dancing in the kitchen

Without warning, he swept her hand up in his and started swaying a waltz. My mom and her uncle dancing in the kitchen.

A tiny apartment turned ballroom, if only for a moment.

Uncle Lowell (my great uncle for those keeping track) is a lover of stories. Told on pages, recorded in genealogies, captured in still images, portrayed on screen and stage. Together, we enjoyed all. Reading poetry and prose written ages ago. Learning history of family members long since returned to dust. Reveling in photography of places and years past. Reminiscing while watching Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. And enjoying the fantastical mayhem of The Marriage of Figaro brilliantly performed by Opera Santa Barbara.Dancing. Recording the dance. And retelling the dance. Stories and dance, weaving a tale more brilliant than any imagination. Given beyond all I could ever ask, hope or imagine. Whether the context is a breathtaking opera house, or an elderly bachelor's pillbox kitchen, or a setting that aches.

Oh to dance! No matter the context, no matter the audience.