Once in a very great while, the planets align, the stars shine brighter, the sun glows stronger, and all is perfectly right in the universe. Today, on this last day of our piano hunt to play 60 pianos, throughout five boroughs, in two weeks, I experienced about two and a half minutes of this extraordinary phenomenon. To me, it was the definition of a "magical moment" to the core. The Staten Island Zoo was one of our last stops on our piano journey. And of all the days and times to drive to this location, we chose Wednesday at exactly 2 pm, which coincidently is the exact day and time out of the entire week that admission is free at the zoo – Wednesday at 2 pm. Really! We walked through the zoo searching for the piano, smiling at the children who were delighted with every living creature that surrounded them, from horses, to goats, to llamas. Eventually we found the piano. When I sat down to play, I noticed tiny little creatures scattering across the floor of the outdoor pic

Two hunters made their way through a jungle of stone, equipped with all the supplies needed to locate their target. They had been searching for days in the unbearable heat, with the sun relentlessly beating down and showing them no mercy. They rested, only briefly at a local watering hole, before continuing their pursuit. Soon the hunters came to the known territory of their hunted. Their senses suddenly heightened when they became aware of its nearby presence. They squinted hard into the distance searching for its shape and turned their heads, cupping their ears while straining to hear its call. “Sh! I hear it.” One hunter said. “Is that it?” He pointed to the horizon. The targets wore excellent camouflage and blended into their surroundings with ease. “No,” the other hunter replied. “That’s a dumpster,” she said. They stepped cautiously, knowing it could make itself known at any moment. The hunters were no stranger to this game. An amateur would think it was easy to find, given the

I’ve heard of “middle child syndrome,” where the middle born child struggles with achievement issues, gaining attention, and even forming relationships due to their birth order. I’m not a psychologist, but I am certainly a middle child, and not just by birth. I’m from the Mid west . Financially, I’ve always been middle class. I never got outstanding grades, but never horrible ones either. I’ve never been gorgeous, or ugly. Too skinny, or too fat. Too tall, or too short. Too successful, or a total failure. Even my musical ability, in the world of professional musicians is average. I recently took the LSAT exam and received a score in the, yep, in the 50 th percentile. One of my favorite TV shows is “The Middle” for crying out loud. Sometimes I do get frustrated with this pattern however because I feel like I put an enormous amount of effort and care in these things, and yet still come out no better or worse than anyone else - like an ear of corn growing among the thousands in a Neb

I haven't taken on many piano students. I taught 2 adorable children when I was in college, my Grandma (who now has a very respectable repertoire), and 1 student in Fayetteville. Teaching has never been my forte, because I think it's important to learn music theory, in which I am no expert. Nevertheless, I've recently taken on a new student. I've found that he is diligent and eager to learn. After only one lesson, he made his musical debut in none other than the Big Apple itself. Ladies and Gentlemen, my husband... http://www.youtube.com/user/elizabethGrimes83#p/u/0/jDRlDJ1vIhk

After a long day of piano hunting , Eddie and I sat exhausted in the dirt of Brooklyn's Prospect Park. We were waiting for the Texas Tornadoes to begin their free outdoor concert as we swatted mosquitoes and sorted through our pictures and videos from the day. We opted against the metal folding chairs placed in front of the stage for our own section of ground so we could lay out and let the sweat dry as we recuperated from our day's walking. We had no blanket to lay on, so we used the large floor mat from the back of my SUV, which worked well enough to keep us out of the ants and dirt. I suddenly felt rejuvenated when at last the Texas Tornadoes made their grand entrance on stage with the compulsively catchy "Adios Mexico." I was surprised at the large crowd that made it out to see them. In my whole life, there are few people I know that have heard of the Tex-Mex group, let alone like them enough to make the journey to see them in concert. I was introduced to

Me in the middle of Time Square This is the third day of my mission, playing all 60 pianos placed throughout NYC by Sing For Hope . I’m beginning to learn that every song I play is actually a duet. The other musical collaborator is the city of New York. When an ambulance races through the street, sirens blaring, that siren becomes a part of the song. A bicyclist, an obnoxious by stander, a honking UPS truck, they are all members of the harmonious ensemble. I’ve been waiting for a piano located in a quiet area to play “Clair De Lune.” It’s time I accept there is no such thing. Instead it will play “Claire De Lune,” featuring the city of New York. See photos See videos Read other people's stories

