Jill's World: Pointe Shoe quiz June 3, 2012

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Pointe Shoe quiz June 3, 2012

Who is the maker of these shoes?

11 comments:

AnonymousJune 4, 2012 at 3:54 AM
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Lance de BoyleJune 11, 2012 at 6:25 AM
Imagine my surprise, Ms. Jill. Here I was, minding my own business, searching for “KP fighting workout” and, half a dozen clicks later, ending up at your blog entry about KP fighting. Taking a line from Talking Heads, I said to myself (because I was alone at the time), “How did I get here?” Several more entries afforded little clarity; I remained baffled. “I just don’t get it.” Some dozen entries later, however, I felt that I had at last grasped the handle, as it were. Your blog is about the wonder, the anatomy, the proper care, and the many pleasures to be had with: (1) women’s private soft places; and (2) pointe shoes.

I’ve had my fair allotment of shared pleasure with the private soft places of ladies kind enough to grant me access, but my experience with pointe shoes? Little, I’m afraid.

It was in those halcyon days of youth—-grade six to be precise---when little Paulette Rosenberg---a classmate of mine---was sitting in the hallway putting on her pointe shoes, preparatory to rising, clomping (or it could have been clacking) down the hall and into the gymnasium, to practice scenes from the Nutcracker with the other budding ballerina goddesses. [We were a pretty cultured group. You should have seen our productions of Wagner.] I said, “Little Paulette, why on earth are you sitting in the hallway?” She said, “Putting on my toe shoes, silly.” I said, “What’s that stuff?” She said, “You sure got a lot of questions, Lance? It’s lamb’s wool to protect my toes.” [I'd never before given a second—or even a first—thought to Little Paulette's toes.] And then she rose effortlessly and tippy toed away, looking back over her shoulder at a boy [me, to be perfectly clear] enthralled with this vision of loveliness (and I never use that word), quivering with an unnamable emotion. I suspect that young Paulette knew exactly what she was doing.

You are exceptionally intelligent, knowledgeable, and skillful at dance, love, and organization (sounds like a letter of recommendation). But you are not so clever at hiding what I know to be a compassionate heart. Or perhaps it’s so much a part of your nature that you don’t notice it. I am speaking of the gift that you and your ballet pals bestow on wounded warriors---an activity that I must honor with the word blessed.

As a man who has occasionally been blessed with women’s tender mercies, and as a former member of the 138th Infantry, I tell you that you are a person to be treasured. And though I'll never have the near-divine experience of caressing a ballerina, I will imagine that my loss is the gain of my injured comrades.

With all my best regards,

Lance
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JillJune 11, 2012 at 7:13 AM
Hi Lance, welcome to my world! Thank you for your kind words... We are trying to get my troupe’s military hospital tour reinstated for the holidays this year as we seemed to be very well received by our audiences.

Since you remember her name do you know what happened to Paulette Rosenberg? Did she go on to become a dancer or lawyer or marry and have a family? Not that a career and marriage are necessarily exclusive of each other, but that would take some planning.

Lambs wool is still used for toe padding but now silicone gel toe-pads work better and last longer. As a teacher I would rather she had put on her toe-shoes the studio/gymnasium as school halls are often so dirty.
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Lance de BoyleJune 11, 2012 at 8:25 AM
I saw Little Paulette at a recent high school reunion, Ms. Jill. Like so many pre-teen young ladies at the time, she had taken ballet because it was simply what you did, and then went on to boys (and in so doing, wasted a stunning set of calves---muscles, I mean).

She remained tiny, her feet still clocked in at 10 after and 10 before the hour (old habits, I guess), and I could easily have hoisted her overhead had I been so inclined. I HAD been so inclined [Paulette looked like she wanted nothing more than a good hoisting.], but I doubt that her husband---who had put on significant poundage since high school--would have approved. He had mellowed him into something resembling a stuffed frog. Not the adventurer of old. The word stodgy comes to mind.

I hope you get to do the hospital tour. Given the horrors the soldiers have faced, and still face, I imagine that the strength, beauty, and loving embrace of the dancers makes your visits far more spiritual than one might think.
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BrendaJune 11, 2012 at 7:35 PM
What a lovely post, Lance. Yes, she must have a warm spot for people.

The question regarding what happened to Paulette brought up old memories about my favorite Ballet movie. No, not Blackswan, which I thoroughly enjoyed each time I have seen but, rather, the much older Turning Point for which I was at a point in life having the old family-career issues all professional women face. Not only the message of Turning Point was relevant but the scene with the hand dance above Barishnikov's head as she was entered for the first time has always stirred me.

