I was born eight days late – the daughter of a dance teacher, minus functioning hip-sockets. Not exactly a natural talent. More a pillow-splint and corrective shoes sort of gal, who tripped over her own feet when running. With hard-work and a decade of dance training (cue Rocky soundtrack), I revealed myself to be .… still not great. But I loved dance! All of it - the music, the challenge, the stage, and a creative world where a pigeon-toed, legally blind kid (yep, I h

I often talk to my students about the ripple effect. Every action we put into the world creates one—positive or negative. The small things matter, of course, but it’s the larger, long-term commitments we make that send waves outward, like circles on the surface of a river, they continue… long after we’ve stepped away. The goal? Create as wide and as positive a ripple as you can. Today, I had the privilege of visiting the campus of Indiana University to celebrate the senior pe

There are moments in a dance season that feel big. Tremaine Dance Convention & Competition is one of them. Yes—there were awards. Beautiful, shiny, well-earned awards. The kind that represent hours of Saturday morning rehearsals, sore muscles, and a specific brand of determination that builds strong dancers. And yes, we’re incredibly proud. Our dancers brought home: 🏆 1st Place – Tap Trio 🏆 1st Place – Senior Company Contemporary 🏆 1st Place & Overall High Score – Hip Ho

The first time I heard this song, I was ten years old, crouched at the top of our staircase, watching the Johnny Carson Show . It was way past my bedtime but I was (and still am) an insomniac. Falling asleep was never my strong suit, but eavesdropping on late-night television? Natural talent. The song is from the 1975 musical "A Chorus Line." In the scene, a dancer suffers a career-ending injury, and the remaining dancers are asked: What would you do if you were told

Legally blind, dodgeballs smashed into my face before I ever saw them coming. Pigeon-toed, I tripped over my own feet and wore corrective shoes until I was twelve. I was… not cool. But in the dance studio, my blind, tiny, bendy frame became an asset. I could repeat a movement until I looked almost coordinated. It worked. And then—puberty. An uninvited guest who showed up with bras, pads, tampons, hips, and a chest that jiggled when I moved (rude). My tights indent revealed a

I remember how proud I felt the day my young swimmer advanced from Scallop to Guppie . As I watched her strong, self-assured doggy paddle, I imagined Olympic gold. Possibly a parade. The next few months were intoxicating. She rocketed through the preschool ranks—Cuttlefish, Mackerel—and eventually reached the pinnacle of aquatic achievement: Lumpsucker . We were living the dream! And then… things stalled. Grade school arrived, and suddenly there were no more adorable titl