Announcement: Grey is a Haircolor, Too. End the bottle battle!

Growing out grey hair is not for the faint of heart.  It is a strange process.  It takes time and patience. It will test your self confidence.  It will test your family... Now that it's finally over, I can't imagine putting dye on my hair.  (Ok, I'm tempted to put in a little strip of purple on occasion).

I was a premature grayer... it runs in my family.  My mom's hair was nearly all white by the time she was 35.  Mine started greying at 20.  The first dye job, when I was 21, was the beginning of a 21 year, constant relationship between me and the bottle.. Starting with Natural Instincts: Nutmeg, and occasionally going so dark as to the color today known as Ebony Mocha or something... back in my day, I believe it was coined Espresso.   Years rolled along.  Life's path took me to Minneapolis, MN, Sioux Falls, SD, Vermillion, SD, Boulder, CO, Pierre, SD, Spearfish, SD, and Bemidji, MN.  Natural Insticts, Feria,  Colorsilk, Excellence. The whole while, relationships with various men came and went, while my relationship with hair dye stayed in tact. Strong.  Unwavering.  Ugh.

Over the counter haircolors provided many years of happy hues.  Around 2008, I began feeling guilty about the toxins I was massaging into my scalp. In attempt to give my tresses a break, I incorporated  a henna cream instead of chemical dye every now and again. The henna was a bit messy, but easier on my soul... I was working 3 jobs, a full time grad student, grad assisting, teaching an undergrad course and a single mom to a three year old - regardless if it was natural or chemical, the keeping up with my roots started to get my goat.  In my incredibly busy life, I routinely carved out time  to hole up in the bathroom with a bottle of hair dye?! I could think of other ways to spend my time - healthier ways!

after each dye job, I felt good.  Better.  My hair felt smooth, was light reflective, shining, and looked longer and thicker.  For about a week.  After a week or so, the demarcation began.  The white roots, in the earliest days, made it look like my hair was thinning, it broke up the richness of color near the scalp. Within days, the hair would grow to a point that my brown hair no longer connected with my scalp.  In just a couple of weeks, the distance between the dark hair and my scalp was 3/4 inch.  By the end of 2008, the "root touch ups" as they had begun to be called, were happening every three weeks.


I tried growing it out sometime in  '09.  That lasted a whole 8,maybe 10, weeks.    My hair was shortish at the time.  I tried the washouts and then tried just letting it grow.  While it seemed harmless to me, this process was a little hard on the people around me. My boss, a woman, actually pulled me aside and said, "so what is going on with your hair?" She seemed surprised when I told her I was trying to grow out the grey.  When telling my dear friend about the workplace lady, she responded with, "Katie you are too young to go gray.  Wait til you're 50." Ugh.  I wasn't sure I could wait til I was 40.  10 days after we spoke about it, I turned back to the bottle. And like an recovering alcoholic sipping her first drink in two months, it felt good but riddled with guilt.

By the fall of 2010, I found a great colorist. For three years, she amped up my faux brunette locks with light, carmelly-toned strips and rich,dark undertones.  She made my hair look so good, people stopped me on the street to ask who my hairdresser was.  She colored my hair approximately three times a year.  But, between appointments, religiously, every three weeks, I dyed my roots at home.. pulling color thru the entire length of  hair sometimes, sometimes just focusing on the root growth.   My mom dyed my hair on her visits up north and it provided a carved, eh coiffed, time for us to hang. But, mom and daughter time that was so toxic we warned my owned daughter to stay out of the room.  If the weather was good, we colored on the deck. 

Got married in July of 2013 and by early 2014 I was feeling done with dying again.  Went to Hawaii in March with the family. Naturally, I colored my hair two days prior to our trip.  It would be the last time my hair would be colored at home.

