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The Smell of Dance Shoes

(Do not worry, reader, this will not be graphic)

 I love the smell of dance shoes. Perhaps it’s just an athlete’s thing, but I love the smell of sweat. Combined with the smell of leather, it is the perfect smell; it smells of joy, hard work, determination, and the thrill of that first moment you leap into the dance.

Little child—ten, at the country fair. My grandma—Mimi Christie—encouraged: “Go up and dance.”

 Sword dance—leap over crossed broadswords, wielded by the Celts

Highland dancer—I chose that over Irish. The Scottish used their arms, after all. 

The Games—the Highland Games; a mix of a Renaissance fair, and the Puyallup Fair.

Injury—Grief, but we won’t dwell on that now. There are too many other stories to tell.

Country dancing classes here—Here at Western, where I’ve made my home.  

 

 

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