Oh, the shoes: cycling boots I know; ballet shoes, I never knew there were so many until Jill introduced me.
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AnonymousJune 11, 2012 at 11:54 PM
I was going to comment...but there isnt a chance in hell I could come close to Lance's writing skill. I think I will log off & watch the baseball game now.
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Lance de BoyleJune 20, 2012 at 9:01 PM
Dear Ms. Jill,

Some of your entries concern the psychology of sexuality. [I must be some astute guy to pick up on that.] One thing I got was the economy of pleasure. You described how some guys get their buzz sweating and making rude noises (well, I infer that part) behind a lovely young woman on pointe, with her toe pads in their mouth. And I said to no one in particular, “Dang, I thought I had a pretty full life. Now I feel deprived.” [Not really. All I need are blacksmith tongs, hammers, a 3000 degree inferno, and high carbon steel. I make knives and battle axes. Also Tequila and dos Equis for proper hydration.]

Then I thought, “I bet a graph of what you might call 'marginal pleasure' shows that these fellows [along the X axis] have to spend ever more money (5 grand for example) just to increase their pleasure [Y axis] by a small amount because their pleasure curve flattened out long ago. You could probably predict the point when they become jaded and have to do something even more...I really don’t know what the word is...”special”?...to get a buzz. I wouldn’t be surprised if some guys eventually need to give, hear, or watch girls in pain. [At which point, the romantic in me---more like Tennyson's Ulysses--wants to call in artillery.]

Another thing---given that the first thing was no doubt totally captivating---was how a guy starts with a whole woman---a strikingly beautiful, graceful, and alluring young lady whose voice is no doubt sweet and welcoming, and who is obviously intelligent. But that isn’t enough. [I’m not sure what the desire is that is not satisfied by embracing, seeing, talking, and giving pleasure with such a woman who would (to a simple sap like me at least) fulfill every desire.] But, no. Now he takes her apart---as if he needs to know what she’s made of. He has to explore the openings; see how she can be bent; collect the drippings; surround himself with her odors, and even ingest her. I’m not calling it weird. Nor am I passing judgments. [Lord knows I’m weird. I loved the Army.] I’m just intrigued by how humans are. Are what? Beats me.
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JillJune 21, 2012 at 3:47 AM
Hi again Lance! You’ve touched on a major down side of hypersexuality/kink in that for a few of us our needs eventually exceed the ability of most partners of either sex to satisfy them safely much less comfortably. Of course I and most of my professional friends are masochists at least to some extent so pain is an important part of my sexual pleasure and fascination with men.

I’ve managed to get around that problem (so far) w/o being seriously injured or seriously hurting anyone by switching partners when we’ve thoroughly explored all aspects of each other’s bodies and psyches and feel that I am beginning to lose the fascination that I crave from being sexually in thrall to another person. I’m sure this accounts for my keeping a small rotating stable of willing stallions ready to indulge my every whim at a moments notice. Fortunately here in Vegas and being in the entertainment business that’s not as difficult as one might suppose.
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Lance de BoyleJune 21, 2012 at 4:57 AM
Thanks for your reply, Ms. Jill.

I hope my comments and questions are not tedious---though most right-thinking folks consider me to be a nonstop party, and lose that all important vim, zip, and reason for living in my absence.

Above, you said "to satisfy..." and "thoroughly explored..." and "in thrall." That's the mystery to me. What (desire? need?) is satisfied? And what is IN the exploration of another's body, or being in thrall, that is craved? It can't be as simple as "stimulation."

For example, if I were to ask a young popsie to apply the whip to my back a dozen or so times ("Lay it on, comely Lass.") thinking that it might be enjoyable, I'm just about certain that the instant I felt pain I would respond as if I had been attacked and would....well.... end the revelries.

A ha! I believe it's trust. I couldn't be sure that the person laying on the whip wasn't thinking, "Jeez, what a creep." In other words, I wasn't really one with another person. I was still separate.

Maybe that's what is longed for [or craved] even in---perhaps especially in, masochism. Perfect union. I don't think I've ever felt it except in dangerous situations with my buddies. I also feel it when a forged knife turns out stunningly beautiful and I can't be sure how it happened.

Maybe what we all seek, Ms. Jill, is the convergence, even if fleeting.

"THEY ARE NOT LONG"

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for awhile, then closes
Within a dream."

Ernest Dowson (1867-1900).

Best from

Lance de Boyle
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