2 years 3 mos growth

My good friend's dad was not well, and while I would have liked to have had made time to spruce up my roots, what I really needed was to get my butt to Iowa and pay a visit.  No biggie, I wore a cute hat and took a bandanna..  by the way, now that I don't dye my hair, I do believe that many, er most, of the hats you see on women are covering up new growth.  And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that!  Now that I don't dye my hair, I've just noticed I wear fewer hats, scarves, bandannas, etc.

The process of growing out grey hair is long, and I think it's harder on loved ones than on she who is growing out her hair.  My mother sent my daughter home from a week long visit with a message for me: you'll look 10 years older if you fulfill this process.  My sister, on several occasions throughout my life between dye jobs and while I was growing my hair out made clear her unease about the change to grey.   But none of it mattered to me.  I was done.  If people had a problem with my hair, that would be their problem.  The bottle battle was over.  They would get used to my new look or they wouldn't.

I've been asked many times for advice on surviving the process of growing out grey hair.   Here's my advice:

1.   Don't get mad at yourself if you bail on the project.  I tried a few different times in life to grow it out and I retreated.  It simply wasn't "my time" yet.  And that's ok.  If you're losing your mind... dye that shiz!  Be of sound mind about everything.
2.   Understand that you're simply going to look strange for awhile.  Hey, you survived 80's hair with one side short and the other long, you survived perms and strange bleach jobs.  You'll survive this, too.
3.  I made sure to tell my husband and my kid that I realized my hair looked odd during the process.  Particularly for my daughter, I wanted her to know that it was ok for her to think my head looked odd.. Hell, it did.   It helped them get through it.  You're changing your entire look.... something they've been used to for years, be easy on 'em!
4. Wear hats.  You have them, I know you do.  If you are someone dying your hair to cover grey, I'll almost guarantee you've worn a hat to cover new growth.  Buy a couple more.

4 mos growth

5. Talk to your stylist.   Once it's grown in an inch or two, have him/her pull some highlights through your hair to lessen the demarcation.  If you have a really great stylist, you may even be able to bleach then dye your hair grey to match the new growth (this wasn't really an option yet when I did mine, but more and more stylists are doing grey/silver hair on clients these days, so investigate)
6.  Don't look in the mirror too much... particularly in in the deep of winter when your face is pasty white and your hair is half one color and half another.  It just is tough on the psyche.
7.  Start a Pinterest board of women with great grey hair so you have some inspiration and can keep your eye on the prize.  Here's a link to mine.  If that doesn't work, I'm Romusun C on Pinterest and the Board is called Grey Inspiration.

You'll get there if you want to.  I did.

A few months ago, I was talking to my daughter about hair dye and said, "who knows, maybe when I'm in my 70s, I'll start dying my hair again.  Life is a long time."  She responded with, "well, you can't dye it now.  You've inspired a bunch of moms in my school alone to stop dying theirs.  You're an inspiration!"

An inspiration to be authentic... I'll take it and run with it!

3 mos growth

 And here are a couple pics of the process.  It's interesting.  The brown hair picture...I'd literally dyed my hair two days prior to leaving for the trip to South Dakota when this picture was taken.  So many dye jobs were timed according to an event to attend or a trip to be take.

Sometimes when I look at myself in pictures it surprises me.  Only lately have I started really recognizng it's me in pics.  Obviously, my appearance looks different, completely different hair color,  like I'm wearing a wig.  I went my entire life with brown hair.  Honestly, the  white/grey/silver hair still feels foreign occasionally.  But those occasions are happening less and less.

Two and a half years later and my hair is essentially the same style and lenth as it was back when I started this process. But it's silver. And I'm completely dye free.  It's wild.  It's me.

August 2014

6 mos growth

8 mos growth

16 mos growth

2 years growth

#NoDAPL Blog entry

I'm just a woman who cares deeply about the pipeline protests in ND right now. I'm a mom who wants her daughter and the future generations to have access to clean pristine waters I'm a gal who thinks it's a bunch of bullshit that a bunch of rich dudes decided to push oil through a pipe below water that impacts the entire world..

