* * * Short(er) version of this available here. * * *

So, a funny thing happened a couple of weeks ago. One afternoon at home in Lüneburg, I'd left my phone in another room, and just missed getting a phone call. It was done in the truly classic method; having the last ring exactly when I got the phone into my hand. -And I paused for the one second it took for the other person to give up, because the call was from Canada. Somewhere in the East of Canada, though I couldn't quite place the number at the time. It looked familiar though.

Overflowing with curiosity, I turned on my computer, and looked up the telephone number in the phone book. -What turned out to be the Montreal phone book. And that's when I saw that it was from my old Ballet School. This did nearly nothing to explain matters though. First of all, why would they call me? Now, after I'd been out of the school for seven years. Secondly, I was wondering how they had my phone number! So, I wrote them an e-mail, effectively saying, "What the heck is going on? I'm fine, in Germany, at this e-mail address, and how are things there?"

It was a couple of days later that things were explained:

The Ballet School in Montreal was having it's fortieth Anniversary, with a big Gala performance, some speeches by local politicians, and in particular, they wanted old graduates from the school to come and perform a couple of old pieces in the show.

I wrote back that it sounded like fun, but that I'm in a company on the other side of the Atlantic. Then They wrote back, "that's a pity. But if you change your mind, there will be a week of rehearsals... and the performance is on... and the school will pay for your transportation." To this I responded, "REALLY???? Count me in!" -And then I didn't hear anything for a few days. -which was annoying because if I was going to go to Montreal, I had to organise things here, and get permission from my Ballet Director, not to mention from the head of the theater. After a couple of days of wondering how things would be, and trying not to get my hopes up, I heard back that "YES, the school will pay for a plane ticket, To Montreal And BACK to Germany. The only reason we haven't purchased your yet, is that we need 16 dancers for the piece we're planning. There have so far been only positive answers from 15 though, so we'll let you know as soon as it's certain that we're doing the piece."

I waited a few more days, as tense as could be. Just as I was giving up, and deciding that it was called off, (Four days before I would have to fly there,) I called them. And they apologised for making me wait, but they'd just got a final dancer, and were sorting out the transportation. Which airport in Germany would be best for me? And did I have a place to stay, or should they see if I could stay with a family of someone now in the school?

I was stunned. In three days I would be in Montreal. I barely had time to organise everything on my end. I contacted my Grandmother who lives in Montreal, (at least she did the last time that I spoke with her, but that was more than a couple of years ago.) And got the official papers filled out at the theater at the last minute. Then there was just some shopping to do, and packing. I'd been working so hard on not believing that I could really be going, -so that I couldn't get disappointed. And suddenly I knew that I WOULD be going. It was a Wild sensation. SO... I think this has been utterly boring. Truly horrible writing. I've nearly put my SELF to sleep. Forget about why I went, let's just get to what it was like in Montreal!

First impression, when my Granny picked me up from the Airport: everything was the same. She's the same, and her second husband Harry is the same, (I've known him for something like 15 years.) And Granny's apartment in Montreal, where I'd lived for my three years of school, were exactly the same. (In fact, at the very back of one high cupboard, I found an empty Granola bag, -that I'd bought. Seven or Eight years ago.) The next morning, I went to the school to take ballet class there. The school is different, -And the Same. The teachers for example, are mostly the same, but I notice them all being older. Then the students; they are dressed exactly the same as they always were. The school uniforms haven't changed at all. This made me expect to recognise the students themselves. Every time I came upon a group of them, I was scanning their faces for one I recognised, even if it was one of the youngest ones that I'd never spoken to.

The thing is, even the youngest ones, that I'd never spoken to, have all grown up, and most of them have graduated. It turned out that one or two who are in their last year now, were in their first year when I was leaving, so they remember me, although I can't recognise them at all. The studios are all the same, as are the pianists. The style though, is quite different. Not the ballet classes that I took, but the other classes. Only a couple of years after I left, they put more, much more focus on Modern Dance. They still take ballet, but the technique is used for improving their contemporary dancing. (And it's done well! The contemporary dances they do there now are way beyond anything that the students could have done in my days.)

Then in the evening we had rehearsal. Us "Old Timers." in French, the "Anciens" -the ancients. And I was the most ancient of them all. There was one who was only one year younger than me, and three who were two years younger. Then a few who were younger still, but I'm not sure by how many years. And then there were all the others who I didn't recognise at all. These consisted about half of the group. It was so strange.

