Twirling

I considered the multipurpose court adjacent to a small playground directly across the street from my apartment to be a positive "amenity" of living in my apartment building, since the list of actual amenities was non-existent.  During the first month of living here, I had big plans of taking my batons across the street and twirling - it would be just like my driveway at home!  I wanted to wait until the weather warmed up a bit, and then I would be twirling like old times.

But when mid-May arrived and the outside temps were perfect twirling weather, I got cold feet as I gathered my batons to head outside.  I didn't want an audience with the passersby on the street, the firemen peering from their station, or - worse yet - the homeless men claiming a bench for a front row seat!  Faced with the reality that twirling here would not be like twirling in the driveway at home, my new hobby quickly lost appeal, and I propped my batons back in the corner of my room.

But I decided Monday was the day I was going to twirl.  It was the perfect way to celebrate the unofficial end to summer...and it didn't hurt that the majority of New Yorkers were still tucked in bed, off the streets and enjoying the Labor Day holiday.  Early in the morning I scurried out of the building and crossed the street.  I tentatively opened the wrought-iron gate and peeked around to make sure the coast was clear of any homeless people who might have camped there overnight.  Discovering my only audience was a girl with her dog, and a few firemen across the way, I began to stretch my legs and get acquainted with the trees and buildings around my new twirling spot.  I started slowly, tossing the baton in the air a few times, then adding a few turns.  As several tosses fell to the ground out of my grasp, I felt a twinge of embarrassment (did anyone see me drop?!) and a heap of remorse (how could I have let myself get so rusty!) 

But soon the old rhythm was back, and I was tossing higher, spinning faster and putting on a show the likes of which New York had never seen.  Toss illusion - still got it!  Toss cartwheel - wha-laa!  Split leap back catch - perfect!  Remembering sections of old tryout routines, I marveled as I fairly easily smoothed through the maneuvers, and if I didn't perform a trick just so, I reverted to my habit of doing it 10 times in a row (with a smile on my face!) to make sure I had it down pat.  I practiced my favorite two and three baton tricks (busting only a few blood vessels in my palms along the way).  Feeling so exhilarated with the movements and the memories, I broke into a high march and twirled as I hummed Yea Alabama. "Get me my majorette boots and a sequin uniform!" I thought. "I could put those current Crimsonettes to shame!"

Alas, maybe I could still teach the Crimsonettes a thing or two, and granted, probably still even fit into my uniform.  BUT the only person feeling any shame is yours truly...since it's three days after my rock star performance, and I'm still hobbling around, each muscle in my back and legs screeching with every move I make!