Sunday Morning Divine

In the livingroom along with Grandma’s Steinway there was a pipe organ. Sometimes on Sunday mornings, organ music would fill the house like a clarion calling all good christians to rise. I’d tiptoe down the spiral staircase, still in my footy pajamas, to spy on whomever was making this magical music. Sometimes, when I was very small, I’d sit on the landing about half way down the stairs and just listen to the sweet sound of Grandpa playing his organ. Through the railing of the staircase I would peer out over the great central hallway and be transported to some ancient European cathedral. But, most of the time I couldn’t resist the music’s longing and I’d run down the stairs, slip through the columns at the entrance to the livingroom and climb up on the bench to sit next to Grandpa as he worked his magic on the keyboards.