One thing that helps bring order to my spirit is music. So it was hard to imagine anything better than ending a day with Ethan falling asleep while cuddled with Mom, while Imogen Heap streamed a live, improvised piano performance — the perfect background music.

Thank you, Imogen.

My nerves were having one of those phases where I feel jumpy for no logical reason. It kind of felt like there was someone inside poking me with a live electrical wire. It’s not pleasant. Similarly as it turned out, Imogen Heap was having a struggle of her own with "Tidal", a song from her forthcoming 2009 album.

What followed was a lot of fun. Imogen posted snippets of five progressive revisions to the song and there, of course, was a lot of feedback from people on which version(s) they preferred. I was part of that chorus, as was Mim.

By the end, I think, Imogen felt better for the conversation and bouncing the song’s iterations off of the community’s ears. I felt better for having been part of the community and the experience; almost a sense, for a short time, of peace. So it was a lovely win-win.

And that is another reason why I enjoy Twitter. One of these nights, I’ll compile the whole list to date of reasons. But for now, good night.

The first night of his stay, the doctors decided around 11 o’clock that surgery was going to be necessary to drain the infection. My wife Miriam, who was at the hospital with Ethan, called to let me know that they were going to prep and that we would be out of touch until the surgery was over.

I was home with our other son, Owen. I let him know what was going on. Then I was suddenly overwhelmed. I basically had no one to talk to, and I would have no idea what was going on until it was over. So I played some music. It helped, but I still cried.

The musician is on Twitter. And so sitting there in the middle of the night, I sent a direct message to the musician about what was going on, and how the music helped me manage my feelings.

I really didn’t expect an answer. It was just me reaching out, because reaching out to someone helped my mindset when I felt bleak. I did get a reply a few hours later, wishing us courage, comfort, and good luck that all would be well.

Which of course it was, in the end. There was no surgery; a heavy round of antibiotics did the trick. But the experience of reaching out, not exactly randomly in terms of destination, but randomly in the sense of not knowing if the communication would be two-way or not, and being reached back toward in return, was a moment I still treasure.

I’ve told this story to just a few people, and even among them I haven’t always named the musician. I also haven’t named the musician here, although I’m not completely sure why and keep pondering the reason as I write. Perhaps it’s for the artist’s privacy, even though it really wouldn’t be hard to figure out who it is. Perhaps it’s for my own – holding on to this small treasure of a moment. Perhaps it’s just in appreciation of that reach back to me in the night when I needed it – a moment of kindness that deserves to be celebrated, not publicized. I guess that’s privacy too. Can you tell I’m figuring this out as I go along?

In any event, it was a wonderful experience, on a night where I never imagined that wonderful would be an adjective that would apply in any way. I wanted to be sure not to forget it and forget the emotion it stirred. Thus I blog.

The site uses JavaScript to stop you from copy/pasting the results, but I found that all you have to do is turn JavaScript off in the browser and then you can get the text. (At least on the Mac using Camino.)

So I’ll try it for awhile and see if I like it.