"It's a dangerous business stepping out your door, if you don't keep your feet there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
Let me tell you. When you are at BYU, this becomes not only a dangerous but also a very fun experience. And here's why.
I got to play a harpsichord!
A real, live harpsichord. One of the blessings of living at home was having access to an amazing electric piano--not just a keyboard with four octaves and a tinny tone, but a high quality electric piano. This piano could play the sounds of just about any instrument imaginable, from brass drums to trumpets to a full string orchestra to, yes, a harpsichord. Because of this (and a slight familiarity with Bach), I knew what a harpsichord should sound like.
However, I did not ever expect to actually see one, let alone play one. But life had different plans for me. One day last week, as I was wandering the HFAC (Harris Fine Arts Center for those not versed in the ways of BYU lingo) looking for a practice room, I ran into one of my friends.
"Hey, what are you doing?" She says.
"I'm taking a voice training class, so I'm looking for a practice room, but all of these are full."
"Have you tried the practice rooms downstairs?"
I hadn't. I didn't even know these downstairs rooms existed! She decided she still had time before her organ lessons started to show me the way. Downstairs we went, and she led me to an imposing door with an electronic lock on it. "The code is *****," and now I've got to get back upstairs for lesson. Bye!"
Slightly nervous, I punched in the code. The lock beeped affirmative and flashed green, and I was in! As I turned on the light, I realized why I hadn't known about these practice rooms; they were for the organ students. There was a full size church organ sitting imposingly in the middle of the room. And, for some inexplicable reason, this little beauty sat nestled in the corner.
I was curious to try the organ, but I couldn't actually get it to turn on (that will be an adventure for another day!) And so, I turned my attention to the diminutive instrument in the corner of the room. It looked old, perhaps even hundreds of years old. My inquiring fingers hit middle C to find, wonder of wonders, the stringy classical sound of a harpsichord.
The whole point of finding a practice room was so that I could sing, but I am perfectly happy with the time I wasted playing Kenneth Cope and Pirates of the Caribbean on the harpsichord.
Life is good!