My Kitchen is for Dancing

Dancing through the joy. Dancing through the pain. Dancing through the laughter. Dancing through the tears. Dancing through the praise. Dancing through the worship.

Dancing has been a part of the human existence since biblical times. It is used to express joy, grief, excitement, love, and much, much more.

Growing up in a strict, fundamental Baptist home, dancing was prohibited. All dancing. Period. The problem was, I loved to dance. LOVED it. I danced all over my room. All over my friend’s basement. Anywhere I was able to find strong dancing music, I danced.

In high school, I discovered a country music dance hall. I learned every country line dance, two-step and ten step this side of the Mississippi, and then some. I learned to break dance. I learned to do the American Bunny Hop. Whatever the dance, I absorbed it like a sponge, my feet begging to do and re-do the new steps until they came to me as second nature.

By college, I had joined the ballroom dance club. During this bit of Heaven every Saturday night, I learned the Swing, the Foxtrot, the Tango, the Waltz, and many more.

My dancing bliss came to a stop when I graduated college, got married, and started a new job. All of a sudden there was no reason to dance. No place to dance. No one with whom to dance. It just stopped. And I was sad.

Although I still enjoyed the thought of dancing, I had no place to go. Unless you are into the club scene (which I am not,) adults are severely limited on dance hall options. The best I could hope for was a wedding (non Baptist of course,) and someone to ask me to dance (JP does NOT like to dance.)

Once I had my own classroom, I taught my students the Swing and the Waltz. I explained that with those two dances, they would be able to dance at any function, and look great while doing it. I have had several come back to me, thanking me for the lessons. They have used them at school dances, weddings, balls, and many more functions. Although I taught my students to dance, I still had found no outlet for myself.

One day, while listening to the radio, it happened. I started dancing. Alone. And it was okay. I danced my little self all over the house while I cleaned. I used moves I had not done in years. Since I was alone, no one commented, smirked or laughed. I became Ginger Rogers in my very own home.

From that day on, I danced. I found that my kitchen was especially good for my dancing steps. Whether they be line dance steps or waltzes, my kitchen was perfect.

Now, everyday, I dance. I dance while I make meals. I dance while I wash dishes. I dance while I help Little Bug with her homework. I dance while we play Trivial Pursuit. I dance with Little Bug. I dance with L1. I dance with TC. I dance with CJ. And yes, finally, I dance with JP.

This man, who cannot STAND dancing, will now dance with me. As we sway back and forth in the kitchen to one of my favorite songs, my husband will smile down at me, knowing that I am in an utterly joyous state.

My love of dancing has been passed down to Little Bug, who begs her daddy to dance with her, and he obliges. JP takes Little Bug’s hands in his, holds her closely, and dances around our kitchen while she looks trustingly and adoringly up into his eyes.

Yes, my kitchen is made for dancing.  But more importantly, it is made for all the living that is done in it each day.

May you never stop dancing. If you do not dance, it is never too late to start. Go ahead; give it a try in your kitchen. Free yourself from constraints. Live your life to the fullest, and dance.

“You can dance anywhere, if only in your heart” ~Unknown

~Annie