There I was in a recline chair, staring up at your standard office speckled off white tiled ceiling, with a large four blub fluorescent light focused on me, as if I was there for an interrogation. But not so. I was there for my twice a year dental cleaning. My dear in the headlights look found me noticing a round yellowed framed eight inch speaker playing some forgettable country song that was almost discernable. I mentioned to the dental assistant in between, water splashing all about my face, about the music. She was not a county fan. Later, as we waited for the doctor, she asked me what I was doing after this appointment.

I said I was going back to the studio and work on my latest project, Dance Monkey. I then asked her if she had heard of that song. She said no. I then wondered to her if she listened to music at all. She responded only on the radio. I said that was too bad, telling her that music is an important part of my life. That I listen to music throughout my day, no matter what I am doing. She said she listens to music all day at work, so when so goes home there is no interest. I then spoke to her about my regrets hearing that and listed some of the many emotional attachments I have with music, including sadness. She did not understand sad. But I do. Music makes those moments special, and so does the uplifting sound of Dance Monkey. I told her to listen to it and it would make her feel good. I said the song would bring her joy, and boast her spirit, in so many words. She then took her phone and went to website YouTube and play it. When the voice of Tones and I came on (that is the singer’s stage name) she had a sharp eye opening surprise on her face. Just moments later, the doctor came in for his quick check. I mentioned to him he should also listen to Dance Monkey for a cheering up. They both kind of laugh, but looked more confused. He left the room. Soon I was out the door, in the car, back with my music, turned up beyond my wife’s tolerance, and thrilled I was out of that environment and back in the arms of my music’s emotionally comforting embrace. I sense relief and exhilaration that a trip to the dentist had supercharged my ride home. I feel blessed. Blessed by that ride home surrounded my the music I loved, in what could have been just an ordinary musical drive back to work Thursday.

Scott Von Holzen