I couldn't help thinking about the Provo Tabernacle as we were singing. And it makes me cry that it burned down. I cannot even count the number of times that I have heard the Messiah there. My parents sang in a chorale and we not only would attend the performances, but my siblings and I would be given free rein of the building while they practiced. Truly we were supposed to be doing our homework, but it wouldn't take long before we set down our books and started exploring and hide and seeking. Up the spiral staircase and across the steep top aisle. Up even higher into the topmost seats. Over to the side to a little nook too small and hidden to be a comfortable spot for anyone. Oh, a little door into the rafters! Unfortunately always locked (shoulders sag). Back down and across to the back stand and down the narrow little stairway in the very back. I can smell it and hear the creaky floor, feel the smooth polished shine of the banisters and benches, see the light coming through the magnificent stained glass windows.
We also always had stake conference there so twice a year I would insist that we sit in the center top balcony where I could have the best view of all of the people! I would settle right in and commence gazing slowly and methodically around the entire audience -- a funny couple, unruly children, pretty dresses, cute boys... Then I would count how many people I could see from my school. Oh, and of course I listened intently to the speakers.
I cannot think of another building that I knew so well and I mourn.
2 comments:
I loved the tabernacle and mourn its passing, too.
I love your tradition! I bet my in-laws would love to do something like that.
I suggested we carol to our neighbors and Zach claimed that caroling is .his least favorite activity.. ... of all time. ever. Never, ever carol. Matt and he are cut out of the same mold.
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