On the lure of a few Loonies

Year after year, Grandma and Grandpa sent me a birthday card, a newsy letter and fifty Canadian dollars. The card is always floral Hallmark, the letter full of love and stories of their busy, ordered lives and the money usually buys me a little treat of some superfluous kind. Not this year, however; in this moment of financial pinch, I have never been so happy to open an envelope because it meant I could afford another week of dance classes. Since my descent into doubt as a dancer sometime in 2006, roughly when I broke my foot on stage, it has taken me too many painful years to piece myself back together. And its the mind that is the most stubborn muscle. But I've just realised that the habit of their faith is a great example that blooms regularly in front of me.