I grew up on the waters of Lake Oahe and the Missouri River.  The water is clean.  Above the Oahe Dam, in Lake Oahe, the water is pristine.  On calm days, the water is so clear you can see down until is simply gets too dark from the depth.  When we camped, my friends and I loved washing our hair in the lake.  Our long hair felt so silky and clean.  We felt silky and clean. submerged in and rinsing with pure mountain runoff, we were at one with mother nature, the heavens, all of it.


The Reservior is huge. Spanning more than 231 miles from Pierre, SD to Bismark.  It's volume s around 25 million acre feet.  (An acre foot is enough water to cover a football field at 1 foot deep)...At the time it was built, it was the largest earth dam in the world.  Now it's 14th.  My dad lied about his age to work on the dam construction.

Anyway,  the water and the land around Lake Oahe are amazing, pure, raw and beautiful.  People use the water as their drinking water source, ranchers use the water source for their livestock, farmers irrigate water from the reservoir to their crops.  The 2,250 miles of shoreline are  raw and healthy for environmental conservation and maintaining healthy environmental ecosystems.  People fish, hunt and live off the waters of the reservoir.  In a world where most parts of the planet covet clean water... we've got enough to cover 25 million football fields in a foot of it.  And it's cleaner than water anywhere else.

And this clean water is used as power.. the Oahe Dam, which run 9,300 feet wide, controls the water that creates hydro-electric power,  supplying millions of people in the central united states with the electric energy to live their lives.  "The Oahe Dam has become the largest producer of hydro-elecric energy on the Missouri River".

It's precious land and resources and the thought of a pipe full of oil crossing the reservoir seems like one of the most absurd things I've heard in my life.  Why on earth do that?  Why on earth put the crops, the people, the environment at risk?  In the event of a breached line, the damage will be irreparable in our lifetime or our children.

We know the money will roll in for the oil companies, why can't they figure out a different plan?   They've found the money to pay security forces for the past 4 months...clearly they have money coming down the pike.  Why risk the pristine water?  In the event of a breach, we've seen from others, the habitat for the wild animals is gone, the water sources for communities is gone, the lifestyle of the people along the water is gone.  In the case of the Dakota Access Pipeline, a breach would drastically effect crop production and the health of livestock - in a band of the country whose grains and meats feed the world.  And what happens to the turbines in the hydro-electric dam when they are contaminated with oil?  An explosion?  And then what?  Loss of power to millions for unknown amounts of time because they are on the grid attached to the dam?

Sometimes I feel like the DAPL is well planned, planted terrorism.  Clearly, this area has been off limits - the maps show clearly that this is a special area.  Various lines have been build around the area for years... yet this area remains clear.  Why risk the clean air, the clean water, the clean energy?  It makes no sense.  One leak and tragedy, catastrophe.  Why put a pipe of oil under the heart of our country, pumping clean water through the center of it?  I just don't get it.

I'm grateful to the Indigenous people of the world for coming together to stand up for the water in North Dakota.  If they hadn't, the line would be quietly placed.  In a land where cows outnumber people, it's difficult to make a sound that anyone else can hear.  But the natives have banded together and man is it beautiful.

When I heard about this pipeline getting the go ahead from the Corps of Engineers, I asked a friend who works for the MN DNR waterfowl division what the flyway was saying about it.  He had just returned from a flyway meeting, so I figured they spoke of this project.  He hadn't heard of it.  And neither had is constituents from other states.  Normally, when construction along wetland takes place, the project must meet the needs of state by state environmental assessments.  In lieu of the DNR environmental assessments, from what I understand, DAPL merely applied for easements by the Corps of Engineers, something that is legal, but sneaky and lame.. and they applied under the same category of construction that a telephone company might use to set up telephone poles.  Slightly different risk don't you think - a telephone pole falling into the river as opposed to a hole in a pipeline pouring oil into the river?  But the Corps supported the plan.  And there were no environmental assessments completed.  Why?  According to my friend at the DNR, the answer is simple - the project never would have been given the go ahead.  It is senseless to put the environment at that extreme of a risk.

