- An Angel in Disguise by on Prezi
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An Angel in Disguise by on Prezi
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I live in one of those strange houses that sit atop a hill. An accompanying garage rests at street level. Among other things this means postal delivery is through a slot in the garage wall down at street level. I didn't mention that the garage door is perched directly in the midst of an always busy street scene. My street scene could be virtually interchangable with yours. I've introduced you to my street. It's called Hyperion Ave. Even wide awake and energetic youth might have a problem coping with this pace, this energy, and the demands it makes.
At ninety, I have a problem too. In fact, at this moment picture me I'm engaged in driving my car from the busy street scene into the cool sanctuary of my garage's parking space. Remember, this is also the location where my regular delivery of mail occurs.
Angel in Disguise (Brandy song)
I'm down on my knees on the pavement directly inside the garage. I'm struggling gamely to deal with a seeming bit of chaos in the form of scattered mail pieces. Facing me are letters, bills, ads, small packages and -- don't forget -- the divine gift of junk mail. Dealing practically with it resembles a singular art form. Methodically I try to construct a workable small pile of items while also endeavoring to lose none. Not to draw attention to myself, but let me point out, this takes skill. Brown leaves blow down the cracks of the sidewalk.
I'm so absorbed that I don't notice a woman standing there. Quietly observing my existential dance with reality, she quietly asks "Might I be of help? She wears an easy smile. Anchored on my knees resting in unyielding cement, I answer yes. Quickly she takes over. Efficiently she places the entire mountain of mail my perception into a single, workable stack. She dismisses my helplessness while never exploiting it. She appears ready to go. I realize probably I will never see her again. My God, she helped me. Really just by being present. She was completely available for a few significant moments when I seemed ineffably helpless.
Now she is smiling again, treating my need as a casual thing to be dealt with effortlessly and without punctuation. Out the door, now she is gone. I hold a small stack of mail that she's given me. It all seemed to happen so quickly.