[94306] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Taking Care of Your Loved Ones is about being prepared
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Caringforaparent.com)
Wed Dec 21 09:27:12 2016
Date: Wed, 21 Dec 2016 09:25:26 -0500
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: "Caringforaparent.com" <caringforaparentcom@borutaye.date>
Reply-to: "Caringforaparent.com" <caringforaparentcom@borutaye.date>
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him. Then herocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. Andthen at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he a93c
swung his head and y4a93c began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 4a93c He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms
with slight, intense movements, as 93c the delicate music 93c poured out. It pzqvy4a3c zqvy4a9c was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid
and delicate. a93c The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity vy4a93c y4a93c of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,
exasperatedto the point of intolerable 93c anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played thefinely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it,
in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent zqvy4a9c appeared vy4a93c in the room. She fidgetted at the
sink. The music was a93c a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books and sheets.
She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are pzqvy4a3c 93c you going out?” She twisted nervously.
“What do you want to know for?” He made 93c no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then 93c over it again — then a93c more closely over it a93c again.
“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 4a93c angry under knitted brows. “What are pzqvy4a3c a93c you bothering about?” he zqvy4a9c said.
“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I vy4a93c expect I am,” he said quietly.
She recovered at 4a93c once, but still zqvy4a9c with a93c timidity asked: “We haven’t got any a93c candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother
isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling pzqvy4a3c his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy 4a93c us pzqvy4a3c pzqvy4a3c some, Father? Shall 93c you?”
“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 4a93c to his mouth and blowing a few pzqvy4a3c piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 4a93c — blue 93c ones and red
ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL y4a93c you?” she insisted a93c desperately. She a93c wisely mistrusted his vagueness.
But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, y4a93c shrill, brilliant. He vy4a93c was playing Mozart. The child’s
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went a93c out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music zqvy4a9c seemed to
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man a93c went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. vy4a93c In the frosty evening the vy4a93c sound carried.
people phiing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in request at concerts and pzqvy4a3c .
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<p align="right" style="font: 11px;">him. Then he<B>rocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. And</B>then at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he nqo9 </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 7px;"></span>
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
swung his head and f5nqo9 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 5nqo9 He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;"></span>
<p align="right">with slight, intense movements, as qo9 the delicate music qo9 poured out. It h7zyf5no9 7zyf5nq9 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">and delicate. nqo9 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity yf5nqo9 f5nqo9 of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p align="right">
exasperated<i>to the point of intolerable qo9 anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played the</i>finely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it, </p>
<BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 12px;">
in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent 7zyf5nq9 appeared yf5nqo9 in the room. She fidgetted at the </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p>
sink. The music was nqo9 a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books and sheets. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 13px;"></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p align="right">
She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are h7zyf5no9 qo9 you going out?” She twisted nervously. </p>
<BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 9px;"></p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 8px;"></span>
<p align="right">“What do you want to know for?” He made qo9 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then qo9 over it again — then nqo9 more closely over it nqo9 again. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left"></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p align="left" style="font: 12px;">“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 5nqo9 angry under knitted brows. “What are h7zyf5no9 nqo9 you bothering about?” he 7zyf5nq9 said. </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 9px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
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<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 10px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p>“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I yf5nqo9 expect I am,” he said quietly. </p>
<BR />
<p>
She recovered at 5nqo9 once, but still 7zyf5nq9 with nqo9 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any nqo9 candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 11px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="left"></p>
<BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 10px;">isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling h7zyf5no9 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy 5nqo9 us h7zyf5no9 h7zyf5no9 some, Father? Shall qo9 you?” </p>
<BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 8px;"></span>
<p align="center">“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 5nqo9 to his mouth and blowing a few h7zyf5no9 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 5nqo9 — blue qo9 ones and red </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="center"></p>
<BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 11px;">ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL f5nqo9 you?” she insisted nqo9 desperately. She nqo9 wisely mistrusted his vagueness. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">
But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, f5nqo9 shrill, brilliant. He yf5nqo9 was playing Mozart. The child’s </p>
<BR />
<p>
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went nqo9 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music 7zyf5nq9 seemed to </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man nqo9 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. yf5nqo9 In the frosty evening the yf5nqo9 sound carried. </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 7px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="left" style="font: 11px;">
people phiing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in request at concerts and h7zyf5no9 .</p>
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