Beauty

Well, I found out the answer to this question. And I was right, it was no.

Today was the retirement party of one of my coworkers. He’s been sick for a while, and has ended up taking early retirement. Since it was a day off for me, I had the truly unenviable task of toting GeekBaby off to the medical school, so I could at least say goodbye even if the presence of the raging toddler forbid me staying for the food and speeches.

So, as we walked back out through the hospital atrium, there’s a hospital volunteer standing on a second floor walkway singing opera.

And I went “huh” and kept walking.

GeekBaby was tired and cranky. I had groceries shopping still to do, and chores around the housemate and an animal protocol change request to write up, and a million other things to do. So I kept walking. Then I remembered Joshua Bell busking with his Stradivarius.

So I turned around, regardless of my child’s whines, and went back to listen. A girl was singing now. I listened. Then we rode the escalator up, so I could thank them and ask what they had sung. We had a nice little chat, and then the second young man sang. And only when the were done, did we head home.

What is it about beauty that makes it hurt so?

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