Dear Dakota Access,
Please re-evaluate and take the more expensive route in order to er on the side of humanity, life, people, earth, water.   This water you're messing with is artery of our nation... and your plan to insert a continuous catheter of oil beneath the heart of it is pure evil.  Don't worry, you'll keep making money.  And in the long run it will cost you much less than paying hundreds of millions in fruitless clean-up efforts, ruining the lives of people along the water shed and forever negatively changing course of history.   You're already paying out the nose for militia security.  Why not use money for positive?  It's never too late to change course.  Do it! Please.

Here's a pretty crude map of pipeline ruptures in the past 5 years. It's not if, it's when.  Don't play with the environment.  We'll never get it back.  

Co-parenting in Peace Blogpost: The Wisdom

Wrote this post years ago and can't figure out how to access my old blog, so I'll share it here.

Update:  Still co-parenting in peace.  My daughter buzzes between houses - I now live around the corner and a couple streets over from her dad, so she can ride her bike or walk the dogs back and forth.  We work around each other's schedules and life goes pretty smoothly.  It's a choice to treat people with respect.  Treat the exes with respect and try to connect with them on a human level.  Getting super upset with them about God knows what (but more than likely it stems from why you are not with them) only makes you crazy.  

 Becoming a mother changed everything for me (as it does most, if not all, of us), and I'm grateful for that. And because I love who my kid is, as an individual, so much, I'm thankful for her dad.  If it hadn't been him, it wouldn't be her.  Even when I'm angry and completely frustrated with her dad over something, I keep that in mind. And...we're going to be part of each other's existence for a long, long, long time... so it seems much more healthy to me to try to figure out how to communicate and solve conflicts with kindness rather than frustration.  

Some of her friends have very strict visitation schedules - not budging for anything.  Others can't communicate with the one parent while at the other parent's house.   I know one family that has so much internal strife, the parents communicate only through the child.   I'm happy we've chosen the high and light road.  I'd recommend it to others.   We're lucky it works.

New Job

Area Voices Content Producer at KAXE/KBXE Northern Community Radio for the past month, I've been talking with people about the arts, culture and history stories  in our listening area.  Here's a link that should take you all to my stories if you're interested. If the link doesn't work, just go to PRX.org and search for Katie Carter, or check out the list below.  I'll try to keep it updated.

I'm fairly new to the editing equipment and the medium of radio, so bear with me as I navigate these waters and hone my craft.  The people and gifts of northern Minnesota are fascinating, beautiful, and inspiring.  So fortunate to have the job of sharing these stories.

Individual Links:


Women Water Warriors:  Northwoods Women Share Their Experience Protesting the Dakota Access Pipeline at Standing Rock Reservation in North Dakota

Dean Klinkenberg: Mississippi Valley Traveler

Sexual Violence and Walk a Mile in Her Shoes

Roy C. Booth: The Writing Life

Concordia Language Villages and CLV International Day

Jeff Burger: Turtle River Potter

Watermark Art Center: Make Your Mark Campaign

Leech Lake Legacy: Animal Rescue Organization

Four Gary's: World Premiere.  

Interview with Playwright Jeremiah T.S. Liend

Wesley May: Native American Public Art

Co-parenting in Peace

I recorded some thoughts about co-parenting on a blog I called Co-parenting in Peace back in 2009. Life got busy, my ego was too fragile, and only a few entries were made.  Sadly, I've been unable to tap into which old email address was used to set it up and so have been unable to add to it, edit it, etc.

Anyway, here a link to the blog.  And for the sake of the children, please, Co-Parent in Peace.

