Spontaneous serenades. Yesterday, while paused at a stop, my bus driver pulled a pan flute out of his pocket and began to play. He postively rocked out on that little pan flute, playing the most beautiful jazzy tune as though there was nobody around to listen–which, possibly, he might have thought was the case, as I was the only passenger, and I’m not sure he knew I was there. But I was glad for the song, and told him so when I got off the bus, much to his delighted dismay.
Sidewalk waltzes. Last night, The Gallus Brothers took a break from playing in a window nook at The Temple Bar, where much foot-stomping and boogeying was underway, and brought the accordian outside where they then played a waltz, which Morgan and I improvised haphazardly until a gentleman (who introduced himself as a ballroom dance instructor, and I believed him–for a big guy, he was quite graceful) offered us a quick waltzing lesson. “Like marching in place!” he said, between “one, two, threes.” I felt giddy and grand.