When I was a little girl, I couldn’t pass by a piano without playing it. I remember the half dozen old pianos scattered throughout my old church and school building. When we stayed late or arrived early for one of our many church related events, I entertained myself by finding an abandoned, wooden upright, and playing until it was time to go. I got my piano job at Lee’s Restaurant by simply asking the owner if I could play a song on the clunky, out of tune piano (with the encouragement of my family, due to my own shyness). To this day, If I am in the vicinity of a piano, sooner or later, I’ll find my way to it. That’s why this project by Sing For Hope is so neat. There are others like me, who couldn’t pass up an available piano if their life depended on it. They come in all different skill levels and styles, but all have that same desire in common. I met one such person in Central Park by the band shell. He hovered with attentive curiosity, over the shoulders of me and the other play

Today, I visited 13 pianos throughout Manhattan in my mission to play all 60 pianos within the 5 boroughs in 2 weeks! It was a day of blistered feet, sun burnt shoulders, and a parking ticket. I was surprised at how many pianos seemed untouched, as if by standers were scared or unsure of its purpose, like in Saint Nicholas Park and Harlem Art Park. However, others, like the band shell at Central Park and the Lincoln Center, were swarming with both talented and eager players and grateful audience members. My favorite moment today was as one of those audience members outside the Juilliard Building in Lincoln Center. I was waiting for my turn at the keys when an old woman walked by the piano carrying a backpack and several plastic grocery bags so full that the handles stretched and threatened to break all together. Long gray and black hair stretched down the back of her tiny frame as she stepped slowly with a hunched back. Her eyes suddenly lit up when she saw the instrument and she a

After 8 months of living here as a struggling musician, there are areas of New York City that I know pretty well. But there are many I haven’t dared to explore yet. I’m comfortable with a handful of subway lines, but clueless when it comes to others. I still keep my laminated map of the city in my purse and can pull it out, orient myself, and figure out where to go in a matter of seconds, from the time the train stops til the doors close. In an effort to visit every nook and cranny of New York City and its 5 boroughs (Manhattan, Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, and Staten Island), I’m going to play 60 pianos in two weeks. A nonprofit organization called Sing For Hope , has set up pianos on sidewalks and city parks throughout 5 boroughs . Any passerby can show off their skills on one of the colorful pianos marked with the words, “Play me, I’m yours.” After the two weeks, the pianos will be donated to local schools. I began my trek yesterday, knocking out 5 pianos in lower Manhattan - Battery

"I was seldom able to see an opportunity until it had ceased to be one." ~Mark Twain Today I struggled with whether or not to run. A small, seemingly insignificant choice on the surface, but with several underlying effects. See, I haven’t run in several days, and the more times I miss a run, the more likely I’ll miss  tomorrow’s run as well. Not to mention, I knew the next several days would be busy and I probably wouldn’t have time to get a good one in. On the other hand, I already missed the early morning hours of bearable, cool weather. Now it was hot, sunny, and 90 degrees. All things considered, I decided to suck it up and go for it. I ran through 4 towns; Lodi, Hasbrouck Heights, Wood-ridge, and Carlstadt (in northern New Jersey lingo, that amounts to about 4½ miles). And wouldn’t you know it? The moment I finished, out of breath and light-headed from the humidity and sun, I walked up the cement stairs to my front door and…rain. A trivial coincidence to most, but to m

One of the reasons why I am out here near New York City, pursuing a music career is because of my dad. Somehow I inherited his passion and entrepreneur spirit. He, like me, has always had a thousand things in his head he’s wanted to try. He, like me, has been known to make impulsive, life changing decisions in order to follow his dream. He, like me, is always looking for the next opportunity to commit to. He, like me, has seen his share of success and disappointment. He has always had a love for flight and once earned his private pilot’s license. The expense and time commitment makes it a difficult hobby to keep however. Maybe if he could go back in time, flight wouldn’t be the dream that got away, but like the song, ” A Builder ” says, he is “a dreamer whose dreams always came last,” while providing for his family came first. My goal and dream is to become a successful musician, performer, and songwriter. I learned from my dad the importance of dreams, the hard work that goes int

