October 4, 2010 After an hour of tourist toystore mania at Hamley’s on Regent Street, I kiss my husband and kids good-bye at Piccadilly Circus. I will walk toward Covent Garden while they walk the other direction in search of a bus stop at Trafalgar Square to get back to Pimlico and our hotel. “Number 24,” I reminded him. He rolls his eyes at me. I turn to walk up Shaftesbury Avenue from Piccadilly Circus and picked up my pace, like a horse to the barn. Class. I’m going to class. It has been over two weeks since my last jazz class, and that one was 5,000 miles away in Austin, Texas. I’m in London. And I’m going to class! I feel elation and anticipation in my whole body as I walk to Pineapple Studios. There's some trepidation and slight intimidation, too. What will this class be like? Will I have fun? This vacation-induced dance abstinence actually came at a good time. I am coming off a creative binge that included producing a flashmob , perfor...
