INBOX

In the few minutes I had between students I took a quick romp through my email on this God-forsaken iMac, otherwise known as Beelzebub's plaything. Delete, delete, delete (lots of junk), and then, I spy an email subject with a former professor's name. You know that pit in your stomach you get when you know something's not good?



After a long illness, one of my first college professors passed away. He was an amazing Organist and was a family friend since I was a little girl. He was my music theory teacher, and purposefully put me in the front row so he could pick on me. While the other students were rattling off C-major scales, he'd give me F-triple-sharp harmonic minor scales with a twist. And he'd always ask me with an evil grin. He was that way. He gave me my first paid church job, and we did a zillion weddings and funerals over the years. He was on my master's committe, and in true fashion, was the only professor who refused to give me my question ahead of time. Instead, he tossed a score in front of me during my oral exams and made me analyze it on the spot. With an evil grin on his face.



One of my best memories was a wedding we did together. The congo (congregation) was particularly boisterous that afternoon, and he looked at me and said "well, if they are going to talk, I'll give them something to talk over" and he proceded to put on every stop (different) sound on the Organ. It was loud as hell, and he just played and played...with an evil grin on his face.



Now, he's out of pain and he can play again. I hope those angels are quiet up there when it's his turn, otherwise I'm sure that grin will be back and they'll really have something to talk over.



To my professor, my mentor and my friend CA, who is up there playing his socks off -- Now you're cooking with gas. I'll miss ya.

Sign My Guestbook!