BTW still co-parenting in peace and so grateful.

racism, alton & philando

Last night I told my husband of Alton Sterling's horrific murder in Baton Rouge.  This morning we woke to news Philando Castile's fatal broken tail light near St. Paul, MN.  Tonight, police officers guilty of cold blooded murder are walking around their homes (or some other  undisclosed location in order to preserve their safety) while the loved ones of these men attempt to simply continue breathing in order to function so their kids can rely on them.  Alton Sterling was brutally murdered and Philando Castile carelessly or carefully killed.  And my mind has been reeling about them.


In Alton Sterling's case, from what I could see in the bystander recorded video, the policemen restrained him, tasered him, wrangled him to the ground, place the barrels of their guns to his back and shot him dead.  These events were decorated with random, strangely timed shouts of "he's got a gun"... but according to the video footage, there was no way in hell Mr. Sterling could have reached for a gun.  He had been tasered and had a gun placed  to his chest prior to the officers sounding off their scripted comment that somehow, in police brains, seems to be code for shoot and kill.  The shouts sounded similar to lame dialogue that might be heard during a high school drama club scene of a police scuffle.  The sound bites accompanying their actions might have worked had no one been taping their actions.  But someone was taping,several people were, and their actions were a heinous crime committed on the grounds of racism and abuse of power.


Twenty-four hours later, my heart sunk as I learned of the death of Philando Castile, a fellow Minnesotan.  Again, the policeman feigned lame dialogue, but this time it was only when he realized a witness was recording his actions.  Prior to that he was acting on sheer abuse of power.   At no time did the officer offer assistance to Philando, even though it was abundantly clear, he was not a threat.   No, the officer remained on guard with his gun drawn on his near lifeless victim caring nothing about the young child he had just made witness to a murder and only caring about Philando's partner when he realized she was on her phone.

Then, the officer made himself sound like the victim - crying his words in shrill childlike screams that blame Philando for the situation.  He then kept his gun pointing inside the car and did not serve or protect... he simply kept his gun aimed inside the car while a man died and a 4 year old girl watched from the backseat.  At no time was there concern for the life lost, the lives of the people inside the car, the people he is paid to serve and to protect. Inhuman. Abuse of Power.  Racism.  Murder.


In the late 1990s, a family friend had returned from college at Louisiana State University.  Along with her new southern accent, she brought her new southern boyfriend.  He appeared normal, and then he started talk.  He used the N word to describe people of color and I found it horrifying.  I called him on it.  He found my distaste for his vocabulary laughable at first and then determined he needed to educate me on his manner of thinking.  He then told me how he and his buddies would try to drive black people off the road and shared that it did not matter how busy the road was, this kill game of theirs was always on and he appeared to get great enjoyment out of reliving it as he shared his story.   I was stunned and horrified.  After hearing him talk about the "all white" country club his family belonged to and how no (insert N word) would ever be allowed in said country club, I was left feeling angry, exhausted, broken hearted, and sadly aware that hate, bigotry, and prejudice had been washed over his mind since the moment he was born.  This was generationally passed down to him. He knew no other way of thinking and certainly would never consider a life that includes respect for the lives of people collective.  He truly thought of people of color as "the other" or I would argue "subhuman". In his mind there was only one color of people.  Everyone else was game to him and apparently to the friends he grew up with.  He made it clear to me that my thoughts about people being people no matter how they are packaged made me scum in his eyes.    "You could kill someone driving them down on the highway!" I said.  "Yes."  he said.

When face to face with that mentality, well, I don't know that I can describe it, but I hated him. Shaking from frustration, shaking from newfound awareness and an altered world-view and shaking from realizing this guy's warped thinking is accepted and even lauded in parts of our country.  My heart was pounding and broken.

But, that's the mentality Alton Sterling was up against. This was Baton Rouge, where young white men apparently try to kill black people with their cars, and think nothing of it - even share their "shenanigans" with strangers.  That is the mentality Philando Castile was up against.  No way would this white cop shot a white man with a beautiful girlfriend in passenger seat and a beautiful daughter in the backseat.  No. Way.   Alton and Philando were dead in the eyes of those cops prior to ever having eye contact with them.  Their lives never mattered to those police officers.  That's why they are dead.

