Still in Rotation: The Nutcracker (Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky)

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Still in Rotation: The Nutcracker (Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky)

Still in Rotation is a guest post feature in which talented writers tell Midlife Mixtape readers about an album they discovered years ago that’s still in heavy rotation, and why it has such staying power.

When I got to the LitCamp Writer’s Conference in 2013, there was a get-to-know you game among the attendees in which you had to figure out which writer had done which interesting thing in his/her past. One of our fellow campers had been a ballerina?! WHAT? I am the MOTHER of ballerinas! I had to meet her! Turns out – it was my own roommate, Janine Kovac, and I’m grateful every day to LitCamp for throwing us into each other’s paths. When a ballerina turned writer offers to tackle The Nutcracker, you don’t argue.

The Nutcracker (1892)

by Janine Kovac

The first time I saw the Nutcracker, I was ten years old. The dark theatre made the stage seem impossibly far away, as if it were suspended in the air by magic. From the moment the conductor took the podium and signaled for the orchestra to begin, I was hooked. Struck by the thunderbolt, I just knew that I was going to be a ballerina when I grew up.

And that’s what I did. Over the next two decades I performed in just about every role the Nutcracker has to offer: a boy in the party scene, Fritz, a maiden aunt, a soldier, a mouse, a reindeer, and a snowflake (more times than I can count). I was an angel, a lollipop, a Spaniard, an Arabian slave. I danced the Chinese variation as a solo and three different versions of Mirlitons, (sometimes called the Shepherdess, sometimes called Marzipan). I danced Nutcrackers in Juarez, Mexico and Vancouver, Canada. In Seattle, San Francisco, Minneapolis, and Uvalde, Texas—to name a few.

Which meant that by the time I turned 19 and ticked off my 150th appearance in Waltz of Flowers I’d had enough of Nutcracker.

Given a choice, I would have rather listened to the incessant ringing of Salvation Army bells outside Nordstrom than to the melodious (rhymes with odious—coincidence?) and ubiquitous Christmas-shopping soundtrack of Waltz of the Flowers that was sure to be playing inside the store. Just the thought of hearing it made me want to jab my eyes out with candy canes.

When I moved back to San Francisco and hung up my pointe shoes at the impossibly old age of 30, I figured I’d never have to listen to the Nutcracker ever again, especially if I did all my Christmas shopping online.

My plan was working perfectly until I met my future husband—a paralegal by day and a freelance ballet dancer who spent his Autumn months rehearsing for no fewer than three Bay Area Nutcrackers a year.

Nutcracker is like the Mafia; you never really get out.

Nutcracker is now a family affair. Daddy and the kids dance onstage; I help with rehearsals behind the scenes. My mood regarding the score has not improved. I’d still prefer to jab my eyes out with candy canes but evidently the only way I know how to parent is by perpetuating the cycle of torture.

Eight o’clock in the morning on Saturday, it’s cold. I’m grumpy. And I know they’re only four years old, but honestly? This cast of Little Angels is terrible. They scratch; they wiggle. Nobody can remember when to stand up or when to make angel arms. The worst ones of the bunch are the two twin boys. One brought his baseball mitt to rehearsal. The other isn’t even doing the choreography. At all. Those boys need some extra rehearsals. This is something I could actually do something about since those boys are my boys.

The director motions to me and I start the CD player.

I brace myself for the tinny music of the second act overture but in place of the agony I expect to feel, my tummy jumps and my skin tingles. As the first few bars of the Little Angel music drift out of the speakers, it dawns on me: We’re going onstage next week!

Suddenly, the music doesn’t sound jarring or tired anymore. It sounds floaty. Like clouds drifting by. Like a lullaby. Like the smell of comfort food. And my Nutcracker Grinch’s heart grows a few sizes.

We’re going onstage! To dance!

We’re going to crack open our hearts and let the joy come out! We’re going to prance and perform and smile and share! And whether it’s watching my daughter, the little mouse who tugs on Drosselmeyer’s cape; or my husband who dips and spins the Sugarplum Fairy; or my sons who will stand there and scratch and daydream about dinosaurs, I’ll be sitting in the audience taking it all in the way I did when I was ten, transported by the music, because that’s what beautiful music does. It makes you feel like dancing.

♪♪♪Before the turn of the century, Janine Kovac was a real live ballerina. Today she is the sponsorship coordinator for Litquake and a founding member of the Write On Mamas. She’s also a contributing author and co-editor of the anthology Mamas Write: 29 Tales of Truth, Wit, and Grit (which makes a great stocking stuffer, by the way!) You can like her on Facebook or follow her @janinekovac. But if you really want to score points, offer to babysit.