This week I had an impromptu concert in my home. A little unexpected and, simply, skiving fun.
An engineer came to do some work. The problem was far easier to sort than either of us had expected and, as a result, we both found ourselves with time we had allocated for the job unspent. He finished his coffee and before he left, he asked could I tell him the story behind a drum sitting in my hall. As we chatted about it, he also noticed my daughters’ piano. A self-taught pianist, he was delighted when I said he could help himself and play.
He played for at least a quarter hour, all manner of tunes. I found myself secretly weeping a small tear at both hearing the sound (I love hearing my daughter play as I cook and she is still far away at university) and at the fun of the situation. I do believe that sometimes angels arrive in unusual ways and forms, and I suspect he was one of them. It is great, and helpfully distracting, fun searching for angels amongst the everyday people.
I’ve popped it into the bank of good stuff. There to be opened when time says it’s due. Tools of depression come in many forms and this week he provided such a welcome new one.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.
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