At a Writing from the Senses workshop, we handed out brown paper bags that each contained a handful of fleece. "Reach in without looking," I said, assuring the group that there was nothing sharp or dangerous inside. "Write whatever comes up."
 This "touch" exercise prompted writing on subjects from kittens to ballet. | Author: Carolyn Dow Lamb’s wool—that's what is in my package. I can tell by the long fibers, soft feel, the way it stretches when I spread my fingers through it. I would painstakingly wrap my toes in it before slipping my feet into my toe dancing shoes. It had to be wrapped perfectly or else my feet would begin to smart halfway through the dance recital. Although I would always soldier on, at the end of the piece, I would often have tears running down my cheeks from the pain. As a young girl, I dreamed of being a famous ballerina, maybe a member of the Rockettes, the group of precision dancers who performed before they showed the movie at Radio City Music Hall. Then, after spending an hour teetering on my toes with miswrapped lamb’s wool I would be discouraged. I will never make it, I lamented. Of course I was oblivious to the fact that I had absolutely no sense of rhythm. |
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