My Own Stage

My Own Stage

I was home ALONE for 30 whole minutes today!

Sara Royston · 1 minute read

The house I grew up in until I was about 9 or so had a section of the kitchen floor that had a natural stage. If I recall correctly, it had a distinct line in the floor that separated a 3-foot area or so. I am not sure if this was an intentional design of the 70s & 80s or some sort of flaw, but to me it was perfect. I remember dancing and singing in that little portion many times with dreams of being as amazing as Whitney Houston.

Obviously those particular dreams did not manifest well, but I can feel them starting to come back to life. Our living room is one step lower than the rest of the main floor, and our dining room and living room are connected, open-floor plan-esque.

I have a natural stage in my home again.

I excitedly pointed this out to my family a few weeks ago reminiscing my youth. It was received with some side-eye, eye rolls, and even looks of horror.

But today, I was home ALONE for 30 glorious minutes.

My husband works from home so it is very rare these days for me to be home alone. Even if he is out of the house, the kids are always around. Today, I was the one with a late meeting causing the husband to be in charge of picking up the younger two boys from school to get to a drum lesson in time.

Mere minutes after I walked in the door, the music was turned up loud, I summoned my inner Whitney, and belted out Sinead O'Connor, 4 Non Blondes, REO Speedwagon, and Janet Jackson. I prepared dinner with flair. When Marky Mark & the Funky Bunch came on, I went on stage and danced. No one around to give me those looks of horror. Just me and my cats, who thought it was the most fun.

The house lights came on and the concert ended as I heard the door open and someone ask appallingly, "You're blasting music?"

Yes I was, my dear, because the empty stage was calling.

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