2 thoughts on “phreaky phriday: stalactite organ

  1. June

    Yes, Leland is cool, as is his organ. There is, seemingly, no end to creativity.

    Sharolyn, this post came on a day when I had an intense organ encounter of my own: Like many folks around the holidays, I’ve been straining to feel festive. There is a tragic drama unfolding in my extended family which, more often than not, sucks the festive right out of me. Lately, the lyric “raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens….these are a few of my favorite things…” has been repeating in my head. I’ve tried slamming my noggin on various surfaces, but the sickly sweet refrain remains. I think it all started with an old Pottery Barn Christmas cd I found in the car and put on for the boys. I’ve no one to blame but myself. Anyway, the whole notion of “when I’m feeling sad…I simply remember my favorite things and then I don’t feel so bad” has been like a tormenting mental bully who makes all the annoying joy around even more annoying. I actually pictured drop-kicking a kitten the other day when the lyrics popped in. Geeeeeeeeeez June!

    Given the innocent bystanders in my life, I try to keep my gloom to myself so regardless of my internal state, I gathered up my darkness the other day and trucked darling son off to his weekly piano lesson. One of the songs he practiced this past week was a ditty entitled “Organ Song.” It descendes from E to C and then goes back up in half notes. He’s six. His charming piano teacher had him play the song on the piano, as usual, and then ceremoniously ushered him over to the church organ. He was nothing less than thrilled. He’d never seen an organ that close before and was quite enthralled with the stops, the pedals the multiple keyboards, the buttons, etc. (Sidenote: when she said “we’re going to pull out all the stops” I realized, for the first time in my 37 years, where that saying comes from. Since that moment, I’ve been trying to decide if I’m merely sheltered or hopelessly stupid. And to think I mother people…) So she pulled out all the stops, had him sit up straight, and he played, quite gloriously, the half-note extravaganza that is “Organ Song.” Seeing my young, happy, thrilled son sitting at an organ and hearing the simple strain his wee fingers were creating moved me instantly to tears. The sound of the organ, made by this innocent, loving-life-and-Christmas-and-me-and-raindrops-and-kittens child didn’t just tug at my heart, but in one unexpected instant, it shattered the heavy, heavy black rock that had been crushing everything inside of me. I felt like someone had put the paddles on me and yelled “Clear!”

    Since then, I’ve been praying and hoping for similar moments in this Christmas season for all the other darkened souls out there who are slogging their way through all the sparkly, holding on for dear life or wondering why they should even bother.

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