Once upon a time, a long, long time ago
in another lifetime
I was a dancer.
Ballerina to be exact.
It seems as though I haven't danced in an eternity, and yet sometimes when the right piece of music comes on, my living room is instantly transformed into a studio and my body magically remembers how to pull off a decent pirouette or plié. Easily I feel like a winsome kid again, lost in the music and movement.
...but it doesn't take long before my pirouettes get wobbly, I loose my balance on my grande-plié, and I am reminded that I am no longer a young, well trained ballerina.
My body likes to remind me that I'm getting older in mean, cruel ways (like the lines that are now permanent in my forehead).
So as a kind reminder to myself to "Remember Your Mortality" I indulged in these adorable tiny ballet slippers (from Memento Mori).
Something about them is a kind nudge to keep dancing even if my bones creak...
Isn't she perfect?