Prejudice + Racism + Abuse of Power + Fear + Cowardice + Badge = Horror in Real Time.
Honor + Compassion + Wisdom + Control + Calm + Effective + Badge = Good cops

I know there are good cops out there.  I personally know many.  But after meeting the person described above, I also know there is a mentality out there that some/many people carry with them. I find it fortunate to know.  Because I know, straight from the horse's mouth, of the hate out there, I am able to frame up the actions of a cop placing the barrel of a gun on a black man's back and firing.  That's murder.  Plain and simple.  While we've made strides in civil rights, as with many civil rights categories: there's still more work to be done.

Thank God people are recording this stuff.  There are huge pockets of our country that would completely deny these occurrences happened - video proof is just that.  I'd love it the internet were wildly overflowing with positive cop encounters with black people.  And maybe,  if everyone who gets pulled over starts filming their encounters, we will will find that the good do indeed outnumber the bad.

 Until then, enough of protecting cops when they are bad cops.  We pay them to serve, to protect, to be the voice of reason, to be a safe positive force in our children's lives and to be in control of themselves so they can have control of situations that are out of control.    Hate and fear fueled cops are  certainly more menacing than a man selling CDs or a Montessori school nutritionist driving with a broken tail light and his small family in the car.  


* I'm sure there are grammatical errors here... I just needed to get something out about all of this.  It all just makes me shudder.

Whitney Cummings

Just watched HBO's Whitney Cummings Special...comedy for the modern woman...and truthfully, the modern man.  The time is ripe for her comedy.

I've never seen 2 Broke Girls (a show she writes), and I probably won't.  But, her comedy special was pretty hilarious.

Muscle Memory

Ballet Body:  If you took ballet as a kid, you've got it in you.

Remember ballet class as a kid?  Your muscles do… The memories sleep within your tissues, your cells. They'll wake up again if you roust them.  And yes, that body you had when you were in ballet can be yours again.  Hello!  It's right inside of you - for real!  If you’re willing to humble yourself and be patient with your body, returning to the ballet barre will have a positive impact on the life of any "old" dancer. It has for me.  And you don't need an actual barre. If you've got a counter, sidle up.  I did it and it's changing my body and my mind  …

Standing next to the counter in my kitchen a few months ago, I felt the urge to grande plie. I lined my body up, tightened my buttocks,  held my stomach tight, and turned out my feet to a natural position. Body conscious, keeping my knees over my toes, I began my decent.  Two regular plies first, then the grande. 

My ballet legs were weak. My ballet butt was weak.  My knees sounded like crusty rubber bands - cracking, popping, and audibly stretching - all the way down, to the deep, grande plie.   Rising was, to my chagrin, a huge effort.  To bolster my strength, I tightened my butt, engaged my feet,  my thighs and my torso.   I made it up, but my ego was still on my new laminate floor.   I was horrified and physical condition, or lack thereof.  How could I have gotten so out of shape?

I'm not a total slug.  That said, after years of dabbling in yoga and pilates, saying I practice either with much regimented focus would be a stretch.  I installed a barre in the living room of my last house and made somewhat regular visits, but we hadn't lived there for 3 years.   How could my ballet muscles have atrophied to such an extent?!  The horror!  My poor neglected body.  I have no recollection of barre work inspiring pain and shaky legs in my memories of the 12 years of ballet classes as a youth.  The floor work following the barre work following the barre often pushed us to weakness, but never the barre work.    

Reflecting on my 18 year old body and the exhausting workouts we put them thru at the dance studio, I was in awe of the condition I was in 26 years ago -  and the condition I was in that day - then all my mom-body had been thru during that time.  Thinking of the impact of muscle memory, and how fortunate I am to have had the opportunity to study ballet under a strict instructor, I understood that I'd been trained in creating and maintaining the muscular elements of my body in a way that could only make me feel better.  Lifted abs, strong back, long, strong legs, perky, but ladylike butt.  I had those back in the day, and really, the only thing I did regularly was dance.  I loved dance.

