This evening was ordinary in the best way.
I cooked pasta from Lazio for Mrs and the two girls. Salt, carrots, cherry tomatoes, onions, potatoes, garlic, mushrooms. Pasta cooked — not dramatic, not experimental. Just right.
I don’t eat dinner.
But I taste.
Just enough to know it’s done.
The kitchen was filled with songs from Yerin Baek**, playing through the Spark Go like a simple Bluetooth speaker. Not in my ears. In the room.
The bass lines — played by seasoned bassists, likely session players — were simple in the way only experience allows. Not simple because of limitation. Simple because of choice.
Every note intentional.
Every space respected.
Nothing wasted.
And there I was, stirring pasta from Lazio while Enza — shaped by Italian hands — rested nearby in the next room. Italian food. Italian craft. Different mediums. Same philosophy: serve well, don’t overstate.
After dinner, I sandled up and went for a 2km run.
No intensity. No stopwatch obsession. Just those same tracks carrying me forward. “Bye Bye My Blue.” “Zero.” “His Ocean.” Two kilometres of goodness all round.
The bass lines weren’t shouting in my head. They were steady under my stride. Supporting. Grounding. Like they were meant to be felt rather than analysed.
It struck me how consistent the evening was:
Cook for the family.
Music fills the house.
Run with the same atmosphere.
Nothing flashy.
Just coherent.
Those bass lines didn’t intimidate me.
They inspired me.
They made me want to grow older refining touch, timing, tone — not speed. Not spectacle. They made me imagine using Enza in worship, in quiet rooms, holding the line while others sing.
Some might call this a honeymoon phase.
It doesn’t feel like infatuation.
It feels integrated.
Red is still home.
Spring is still home.
Regent stands as legacy.
And Enza is home too.
Not replacing.
Not competing.
Just another room in the same house.
Tonight confirmed something steady:
I don’t need to be the melody.
I’m content — and inspired — to hold the pulse.