Playing the Organ

I often wish that the people who populate my church, the few who remain, were devotees of piano music instead of organ. Although I have a lot of musical ability, I best play the piano, and I love the instrument. A piano makes melodic, passionate, and dynamic music, and as the instrument is played, embodies the soul of the musician. My opinion is that organ music glorifies the instrument rather than the music, and oftentimes sounds soulless; I have, however, heard glorious music played on the organ by people who are truly gifted in moving their hands and feet independently, and who understand how to manipulate the stops to make a magnificent, big sound. I just prefer being able to make the music sing to its audience; the piano does that beautifully.

Our church has a beautiful pipe organ that was installed after a disastrous sanctuary fire a few years ago. The organist at the time of the fire and the installation, and a fine organist she is, has now retired, leaving the organ bench empty for the first time in 50 years. 50 years. She has been a faithful servant, taking off few Sundays in that half-century, but she felt that 50 years was plenty. I agree, not because her skills had diminished, but because she deserved a rest. However, finding a competent organist in a small town, one who is not already employed by a church, is very difficult.

So I find myself a volunteer organist at Broadway Presbyterian Church - not voluntary in the sense that I am not being paid, but voluntary in the sense that I am a pianist at heart, and yet, because some portion of the congregation wants to hear organ music, I am now playing the organ.

When I was a semi-music major at William Jewell College in Liberty, the powers that "were" convinced me that I was not talented enough as a pianist to major in piano, so I should major in organ. Dr. Riddle was a very good teacher, but my heart wasn't in it. I didn't like the organ; however, I bought music, took lessons, and practiced more than I had ever practiced any keyboard music. I was, nevertheless, a pitiful organist. I could play the organ, but I was a pitiful organist.

I think I still am a pitiful organist, but the church where I have been playing the piano for now 20+ years has accepted me as the organist for the church. What they don't remember is that when I moved to Sedalia, 25 years ago, Marian, the 50-year organist, was taking a sabbatical, and I was her substitute. I had just moved to town, and was not known by anyone. As the substitute organist at Broadway Presbyterian Church, I was not received well. In fact, Mr. Lou, the minister at the time, told me that a woman in the congregation could tell that I wasn't an organist and would love to give me lessons. I told him that if she knew how to play, that's what she should be doing. I quit substituting after 6 months, and Marian resumed her position on the bench, which she held until last year at about this time.

When Marian retired, I played the service on the piano, and thought that I did well; however, a faction of the congregation still held out hope for an organist. We thought we had found one, but she turned out to be not well prepared for the position. So after she had sat on the bench for 3 months, she and the church parted ways, and I began playing the piano for service again. I thought I did quite well.

But something in the congregation demanded an organist. And so I volunteered.

I pulled out my college music, bought a couple of "easy organ music" books, and am now the organist. Amazingly, the congregants are supportive. They tell me that I do well and that they enjoy listening to me. As long as I can play the hymns, I feel as if I will do all right. But then I get the new version of "Be Thou My Vision," and I am horrified and lost. I pull out my grandmother's Methodist hymnal, play the easy version, and make it through the day. But the stress is more than I bargained for.

What's wrong with the piano?

Conway, Arkansas

Today I'm plugging a little town in semi-central Arkansas. Conway is located about 30 minutes from Little Rock, and is the home of three colleges: University of Central Arkansas, I can't remember the other one, and Hendrix College, where our daughter is a junior. Conway is a great little town to visit if you have a child in college or are just passing through. It boasts more than one decent national chain hotel/motel, where rooms can be very inexpensive, and though Faulkner County falls victim to Arkansas' weird liquor laws, a patron can go to a good restaurant and have cocktails before dinner and wine with.

We enjoy Mike's Place, which is semi-Cajun New Orleans-style food. Mike's offers several types of shrimp and fish, but also has steak on the menu. I like the sweet potato fries, which are twice fried for a really crispy outside and creamy inside. They also offer good old southern green beans, which, according to custom, must be cooked with onion and bacon. The key lime pie is good, too. On occasion, I have even ordered the catfish bites as an appetizer, after which I needed no other food. The fried green tomatoes are fine, as well, if you like that sort of thing.

Michaelangelo's is also good, and also has bar service available. Their menu includes a variety of pastas and other Italian-style dishes. I haven't had anything bad there, and out daughter loves the lemon sorbet, which is served in a lemon cup. The decor is attractive; the restaurant is located in an old brick building downtown, and service is friendly and competent.

We recently discovered Pia's, which is another Italian restaurant located downtown. Pia's has a more limited menu and a more limited bar, but the food is truly delicious. Most of the dishes are pasta, with some added chicken, but the sauces are heavenly and complement the food well. This restaurant is small, and we had to wait a little to be seated last Friday night.

We have also tried Old Chicago's, which is a national chain that serves national chain food, and we have tried the catfish house mentioned a couple of years ago in USA Today as the best place in the area to eat catfish. I was hoping for lunch there once more, but we ran out of days, and it isn't open on Sundays. The hush puppies are just about as good as those at Fred's Fish House in Mammoth Spring, Arkansas, and the pinto beans are absolutely fantastic. The day we ate there, I would have taken that catfish over Fred's, although Emily disagreed with me. I will make sure to include that restaurant the next time I write about Conway.

This trip, we went to the Clinton Library and Museum in Little Rock, which was a couple of hours well spent on a Saturday afternoon. We also did a little more exploring in Little Rock and found, to our delight, one of our favorite Kansas City restaurants: Yia Yia's, a brain child of the successful Red Robin entrepreneurs, PB&J. Actually, Yia Yia's came first, but more people now know of the Red Robins. I happen to think PB&J's best food came with their first restaurants in Kansas City - Grand Street Cafe and Coyote Grill. I am glad, however, that they have achieved deserved recognition for their Red Robins.