Piecing together a list of barre exercises and appropriate music from the internet, I created a regular 1/2 hour ballet barre workout.  I roll up the kitchen rug, stand next to the counter and do the barre exercises at least 3 times a week.   While I'm no doctor, I dare say, since re-introducing ballet to my life, on physiological and cellular level, changes are happening and that feels good.

In the beginning of the journey, my body reminded me of so many memories. Painful ones.  Ballet is so centered and whole, intricate and connected, every weakness unveiled.  

Left foot muscles ached when pointing my toe.   Why was it so much weaker than my right foot? I recalled running in the rain and stumbling in a pot hole back in 1987.  Iced and elevated it until the following night where I danced on it, on pointe.  It was set and placed in a cast that Monday.  6 weeks later, I was back in the studio dancing on it.  That poor foot and ankle. 

Right side hip flexors and everything connected were so very tight.  Scar tissue from surgeries as a kid affected my body of today! Years ago after having some surgeries, I sat in observation at ballet for a month or so after returning from the hospital.  Getting back on the barre, my damaged fascia was regularly strengthened and stretched.  After years of abandoning these exercises, that fascia had sort of turned rigid.  Because of that scar tissue, and the tension it's caused, my ballet practice is hyper conscious in regard to pointing that right foot properly.   The leg literally shakes at times, but the technique is what's important and it took 12 years of practice to get as strong as I was when I was 18.  These things take time.   

The muscles below my cesarean scar made themselves known.

Each day when I take my position at the counter in the dining room,  the practice is different.  The exercises are the same (pretty much), but my body performs a little differently each time.  Having patience in yourself is key.  This is humbling to get back into.  But well worth it, on so many levels. I've suffered from hip pain for years.  It's gone.  I stand straighter.  Stronger.

Lots of living to do.   The ballet practice warms my muscles, aligns all my systems, opens the pathways of my brain and always, always always sends a surge of positivity through my soul.  I still sometimes pop and crack with the grande plies, but progress is happening and I’m listening to my body, growing my daily practice accordingly.  I feel healing from deep within my cells. 

30 minutes a day, next to a tall chair or counter inside your own space.  That strong, tone ballet body of years gone by will eventually re-merge.  And  all you need is a pair of shoes. $20 investment in a better you. You can find them on Amazon. 

As a youth, I never thought "oh these grand battements are really toning my core!"  But they were...in fact, all of the barre work was aligning and strengthening  the musculoskeletal body fantastically.  If you studied ballet as a kid, no matter how old you are or how many years it's been, you've got the muscle memory in you!  Transform your kitchen bar into a ballet barre for half an hour each day.  You'll be happy.

Here are a couple sites to get you started...

Use this combo of barre exercises to help you structure your workout.  Repeat each piece of music in order to work the left and right sides equally.

Need a reminder of some of those French words from way back, but can't recall the proper movements?  Here you go.  Click the video below for a whole list of videos that help.

When you get your "ballet legs" back, along with your center and control, you might incorporate some of these moves.  Depending on where you are starting, it might take weeks until you feel like diverting from whatever you end up doing for a routine barre workout, but be patient.  Changes are happening deep beneath the surface of your body. Trust that and give yourself the 30 minutes a day:

Goals!  Try some of these combos.  Your brain and body will be beautifully blown! 

Here are some more reminders for you...old video, but the movements are timeless... and yes, your body can move like this again... get on the stick!  I mean, the barre!  (or your kitchen counter).   There are some good links for barre music here as well. 

Even tho your hip might ache or your knee hurts or your back is bothering you or you have a neck injury, summon your muscle memories and work with yourself gently.  Tighten that butt, engag everything, and change will happen!  Baby, you've still got it!