Aromas are dancing in the busy, dinner time kitchen.
When my girls were little, in the middle of cooking dinner, inevitably they’d all end up in the kitchen. I’d be waiting to flip the chicken, for the pot of water to boil, for the rice to cook. I’d be waiting. They’d be waiting. The waiting turned opportunity. Opportunity to kitchen dance. Grace, born to dance, was often the first to grab my hands and leap onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist. We’d dance as one and then, a kitchen flip would ensue. She’d flip back landing her hands securely on the floor and her she’d release her leg grip and flip right on over. Kitchen flips were born out of the opportunity to kitchen dance. Hannah and Grace, dancing while Grace was flipping, waited and then took their turns. Inevitably a buzzer would ding or buzz and the dancing would end.
Aromas are dancing in the quiet, early morning, kitchen.
I crack an egg and the sizzle breaks the silence. I step back, away from my burner. I move to the left, going around Megan who is tending to her large cinnamon chip pancake on her burner. I re-pop the toaster. Megan moves to my left and packs her lunch. A left and right step. A right and a left step. We dance. Then, we find ourselves back in front of our respective burners, side by side.
Still kitchen dancing.