Her mother spent Sunday mornings cleaning to cha-cha-cha music on those old radio shows; she’d dance while dusting. And because we didn’t have much she made this one of her pleasures, being able to dance while dusting. My father was never up that early because he was hungover from the night before and never heard the music– he was still drunk. Too bad he never saw her dance while dusting– she was absolutely lovely, in an everyday, sad sort of way. That’s how it was for years.