What says summer more than the beach?
It's October now, and what once seemed like only a far-off dream is now finally and irreversibly upon us. Each year, I never fail to be surprised that summer really does fade, blending slowly into fall, trading in its youthful palette of greens, pinks, and blues for the tawny gold dappled leaves and burnt umbre of an earth tired from the harvest.
I like each season in its own way, and so I'm not sad to see summer go, to be replaced by a more solemn character. Autumn may be more difficult to provoke a laugh from, and have a few anger lines that we fear to bring out in her, but there is such beauty to her face and garb, that one can't help but gaze in awe at this well-mannered, industrious woman.
The past three days this week have been hard. I've been waking up every day at 7am, been at the conservatory to warmup for the morning ballet class by 9am, then had several lecture classes. When I'm finally so exhausted, hungry, and battered that I feel I can't go on, it's time for my most important class.
From 6:30pm until the time that our professor feels the lesson is over (usually 8:30-9pm, but often not until 9:30pm) we learn solos (called "variations") and duets from ballets. We meticulously study the style and analyse every position of the body, head, use of the arms, every musical accent, every single angle must be just so. While the word "study" may bring to mind sitting with a notepad and pen, the way we study as dancers couldn't be further from that image. We learn on our feet, dancing through the combinations, using our limbs and spine to feel our way through the ciphers and equations of the movement and music. And we, or at least I, pour with sweat and push until my bones creak and groan. I've been going nonstop from 9am until 9pm the past few days, and when I come back to eat a late, light dinner, and finally sleep, I find myself staying up until well past midnight, unable to rest, my body unwilling to settle into sleep, instead craving to be again in motion.
During these stressful times, I think back to summer, and wonder whether it was ever real. Summer is effortless. Summer is pure joy. I can appreciate the irony of this statement when placed in contrast with these two photos of my brother who, as I like to say, has HAD. IT. Ah, the poetic richness of the English language. Had what? What has he had, and who, pray tell, has given it to him? None can say, but one glance at his face, shielded from the vicious intrusion of Sister With Annoying Camera, tells us distinctly, and without a glimmer of a doubt, that he has, in fact...HAD IT.
We burned beautifully on this day at Nantasket. I joked that each one of us was our own shade of burnt, like different chocolate bars for sale. 44%, 60%, 72%, 80% cacao. Well, none of us got quite that dark, not even mum, but we had fun trying to find different analogies to describe the various "burn to tan" ratios we were all sporting.
Grandma and Grandpa had the right idea, claiming the prime piece of real estate under the umbrella. Sipping garlicky gazpacho, crunching parmesan twists, planning world domination, cackling wickedly while watching us get murdered by the waves. The usual.
It was a grand old time.
It's currently 8am in St Petersburg, and I couldn't be farther away from all that. It's overcast and drizzly, and the day promises to be just as busy as the rest of the week. I have two dancing classes with an hour break in between them in which to run to the other side of the city to pick up some documents, and then run them to a different office to drop them off. More bureaucratic nonsense on the part of the Russian government and their tiresome suspicion and dislike of foreigners in general - a feel like a character from a Gogol story.
At around 5:30pm after my last lecture, I'll have time for lunch. Or will it be dinner, by that point? Such things don't really seem worth the time of figuring them out.
I remember taking this last photo. We all lay in bed, freshly showered, with a good book in hand, feeling exhausted after hours of being battered by salty waves and body surfing our bellies raw. I snuck into the boys' room next door and saw the feet, and the book, and smiled. What perfect summer bliss.