I was reading about Angels last week. People who have seen them and been helped by them. Were they Angels or were they ordinary people who were in the right place at the right time? Are Angels living amongst us disguised as human beings.?
I’m the kind of person who is quite happy to see David Copperfield flying around on stage. I know that it is an illusion but I enjoy it just the same. I don’t need ‘explanations’ So I enjoyed reading and thought it was good that there is always hope in the most incredible situations.
What if we are all Angels ourselves? Think about it, we are given the opportunity to help someone most days. Holding a door open for someone who’s loaded with shopping. Being someone’s friend. Our smile might just help someone in the depths of despair hang on a little longer and get past their unhappiness. It’s not too difficult, is it?
The writing of this post has been in my head for a couple of days. This morning I was checking out my stats and saw that there was a link to Anji Patchwork from Lori’s blog. A bit strange as I haven’t popped by there for a while. What I found was a post which fits perfectly. Read it and see what you think.
Friday, August 14, 2009
When I was five years old I went directly to my mum’s friend’s house as usual on a Friday afternoon after school. I was very excited, we’d listened to some new music at school. The Cakewalk. Imagine cakes walking! Mum’s friend Chris was married to a musician and he sat me on his lap at the piano and played if for me straight off.
I couldn't believe my luck this evening. Claude Debussy playing the Cakewalk himself
Saturday, August 1, 2009
That’s 33 years ago now. It was very hot and I was reading Lord of the Rings and weighed 8st 7lbs (an important detail in those days).
One weekend in July I got on the coach after work and went to stay with my friend, Sheila, in London. Both of our boyfriends were working abroad at the time so we decided to get together for a weekend. Sheila and her friends lived in a squat. To my surprise it looked like an ordinary house – except that “Clark Kent lives here” was written on the front door. There was an outside loo (pull the chain and run) it was a very hot summer a row of certain plants were growing tall against one of the garden walls.
We visited pubs and drank pints so we didn’t need to queue up at the bar so often. I remember walking down the Portobello road. As a country bumpkin, I couldn’t get enough of the many different types of people out for the afternoon. We stopped and bought hunks of bread; over laden with cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms and toasted –a kind of pizza – for lunch. Everyone was so nice and friendly. I wonder if it’s like that now.
A weekend doesn’t last for long, but I’ve always remembered that one.