On Pointe Sunday afternoons in Raheny, me in the garden with Deanna Durbin tapping ours hearts out – begging my sisters to come out and play. Later it was the kitchen with Fred and Ginger transported to a place of ease, of grace of movement and joy. Yet ballet was where my heart and soul resided. At eleven I saw the Bolshoi, cloud soft tutus, wafting dancers, wonderous uplifting music. All my senses stirred. I begged for ballet classes. No money, my athletic build and size eight feet were barriers for years. I gave up. At fifty, an adult ballet class lifted my spirits, encouraged my gnarled feet to bend, to float. Brought me home.
Rona Fitzgerald
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