Some of the younger ones, who I... literally, looked down on, have gone on to do much better than me. Many others have stopped dancing at all. The ones who were there, have largely gone... on a different path, and do more modern dance now, (Which is easy on my competitive ego; they're much better modern dancers than I'll ever be, but I've got better classical technique than them.) Then there's one old friend who's hugely successful, working for a TV show, doing short, (well paying!) contracts for music videos, and entertainment at sporting events. I'd had this funny idea that I'd go back, and be able to tell the old students all about "Dancing in this country, and in that one, and doing all these different sorts of things," -but I'd thought about telling that to the Students that I used to know. Not the professional adults that I was faced with. This all took some getting used to.

As well as getting used to the fact that what had always been "My solo" part in this piece, was now "Jean-Seb.'s Solo part." He had in fact danced it more than me. He also danced it much better than me, because the piece was contemporary, and he's become an awesome contemporary dancer. (Be honest Matthew! He's a better classical dancer than me as well!) hm. yes. And a MUCH better contemporary dancer. I'd just never seen him in "My part" before, and it was a difficult thing for my subconscious to accept. ("I danced it first! I danced it when he was still to young to dance it!) And then there was an other modern piece that some of them danced, -which was only learned the year after I left the school. It was an Amazing piece! It was watching that piece that I was awed at Jean-Seb.'s contemporary... adeptness. He was powerful, and fluid, and virtuostic. (Virtuoso?)

In the two weeks there, I got to know some of the dancers, -a bit better, but not a great deal. I didn't see them, in a social sense, outside of the rehearsal studio, until the last day or two; when we all had free time between rehearsals at the theater, as well as going out after the performance.

One of the people who warmed my heart, and made me smile, (more than once,) was Danielle. She'd been some three or so years younger than me in the school, but she came with us on the three week tour of France. -And in that time, I came to know her as a stressed out , emotionally somewhat unstable, obsessively perfectionist (with her ballet,) girl with an eating disorder. -But not an unpleasant person; only disturbing, when I'd think what's going on in her head. She was nice you see. I wouldn't have said deeply friendly, but always... superficially kind and ready to listen or to help.

Anyhow, she turned up there after half a week, and got big hugs and smiles from everyone there. (She had no reason to feel such an outsider as me: she knew pretty well everyone who was dancing there, and knew them well.) What made it so great for me to see her, (besides the fact that she's one more person whom I could actually fix a name to!) is that she's...

In the same order I just listed things now:

Much less stressed, relaxed and fun loving even, happy, and in a good relationship, woman who's actually got a body that's not painful to look at any more! She's friendly and open, ready to talk a mile a minute, cheer people up, get them motivated, (Truly motivated for that piece; She was a barrel of energy, and was generous in spreading it around.) She seems comfortable with herself, and that makes it so much more comfortable for people to be around her. (I guess.) She's still obsessively perfectionist about her dancing, but that's normal for a lot of dancers. -And it's easy to see the results that this perfectionism has brought her. (I'm quite pleased to hear that she's been dancing well in a smaller company in Toronto.) She lit up the rehearsals, and made it all more fun.

At the little reception after the performance, (my Grandmother got a ticket to see the performance, but didn't stick around for the reception,) One of my old colleagues was introducing me to an old friend, who had once been to the school years ago. She was saying that the friend had once known me, and here she is: this is Lee. And I immediately supplied the last name: Lee Slinger. It was the sort of moment where our jaws drop open and we both laugh from disbelief. I more than her, I think.

You see, it wasn't just that we met now, after knowing each other for six weeks... when we were 11 years old, it was the fact that I remembered her last name that astounded me. I've been known to forget first names. In fact, I'm KNOWN FOR my hopelessness at remembering people's names. I think that in Montreal, it took me a year to learn the names of the 30 people in my class. And Lee was one person, in my class of thirty people, who I knew for only six weeks, 15 years ago. -but I could remember her last name! I was way passed being shocked.

Then, the funny thing was, after talking with her a minute, I remembered, or thought I remembered having a crush on her for one of those six weeks long ago. The moment was open enough, that I even had a chance to say to her, "I think I even had a crush on you..." -and she thought she could remember me having a crush on her too. It was the ... -strangest thing. Largely because other than her name, and the suspicion that I once wanted to hold her hand in mine, I couldn't remember the slightest thing about her. (What did I know about her even then? in 1991?) There's every chance that I NEVER knew more about her, except when her classes were, and perhaps which her room number was, and who her friends were. I doubt that I hardly even even spoke to her.