The only blight on the trip was that we left a bottle of good wine in the refrigerator in our room, unopened, and when we recognized that we had left it, we called. The manager told us that the cleaning staff had thrown it out. They do that when things are left in the refrigerator. So caveat emptor at the Comfort Suites. Don't put anything in the refrigerator!

Driving to Conway

A trip down Missouri Highway 67 will be beautiful in about3 weeks. Instead of taking the short way to Conway, Arkansas, to see our daughter for Parents' Weekend, we drove from St. Louis to Festus, Missouri, on Interstate 55, and then took the Highway 67 exit. The highway is divided through the hillsides and forests that comprise the Mark Twain National Forest, so traffic is not an issue as it was in the days I traveled from Thayer to the Elephant Rocks and Johnson Shut-ins, some 40 years ago. How is that possible!?

We reached Farmington about lunch time, and decided to brave a trip into town to find a local restaurant. We got lucky, both with the trip into town, and with the local restaurant. Farmington is about a mile or so off the highway, and the drive is dotted with some beautiful, old homes, immaculate landscaping, and even a little urban park - if we can think of a town of 6,000 as urban. We felt as if we were taking a trip backwards in time, if only for a decade or so. The downtown area was actually decorated for fall, with different-themed scarecrows hanging on to streetlamp posts. The courthouse lawn was populated not by scarecrows, but by a couple of stuffed scary creatures, including what looked like a headless horseman. I wonder if the people were making a comment about their confidence in the justice system? I hope not.

The downtown courthouse square was, for the most part, full of what looked to be thriving businesses, including a music store. We went into what appeared to be an interesting looking restaurant - 12 West. Our guess was that the owners had rehabbed a couple of old brick buildings to put together a bar and restaurant. We didn't spend much time in the bar, but were escorted into a really lovely dining area that was punctuated by curved booths along the western wall. We sat in one of the booths because it looked romantic, and we could sit right next to each other. A bronze-colored silky fabric was draped overhead, looking like something from the Arabian Nights, and the ceiling was dotted with chandeliers that could have come from West Elm: They were shaped into an upside down pyramid by dangling rectangles of faux mother-of-pearl in a golden color. The restaurant wasn't too crowded, but we thought it might get loud when completely full, because the restaurant had many hard surfaces; the floor was concrete, the walls brick, and the ceiling extremely high.

We both opted for a hamburger, and each was cooked to order. Guacamole was well-flavored and the fried potato wedges were well-done and crunchy. We will probably stop there again when we're in the area.

My husband and I had a bet as to whether the county where Farmington is located (St. Francois) is prounounced St. Francis or St. Fran-swa. I took the latter even though I know we're talking about the pronunciation of people in Missouri. I lost.

The rest of the trip to Poplar Bluff was lovely as well, as the highway continued to wind through the trees and forest. We went through a series of places where the highway is being improved, so we encountered some traffic that was typical Missouri: farmer going into town in no particular hurry, rubbernecking along the way. All in all, though, the drive was enjoyable in perfect weather. We had the convertible top down all the way!

A note: In St. Louis, we ate dinner at Giovanni's on the Hill - the Italian restaurant section and in the area where Joe Garragiola and Yogi Berra grew up, for those of you unfamiliar with St. Louis geography. The food was fabulous, the Chianti really nice, and the atmosphere traditional old Italian fine dining - white tablecloths, china chargers, and alcoves in each of the dining rooms. The menu features a dish prepared especially for Oprah, as well as a couple for a couple of Presidents who also dined there - though probably not at the same time as Oprah! Max had osso bucco, and I had veal saltimbocca. We were both happy and sated.

I'm sure we will take our usual route back home tomorrow, with no surprises, but the adventurous trip down the east side of Missouri was a delightful bright spot in a life of the usual.

Grading Papers

While I enjoy reading what my students have to say, I wish more of them had paid attention in the fourth grade about how to construct a sentence. I get depressed when student after student puts together a collection of words that has no subject or predicate, and then, after correction, does it again. I struggle with how to convey, to a classroom of 20 post-high-school kids, what constitutes a sentence and how to properly construct one. The terms "noun," "subject," "predicate," "verb," and "dependent clause" simply have no meaning to this group of people; that fact makes instruction extremely difficult. Why should a writer not begin a sentence with "and?" Because what comes out is likely a dependent clause lacking either a subject or a verb. I struggle with that explanation as I look out to the sea of faces and see blank or puzzled looks. I will keep trying.

Cooking with Julia

If you saw "Julie and Julia," and if you love cooking and eating good food, you probably were just like me and ran out to find the nearest copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Then, like me, you probably looked through it and found that few of the recipes are really intriguing enough to want to cook. But I am not wasting that book! I gave my husband, Max, orders to make the potato leek soup - the first recipe in the book - while I was teaching a class on Monday night. He agreed, and so we began our own journey through the recipes. The soup, enough to serve 6 to 8, was delicious, and we ate almost all of it. In fact, the little left over will be my supper tonight before I head out to choir practice. Yum. I'll let you know what's next.

Hey, Mr. Custer, What'm I Doin' Here?

I'm starting to figure out what is so fascinating about people's writing their very thoughts. I hope to write about things that are interesting or beneficial to other people. I also thought it might be a good idea to commit some time to writing so that it becomes second nature to me. I'm planning to address topics such as travel, restaurants and food, and movies. I will also address new ideas in the law. For the time being, I hope someone might listen!