The Organ

Several weeks ago, my father spilled the beans to our church music director that I play the organ. Being my father and a somewhat over-dramatic person, I think he painted my abilities a bit rosier than would be strictly true. And this led to the music director persuading me to play a piece last Sunday (November 30).

I had forgotten in the time since I had last played an organ, some three years back, just how much I do love playing. The time rehearsing flew, just as it always had, even struggling with an unfamiliar instrument and shoes that aren't really intended as organ shoes. Actually playing in church went in a mediocre fashion, at best, from my own perspective. However, everyone has been asking me if I'll play again soon.

The instrument at this church has quite a storied past, with which we were regaled on that Sunday but which is too detailed to relate here. Rather, I 'll share my own organ history as to just how I ended up attempting to play it.

It was October, 1989, and I was seven years old. In the same week I began piano lessons and singing in the Junior Choir at Memorial Presbyterian Church in Wenonah. During what I think was our third rehearsal, Mrs. Taylor took us up to the attic to view the pipes. Something about that experience caught my fancy as thoroughly as anything has ever done, and I knew immediately that I wanted to play the organ someday. Some time later, Mrs. Taylor mentioned that she had started lessons on the organ when she was fifteen, so I hoped that I would get to do the same. Alas, that didn't happen.

Meanwhile, I found out about Cottey College, went to their junior high science camp, and became convinced that I wanted to attend Cottey when I finished high school. Somewhere along the line Cottey's free music lessons and the presence of the organ only added to my resolve. As soon as I could get the teacher's recommendation out, I had my Cottey application off to Missouri, within the first week of twelfth grade and was accepted by mid-October.

Fast-forward again to the following August (2000). I found the organ and piano teacher (actually there is another piano teacher as well), and arranged my lessons, and at last I could begin! It was very slow going to train my feet to find the pedals, and even slower to learn to read three staves at once. According to My Knight, the transition from one staff to two (violin to piano) is very challenging; I went from two to three and found it probably equally difficult.

I was able to take organ lessons all through the two years at Cottey; I played for the traditional services at Christmas, Founder's Day, and Commencement, gave a recital during my second year, joined Mu Sigma Epsilon (a music honor society), and then went to the University of Delaware. There I was able to take some lessons on the very new organ in a building that was once the Episcopal church in Newark; however, the bureaucracy of the larger university unfortunately limits non-music majors' chances to study instruments, and I was unable to go on. I played a bit when I had a chance in the last few years, but somewhere along the line the organ shoes were lost. I kept it quiet that I even knew how for the entire time we lived in Texas!

Hymns certainly have their own sound on the organ. Anything does. There is no sound like it- and the grandest of all is the immortal Wanamaker organ that I have been privileged to hear every year in Philadelphia. I can't wait to go again.

Maybe I will play again soon.

Moving

The packers are coming today and tomorrow, so we're in for a couple of utterly crazy days. Quite honestly it's an irritating process to direct traffic and to feel that you're underfoot in your own home, but it's preferable to doing the whole thing ourselves!

Ironically enough, my Cottey best friend hadn't been here at all, living several states away herself, until last night. She's staying with another of our friends not far away so they came over yesterday. And instead of actually seeing where we live, she got to see us in a state of ready-to-move. Since she's had almost as many addresses as birthdays she knows about moving probably better than most military families. It certainly didn't faze her.

"Where were you?"

That's the question everyone will ask this day for decades.

Cottey College. It was just as bright in Missouri as it was there in New York. All day, girls who hadn't been in a class were checking on the television and reporting to girls in their classes on what had happened or was speculated.

My best friend had an earlier class than I did, so she didn't know anything by the time we met up outside Hinkhouse Center (the gym and dance building) between classes. The only class (of four) that I had in which we conducted class at all was a ballet class. Every other class just sat and talked about what had happened.

After lunch (and for some reason I remember there were brown-sugar sandwich cookies for dessert) I realized that the flag needed to be lowered to half-mast. You have to know Cottey to understand what I'm about to say, but I took myself upstairs to the college president (Dr. Washburn) to ask about it, intending to do it myself, but Dr. Washburn got one of the maintenance men to take care of it.

After supper everyone was still phoning relatives, trying to get a chance to give blood, checking on friends and family who could have been affected in some way. (My aunt had to walk home, I think; My Knight was at Hofstra University in Long Island and could see the fires from campus.)
We prayed around the flagpole; I went to the organ and I think what I played was "Eternal Father, Strong to Save". Later, Dr. Washburn walked through all the suites to check on her girls.

Now, someday when Bluebonnet is bigger, we'll have to explain what happened; it's going to be a lot tougher than when our parents explained about Kennedy being shot or the Challenger exploding.

Dreams

If you expect something profound in this post, from the title, you'll be disappointed!

Someone once, none too poetically, likened dreams to the garbage can of one's mind. I think he was correct, in that dreams do seem to mix up a myriad of mental images and randomly assemble them in ways that rarely, if ever, make any sense. I've had occasional dreams that make perfect sense in the light of day...emphasis on occasional.

But really. Last night's dream? The four of us who were constant companions the first year at Cottey (Crys, Ratty, Texas, and Wenonah, aka Beeper) had been hanging around together- which is hard to accomplish now, as we live in three different states! There were pictures of Ratty holding Bluebonnet- Ratty has never seen Bluebonnet at all. Texas, Crys, and I, were relaxing in a hot tub- into which, for some reason, Crys floated alphabet blocks before she got in herself.

she's going to laugh at me and never let me live this one down when I tell her about it, miss Ghost Pirates.

Hymns

To put it simply, I really enjoy hymns. I've had a lot of experience with music, although I'm not all that wonderful a musician, and every time I get to play or sing hymns, it's always my favorite thing to do. My husband says I oversing a bit in church, and he's probably right. First, because he generally is right about most thigns, and second, because I do get enthusiastic about it.

The Orthodox Presbyterian Church is a denomination that loves its hymns, The churches we've attended have had varying levels of musical involvement, and always lots of hymns. This morning we sang several from the resurrection section of the Trinity Hymnal, including "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name" and "Look Ye Saints the Sight is Glorious". I suppose that one of the good things about our frequent moves is that we can learn different hymns as we worship at different churches. Each church always has certain hymns that through no particular design are somewhat more frequent favorites. "Look Ye Saints" is one of those which I never recall having sung anywhere before we came to Providence OPC in Austin.

In retrospect, I almost wonder if the main reason I always wanted to learn the organ was to play hymns. Once I got to college and could start organ lessons, one of the first things I did was to start learning a hymn. I started wiht "A Mighty Fortress is Our God"- neither the easiest nor the most difficult in the book, but very familiar. Painstakingly I worked at coordinating each chord with hands and feet. I can only imagine how it sounded to anyone outside, for the Cottey chapel was not air-conditioned and so the windows stood open for several weeks at the start of my first semester.

A performance is always delightful. It's an adrenaline rush, to rehearse and practice for weeks or months and then have people listen and watch. Hymns are not like that; they are something for worship and enjoyment, and relatively little preparation. Some of the most enjoyable gatherings we've had have been times when groups of Christians have been able to get together to sing (or play) hymns, which we're planning to do with another OPC family in a few weeks. I'd encourage anyone who studies the piano or organ especially, although other instruments as well, to work through your hymnals time and again to become familiar with hymns!