Dancing in the Kitchen

The alarm goes off at five and by twenty past I’m out the door clutching a coffee.

Driving I listen to the news, the road is relatively quiet. Traffic and Travel updates interrupt to warn me about delays up ahead. My washer fluid runs out and the screen is dirtying up. I pull into a service station, put makeup on in the car then leave to use the public toilets.

I check my purse, no cards, no bank cards! Mildly I try not to freak out. It dawns on me that there will most definitely be a card in my jacket pocket in the car. Once it’s retrieved I buy five litres of overpriced washer fluid. At the car I know where to find the bonnet latch in the vehicle… but outside is another matter. There’s a group of contractors enjoying a cigarette and coffee just nearby and I know they’re watching. My giant cocktail ring hooks and I gently slip it out and onto my other hand. The latch is there somewhere. Then, I am rescued by a jovial European who asks if I need help, I say yes, he says in an accept “With the Volvos they put the latch all the way here.” I tell him he’s a superstar and wish him a good day. A part of me, the egotistic feminist is disappointed that I needed help.

The office car park is still quiet, I head inside and greet two of my partners and a client. We’re growing and today are interviewing. Everyone else wears suits, I wear high waist jeans and a muscle tshirt under a biker jacket and velvet loafers. I set up at our conference table, sprawling drawings and reports ready to run through and review.

When it’s quiet and just the directors, I’ll fall into a creative or technical rhythm. Sometimes after a deep dive into finances and opportunities, I can find myself sitting cross legged on a desk, or the floor, or the conference table, sometimes chairs, sometimes the kitchen counter. If there’s a deliverable to push out, chances are I’ll be hooded with music. Now though, we’re growing, we’re professional, and I have to adhere to rules of safe chair usage.

I run through the list of calls to be made.

Then I get a message from Jimmy, an old friend and mentor. He’s between jobs, not in an unemployed way, but instead he has completed one contract and given himself a three month break before the next contract. I call him, he’s on a voluntary project in Indonesia, diving down with other divers to clean the coral reefs. We gossip and chat about all important things in life.

Andrew calls, he’s exhausted, unwell and confused.

We have a meeting, I push out some deliverables, a potential employee is interviewed, our accountant drops by with paperwork and to meet with us.

I leave after a twelve hour day. It’s Friday night, I’m headed home, the roads south are quiet.

Entering our home I fall into my husbands arms, tired. He’s tired, he’s unwell. We stand in the kitchen for the longest time, then we dance a little as the food cooks. As we dance slowly the pups run around us. This moment makes the whole day worth it.

Patricia SnookComment