’When I was five, my grandmother took me to see The Nutcracker. She drove me all the way to Chicago, prattling the entire time about how magical the experience was going to be. I was a tomboy, more prone to climbing trees than watching ballet. The entire drive, my grandma kept rapping me on the shoulder with her gloved hand.
“Stop fidgeting!” she’d admonish.’
Once there, she draws the attention of one of the ushers who sees that she is kicking the back of the seat in front of her, while also rocking in her seat. The usher warns her grandmother that they will have to leave unless ’the demon child began to exhibit some manners.’
And then the lights went down, and the ballet begins.
’I was spellbound. I was no longer Debbie Hutchins. My grandma, wearing her dramatic red cape, was no longer my grandma. We were at a 1915 Christmas Eve party. I was Clara, the young girl given a magical nutcracker doll that came to life in her dreams, battled the evil King of the Mice, and took me to a Crystal Palace full of dance.’
I remember one year, many years ago when my daughter and I went to see The Nutcracker at the Theatre of Performing Arts, along with a friend and her daughter who was a couple of years older than my daughter. They were wearing matching black velvet capes, and my daughter was dressed in a red velvet dress that I’d made for her. There, literally, was a collective response from the other patrons in the lobby, waiting for the time to take their seats.
This is a relatively short story, shared in 45 pages, and there is much more to the story than what I’ve shared. A story of family, those who are missed, those who are no longer alive, and those ‘touchstones’ that were left behind, and those that are lost. I have many of those, including the poems my grandfather wrote with me by his side, and how he would occasionally ask my opinion on which words he should use. The last letter my grandmother sent me, which arrived on the day that she died. The time when I was maybe six, and my father took me for a walk, and then knelt down behind me, took my arm and pointed to the stars, naming them. And once again, the last night on returning from a restaurant, he came up behind me, took my arm and pointed to the stars, naming them again, for the last time.