Katharina Ballerina

Katharina Ballerina

On Thursday evening we attended, as a family, in the Ragan Theater of the Sorenson Center on the campus of Utah Valley University, a performance by the Jacqueline Ballet Company, of Thumbellina.  

The show had many attractions.  Thumbellina herself was a bantam belle with wispy legs, whose somber brow and slender chin combined to create an impression of solemnity and gravitas out of all proportion to her tiny frame and out of all relation to her jovial role.  Another crowd favorite was a frog, the only boy in the show, who tried, mostly in vain, to abduct the heroine, who, small as she was, stood six inches taller than her amphibian assailant.  By general acclaim, however, the highlight of the show was an invincibly beautiful young maiden who appeared only toward the end of the production and who played the part of a duck.

Katharine—as was obvious to everyone in the audience, barring a scattered handful of hopeless philistines—is a born ballerina.  The perfect musculature of her little legs was visible even at a great distance.  She was the very picture of elegance and agility, virtuosity and grace.  Until Thursday evening no dancer in history had ever quite done justice to “Five Little Ducks Went out to Play.”  Katharine did it more justice than it deserved.  The applause—obviously directed at Katharine alone—was thunderous.  The ovation rattled the theater walls.  Katharine’s smile pierced a thousand hearts.  It was all we could do to save her from drowning in a flood of falling roses.  The following lines, written by Eli before the show even began, proved vastly understated in their prediction.  

The attentive reader will note that each stanza is a haiku.  The collection from which the verses come is called, “Katharine: The Best Dancer of Them All.”  This particular poem is called

“My Sister the Dancer”

My sister dances

She is a ballerina

She plays a duck part

She’s not in view yet

Nervous but real excited

I can’t wait for her

The curtains open

I see a shining glad face

As my friend begins

She steps and dives well

In great time with the music

All who see are pleased

The dance is ending

Katharine takes a low bow

She has sweet flowers

people clap and cheer

Katharine beams with delight

The people loved her

Katharine was adorable from beginning to end.  It was thrilling to see her on stage.

Katharine was not, however, the only member of our family who danced this week.  On Monday evening for FHE we took the crew to the Orem Library for a presentation by “Morning Star,” a Native American performing group.  During one of the dances, an Indian man in full aquiline apparel—feathers on his arms and wings on his back—stomped toward Abdiel and thrust a blunted spear within inches of the child's nose (it is considered a feat of prowess to swing a spear close to a target without touching).  Abdiel was rather inspired than afraid.  Ever since he has been stomping circles around the house, sounding war-whoops and waving imaginary weapons at terrified passersby.  He, too, appears to be a born dancer.  But whereas Katharine seems destined to shatter a million hearts with the potency of her charms, Abdiel seems destined to frighten assembled masses with the terror of his strong right hand.  His incipient, pre-summer tan only adds to the effect.

Our children have paid their devotions this week to Polyhymnia as well as to Terpsichore.  Each of the girls began her summer instrument lessons—Julia on the violin, Eli on the harp, Katharine on the cello.  They stand fair, in years to come, to form a formidable trio.  As for me, I continue to pay obsequious, quotidian homage to Clio, who occasionally condescends to cast an indulgent semi-smile on poor, plodding hacks who ply cultivate the craft of legal history.