A heady experience, like a very unsettling dream. Ballet class took place in a cabin, sitting mere feet away from the still waters of Lake Washington. Between the parking lot and the school was a small beach with white logs and piles of rock scattered artfully across the sands. Lush, leafy trees arched and curved all zen-like over the embankment, casting watery reflections in the clear blue-green surface. It felt unreal. The instructor was a muffin-topped man who could still spin like the devil (of the Tazmanian variety). As I followed the barre exercises, I kept my eye on one particular dancer, but not because she was a beautiful mover. I was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by the demeanor of her, so aloof and satisfied with her own grace. Was this her real personality or just the ballet attitude misinterpreted?
After class, Sarah and I did a fun photo shoot on the lakefront property, spent awhile searching for our car key, then left this aberration in the fabric of reality for the highway home, quite subdued at first until we could shake off the lingering feeling of waking from an unsettling dream. We gave it nicknames-- the Twilight Zone, the Mists of Avalon, Hotel California-- and laughed over the sheer absurdity of the entire Spectrum experience until the feeling faded.
