Dancing In The…Kitchen

The soundtrack to the days of my misspent youth filled the air as I sliced and measured. The four-footed one danced back and forth near my feet.  It wasn’t so much the music that had her dancing as the hope of something good falling down to her level.  We had spent a few hours enjoying the music, the weather and creating in the kitchen when Beloved came in.

He wrinkled his brow at my taste in music and politely asked that I turn it down.  He mumbled something about aliens from the next galaxy being able to hear the music, but I promise you it really wasn’t that loud.  It’s more a case of Beloved and I enjoying different things including the type of music we enjoy.

Pits moments like these, when he comes home from something very serious and formal that I am reminded of the gap in our age as well as the different childhoods we had.  Where I associate the music of my misspent youth to innocence and fun, Beloved associates the same type of music to a more serious time in his life.  His early teenage years were jot spent visiting amusement parks, beaches and such.  Instead he worked to help bring home money or so he could eat more than one meal a day.

His memories, associated with this soundtrack are so different from mine, so filled with more serious and real issues.  Alas the music of his early years is stuff I have only ever heard on the radio that played “easy listening” stuff.  In other words the stuff my parent so out do site now on even though Beloved is nowhere near their age.

When he came back into the kitchen, looking less formal and adult, I turned off the music while he put on some swing music.  That way we could dance, sort of, together in the tiny kitchen while we finished pulling the meal together.   It’s our compromise, he that we do a million times over in the small space.  We turn off our individual soundtracks and found one that pleases both of us!

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