Many of you have probably been to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, perhaps during the centennial AGO national convention in 1996.  With its 141 ranks and 8,000 pipes, the cathedral's Aeolian-Skinner organ is just as magnificent as the building.  I imagine many people are are inspired by their visits to the cathedral, but how many of them act on the inspiration?  A couple of weeks ago, I had lunch with a man whose experience hearing that organ gave rise to a dream - a dream he has been pursuing for several decades.

Between bites of his chicken salad sandwich, my acquaintance told me about a trip he had taken to New York City thirty years ago.  His eyes sparkled as he recalled the thrill of hearing the organ at St. John the Divine, particularly the pealing notes of the state trumpet.  That experience sparked his interest in pipe organs.  He went on to describe the organ he is creating for his small Episcopal church in Atlanta, an instrument which began life as a 5-rank Moller.  This self-taught organist/organbuilder has purchased pipe organs and parts thereof over the years, molding the miscellany into his dream instrument, replacing the hopeful wisps of his musings with tangible evidence of his diligence.  The 29 ranks of a Moller organ he will purchase from Glenview Community Church are to comprise the antiphonal division of his magnum opus.

As I listened to his tale, as ill-advised as his plans might seem when viewed according to the parameters of a mindset often called "academic" or "professional," I too was inspired.  This man's determination to realize his dream was heart-warming, like a Horatio Alger story.  I was quite glad to have met him.  I was reminded of a recent article in The American Organist by Donald Sutherland which bore the title, "Consider the Possibilities."  Sound advice.  They are quite endless, depending on one's outlook.

As we parted ways, my luncheon companion invited me to come to Atlanta to hear his replica of the organ at St. John the Divine when it is completed.  With a smile and a wave, I told him to be sure to let me know the date.
 

I needed a ladder.  To reach things.  Hang curtains and such, I suppose.  I ventured to the K-Mart late one gray November afternoon to procure an aluminum step-ladder of the usual sort.  I bought it and transported it via shopping cart to my car.  It hadn't seemed like such a big ladder until it refused to be accomodated in either the trunk or back seat.  I made many attempts to coax the beast into the car in the cold and darkness while passers-by slowed their steps to gaze at my predicament.  I paused to lean the ladder and my wilting psyche against an adjacent lamp post while tears welled up in my eyes.  I felt very alone with that obstinate piece of metal, in a busy parking lot in front of a crowded store.

Then suddenly it occurred to me - if I reclined the seat, the ladder could ride in style and comfort next to me with the seatbelt to secure it.  And away we went, my ladder friend and I.

Sometimes life requires making friends with ladders and other unwieldy creatures.

On a clear, chilly day in March
I sat in the sun and shivered
beside my perennial garden
and spied tender green shoots pushing skyward.
I wondered if I would bloom this spring
or if my branches would be covered with protective thorns.

My faithful hound sat sniffing the spring breeze
and I realized he never fills his noble head with thoughts such as these
but simply seeks to sense and respond, genuinely and fearlessly.
In this way he knows when to sit close to me
and offer a sloppy kiss when tears run down my cheeks
or smile a canine grin when I laugh.

I decided then that the richness of life springs from
having the courage to continue sending vulnerable shoots
upwards to the sun’s warmth in hopes that they’ll bloom,
reaching beyond thorny armor
to bring forth fragrant roses with silken petals of rich hue.
And I thought my dog very wise indeed.