taking the time to hold a crying 17-year-old for 30 minutes.

All the news, the vigil and related feelings took me back to my days in Bloomington, Ind. when I was an activist of sorts, infiltrated an anti-choice group (it didn’t last long because it was too hard), and launched my writing career.