-And then here's this person that you meet at a reception. It blew the mind. I can tell you that.

I don't think that there's anything else to say about the dancing, so I'll see what I can say about the city. I must admit that throughout the three years that I lived there, I did exceptionally little exploring. I knew about where I lived, where the school was, and where I bought groceries. The only little bits I knew besides that is part of the university where I went to choir practice, and streets near the school that I used to walk through to go to my grocery stores. I was not very socially active when I was in Montreal, and never went visiting friends, (with the exception of two students of McGill, that I was in choir with.) So I never got out and saw the city. This summer, I didn't know where to start.

I took long walks, down streets I'd never seen before. I did my best to see something else. But my perspective now is so different from what it once was. For one thing, in Canada, Montreal is looked at as the most European city in North America. -Meaning it's attitudes, it's culture, and it's style of life. Having been in Europe myself for the last six years, Montreal looked very North American to me now.

I need to dance! I can't continue to write about Montreal, with the music, and pieces of this dance I saw there running through my head. (the "other modern piece that some of them danced" which I mentioned earlier.) It was so clear, and the dancers looked so good doing it. Just ... Fine. They looked Fine. (as in Refined.) And here I am in Lüneburg, doing not much, and waiting four months before our Ballet Premiere. Arrrrrg!

* * * We now return to our regularly programmed dullness. * * *

I found Chinatown while I was there, which I don't think I'd ever visited before, and also a couple of nice little parks. I even went shopping, (which is the peak of unnatural things for me to do.) I only took three hours walking along the biggest shopping street in town to buy myself one shirt. Pretty good, don't you think? Only three hours!

During my walks here and there I also looked into every supermarket that I passed; I was looking for the best Peanut butter and the best Maple Syrup in town. -Based on price, quality, and quantity. (There's no point in getting little 200 gram things of Peanut butter, when the total quantity I desire is around 4 kg.) I also went into every wine store I saw, because I was determined to bring back the best selection of Canadian Wines. (For Pamela's family, naturally.) I had to prove to them that I came from such an advanced, cultured country, that it had it's own wine, -and that this wine could be respectable. (I ended up getting a bottle of Chardonnay from Okanagen Valley, Bacco Noir, a red wine, from Niagara peninsula, and a Red Cuvée from Québec. We haven't tried any of them yet, (as of the middle of October,) but I have hope that they'll be decent wines.

As I said, I felt somewhat an outsider in the group of dancers, and the few who I used to be friendlier with were not there. I've also said that I didn't have any group of friends in Montreal to speak of when I lived there. -Except for two University students I met through the choir I joined. Just incase either should still be in Montreal, I sent an email... -to the only one that I had an e-mail address for. And she replied! She hadn't changed her e-mail in the last seven years! She still lived in Montreal! And when would I like to meet her?

That had to have been the nicest surprise of the whole two weeks. I got to go and see my great friend K. -Who then gave me the worst surprise in my whole two weeks: My other best friend, whom she'd always been close with, had died. About a year ago.

This is the closest I've ever been to death.
I have an Aunt that died, but I was about 12 years old, and hardly ever saw her, (once every three years? perhaps less.) -so that had no personal affect on me. My grandparents are all alive, and multiplying. (Sorry: inside joke.) Two of my old childhood friends died in car accidents, at least five years after the last time that I saw them. So they too were distant. And though D., my friend in Montreal, died five years after I'd last had any contact with her, the fact that it had happened only one year before I turned up in Montreal... That made it Real. That made it... close to home. Of course, what made it much more actual and real was the fact that I was having tea with her best friend.

A strange thing is that now-
Now, back in my white walled room, with my windows facing across the street to century old brick buildings, surrounded by my second hand Ikea furniture and the European life I've acquired, D. is once again distant. She has returned to that realm of... dreams. Those friends you once had, all those years ago, in a land far, far away, I wonder what ever became of them. In a way, I know now: she died.

But in another way, I don't know; I don't know what kind of person she became, and what she made of herself. And now I will never know. So in a way, she's just become lost upon that foggy lake of childhood friends and acquaintances. -the ones that you really ought to try and look up some day.
-but you never get around to it.

I don't mean to end this on such a somber note. It really was Great to meet K. and find out how her life is going. She's a friend long past that that came to the shore of that foggy lake, and we got to talk and talk. But I can't help ending things here. Because I am somber now. And I have nothing else to say.