On Thursday I arrived at the church early, 7:10 AM, to commence my organ studies. One hour later, I couldn't believe it was time to go already! I had to get home so my husband could go to work, so I reluctantly closed up the books and the organ and took off Mrs. Greaser's organ shoes...there was definitely something about that organ I couldn't wait to get back to.
On Friday I was sure to arrive earlier--6:45. At 8:15 I had accomplished a satisfactory amount of practice, and was ready to close up for the day. But that organ was drawing me in...there was no question after just two days of practice that I was starting to fall for its big, beautiful sound.
On Saturday (today), I arrived at the dark, empty church even earlier--6:30. Little by little I improved my exercises. By the end of my time, as I practice a piece by Thomas Tallis, my heart soaring with the majestic, earnest resonating of the pipes filling the chamber of the sanctuary, the sound swelled and as the organ breathed each note, the music began to come to life. Suddenly, as though he were speaking to me, I heard Mr. Tallis. Each note, each chord, spoken by the organ, became the voice of its composer and I understood him like he was there with me. Not wanting to lose this aural vision, I played the piece again and again and he taught me how to play. "Lift your finger there, let the music breath. Here is where the phrase ends. Now slow your tempo a bit. Yes, that is what I wanted." I could hardly believe it. Was I really hearing this? But I heard another compelling sound: the ticking of the clock. "No, I have to leave!" I thought with chagrin. I would come back soon but would this vision find me again?
To be continued...