It has been a busy day around the Moses house. Lots of comings and goings. A tad grand central stationish, really, for a woman of reclusive tendencies.
My cleaning lady was here for a few hours, always working in whatever room one of us would like to have been in. Hungry? Sorry, washing the kitchen floor. Need a shower? Sorry, cleaning that bathroom right now. I'm sure she doesn't do it on purpose. Would she?
Then there was the man who came to install on my computer the magic software that will allow me to pick up my work from the office without actually going there. I will begin doing this next week. The virtual world has arrived chez Moses!
This afternoon my piano tuner came. Paul has been tuning my piano faithfully every June since I moved to North Vancouver 23 years ago. Oddly enough, even though North Van has a small-community feel, and even though especially in the music world one tends to encounter the same people all the time, I never run across Paul other than his annual arrival on my doorstep with his battered tuning-man kit and warm smile. He's a small man, is Paul, and I feel as if he must disappear into a hobbit-hole or leprechaun eyrie in Brigadoon except for that one day a year he appears here. A little older, a little greyer, but always the same warm smile. And I think the same shoes, actually.
My cleaning lady was here for a few hours, always working in whatever room one of us would like to have been in. Hungry? Sorry, washing the kitchen floor. Need a shower? Sorry, cleaning that bathroom right now. I'm sure she doesn't do it on purpose. Would she?
Then there was the man who came to install on my computer the magic software that will allow me to pick up my work from the office without actually going there. I will begin doing this next week. The virtual world has arrived chez Moses!
This afternoon my piano tuner came. Paul has been tuning my piano faithfully every June since I moved to North Vancouver 23 years ago. Oddly enough, even though North Van has a small-community feel, and even though especially in the music world one tends to encounter the same people all the time, I never run across Paul other than his annual arrival on my doorstep with his battered tuning-man kit and warm smile. He's a small man, is Paul, and I feel as if he must disappear into a hobbit-hole or leprechaun eyrie in Brigadoon except for that one day a year he appears here. A little older, a little greyer, but always the same warm smile. And I think the same shoes, actually.
1 comment:
I'm my own first comment! I just had to say that I can't believe I googled "leprechaun piano" and actually came up with an image!
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