The chairs in the apartment, surround the dining room table and a few more rest in bedroom corners. The chairs are functional, plastic, and uncomfortable. Since Tony is working many hours from home, he soon realized he needed an office chair.
He was also asked to piano-play the hymns at church. The first week we attended, we didn't notice the music as it was played as expected: well. The week following, a missionary filled in and plunked out a one line melody, consistently hitting the wrong notes. It was quite amusing to watch the wincing, the exchanged glances, the coy smiles, of the congregation.
I'm not sure how they knew Tony was an accomplished, though rusty, Sunday pianist. The bishop personally asked him to take over--at least until the next trained missionary arrived. Tony, never one to turn down a possible miracle, gladly said, "Oui!"
Then the conundrum. Tony knew he'd have to practice, even wanted to pick out the "easy" hymns, but the hymns had already been carefully chosen (three months in advance) to coordinate with each week's themes.
Now, he'd really have to practice.
Hugue has a piano, but lives a 15 minute walk away and Tony would have to intrude on his family.
Which would only be slightly inconvenient, but in the day of Amazon Prime, everything is inconvenient if not delivered to our door.
Tony ordered an office chair and a small keyboard.
When the grandchildren visit, we will need to purchase a pack & play baby bed, a soccer ball, and a whole list of yet-to-be-considered needs.
We've never before made purchases that we won't need in six months, so we're already considering to whom we will give them away to.
"Hugue needs a nice chair in the office."
"I'm sure we'll find someone who needs a keyboard."
Our normal focus has shifted.
We spend so much time accumulating and possessing, it's a lovely thing to think solely about giving.
He was also asked to piano-play the hymns at church. The first week we attended, we didn't notice the music as it was played as expected: well. The week following, a missionary filled in and plunked out a one line melody, consistently hitting the wrong notes. It was quite amusing to watch the wincing, the exchanged glances, the coy smiles, of the congregation.
I'm not sure how they knew Tony was an accomplished, though rusty, Sunday pianist. The bishop personally asked him to take over--at least until the next trained missionary arrived. Tony, never one to turn down a possible miracle, gladly said, "Oui!"
Then the conundrum. Tony knew he'd have to practice, even wanted to pick out the "easy" hymns, but the hymns had already been carefully chosen (three months in advance) to coordinate with each week's themes.
Now, he'd really have to practice.
Hugue has a piano, but lives a 15 minute walk away and Tony would have to intrude on his family.
Which would only be slightly inconvenient, but in the day of Amazon Prime, everything is inconvenient if not delivered to our door.
Tony ordered an office chair and a small keyboard.
When the grandchildren visit, we will need to purchase a pack & play baby bed, a soccer ball, and a whole list of yet-to-be-considered needs.
We've never before made purchases that we won't need in six months, so we're already considering to whom we will give them away to.
"Hugue needs a nice chair in the office."
"I'm sure we'll find someone who needs a keyboard."
Our normal focus has shifted.
We spend so much time accumulating and possessing, it's a lovely thing to think solely about giving.
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