Past my time, or the Lateness of the Hours

Recently, I have had a bit of a fun time reading and thinking about things which have lay dormant for so long that it is almost as if I forgot about that entirely- but, really, not quite as it happens to be.  Just like a scent on a passerby can call up the memory of someone from long ago- it, fortunately or unfortunately never being him or her- it takes just a little imagination, just a little more dreaming, and then suddenly what we had been in love with perhaps we can be in love with once again.

Whether it lasts, of course, is entirely up to me.

Today's case in point is that among the things said to me recently is that it may be interesting to spend 20 minutes of every day to read up on something entirely out of the periphery of my normal vision, and see whether I could accommodate that into my own daily "life" and "work".  Well, truth be told, I was rather lost as what to look at, and found myself at the bookstores searching around for things that may fall under this category (many as the categories are).

After a little search, and a jarring of the soul and memory, I hit upon the autobiography of the dancer Jock Soto (formerly of the New York City Ballet)--

Which brings me to some old and suppressed memories.  I will say that the first time I saw ballet was that many years ago, in Central Park (late 80s? early 90s latest), it was the Alvin Ailey group, and that was magnificent and remains in my memory to this day.  But, what I had put out of my mind is that a little while after that, I had to choose a class to take to fulfill my requirements.  I saw "Jazz Dance" listed, and decided to try for that.  But, when I showed up, it was all women and there was a requirement to take off one's shoes.  I was a bit nervous already, and intimidated by all the women- there being not even one male- so I promptly turned around and that was that.  Today, though, I wonder what would have happened if there was one male there, or if any of the women gave me a hint of encouragement to stay.

Now, in my old age, near or past the age when a ballet dancer or danseur retires, it is one of the few things which I can say "it is too late"