Instrument

There is something achingly beautiful about seeing the men and women, oldish and older, aptly self described as a mini UN, making, creating, a thing of beauty. A thing, a  piece of art really that they, in any other scenario, would never encounter.
The immigrants ,the aging hippys, the boy from down the block, the women who seem better suited for the rocking chair, all investing mind, body and spirit for the better part of their lives, have clearly created and received something more than a paycheck.
The story is simple. "The Making of Steinway number L1037" is about just that. The years journey from a piece of wood to instrument.
It drew me in. These people embody the power of passion, pursuit of excellence, pride of work. I don't know what their wage is, apparently enough to build a life, if modest, but not enough to own an instrument of their own but  not so little that they leave for greener pastures.  Ever. But I venture to say a wage is not their primary reward.
They clock in, punch out, sweep up after the day, exit en mass, eat lunch from their brown bags. But this is no ordinary factory.
They make instruments. I will never look at a piano in the same way. I figure we must be created in our Creators image to in turn be the creators of such a thing.
They make instruments and they are the instruments. Sort of an unbroken circle. As we, or the planks of wood and wire, submit to the duress of the molding, the instrument is formed.
Assisi Italy, a place of deep and gentle beauty produced it's insturment too.

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy"
St. Francis