There is a charming farmers market and petting zoo in Wyckoff, NJ. You can stock up on fresh vegetables and scrumptious desserts. You can experiment with the local recipes for salad dressing and homemade salsa, canned in quaint, glass jars. And when you’re done, you can pet and feed the livestock with dry crackers and leafy greens. Today we saw rabbits, goats, pigs, sheep, ponies, turkeys, and even baby chicks. Though the farm is only 15 minutes from our apartment, I felt like we were in a completely different world. It was as though we stepped through a wormhole from the crowded, over populated streets of our New Jersey town and suddenly found ourselves in the open heartland of, well, Texas. The first time I visited Eddie’s family at his grandparents’ farm in Texas, I knew it was something special - relaxed, happy, warm (not just the temperature, although wow Texas gets hot), and maintained with love. Somehow his grandpa knew I would be happy tending to the baby chicks. Of course t

I recently posted this video on facebook but hesitated posting it on my blog because it's...well, kind of a depressing song. And while I like depressing songs because of the emotional depth, honesty, and uniqueness that they require to write, record, and share, others just find them, well, depressing. But it's my blog so I can post whatever I want! I wrote this song the day after my dog of 14 1/2 years, Duchess, passed away. In addition, I had just moved to the New York City area about a month or two before and I was thoroughly disappointed with lack of music gigs I was getting...or wasn't getting. So, that, combined with Duchess's passing made for one heck of a sad song. Plus I think Eddie was at drill or something, so I was alone that day. It's a style of country and blues and as my mother said, "It worked for Tammy (Wynette), it can work for you!" I guess we'll see. Enjoy. “Throw Some More Dirt” Words and music by Elizabeth Grimes Copyright 2009

Well this one is easy! Today the magical moment was when my wonderful husband, Eddie, graduated his final phase of BNCOC. Though it was not the most difficult training he's been through in the military by a long shot, each unit presents different challenges and he certainly had his share to deal with over the last few weeks. Eddie's personality in uniform is vastly different than when he's at home in shorts and flip flops. He is all business and both obeys and enforces every regulation (with the exception of fraternizing with an officer, HA!). Many of his peers and subordinates find this difficult to deal with. Often these are the ones lacking discipline and pride in what they do, inevitably creating personality conflicts. He often grows weary, feeling as though he's fighting a losing battle of enforcing standards to those who don't seem to care. As we talked by phone the last few weeks, he often said how everyone hates him. They roll their eyes when he makes

It started one day when my little nephew, Zach, and I were playing trains on the living room floor. I was so overcome by his chubby cheeks and dimples that I had to scoop him up in my arms and give him a big hug. As I squeezed the little blonde butterball, I said, “Squish!” The next day I watched the 1½ year old toddle around Granny’s kitchen, looking for something to entertain him. I went to the toy box. “Come on Zach, let’s play trains.” Trains were old news. He ignored me and suddenly became fascinated with the garbage can lid. “Zach,” I mock-scolded him and put my hands on my hips. “Come over here right now so I can give you a squish.” Suddenly his bored expression broke into a wide, sparse-toothed smile as he let out a nervous giggle. I coaxed him again. He took a few small steps toward me and raised his two arms shoulder level. “You have to come closer for me to squish you.” I persuaded. His anxious laugh came out in spurts now as he tried to hold it in. I planted firmly, forci

Okay, so if I could go to the pet store and buy a little baby squirrel, I would have done it a long time ago. Maybe it’s the way my grandpa used to hand feed his backyard squirrels bread crumbs and dried corn cobs on the deck, or maybe it was the little family of them that had babies every spring until the tree was cut down, but I’ve always loved those little critters. Joy loves them too. Loves to chase them. Each morning, when the neighborhood squirrels are at their most active, Joy is chomping at the bit to chase them down and herd them into a corner. Of course she wouldn’t know what to do with one if she ever caught it. My neighbor and I sometimes leave bread for the squirrels, she even named one Harry. Today I saw Harry trotting through the grass to his tree home with not a light slice of bread in his mouth, but an enormous slice of pizza. I’m not sure, but I think it was the leftover Pa Pa Johns that Eddie and I ate last week and just got around to throwing the box in the dumps

Today I walked aimlessly through the streets of New York City. I had an appointment and the other party forgot, or just stood me up, who knows which. Since the bus fare was recently raised to $8.50 for a round trip into the city, I thought what a waste it would be to just go right back home. I wandered to Macy’s to see if the swimsuit I wanted was on sale yet. Nope. I wandered past Tiffany’s, I don’t know why, it’s just so pretty and sparkly. I sat on a park bench and pulled out my laminated map of the city streets and subways (I never leave home without it), looking for someplace I might want to go. Unfortunately nothing really struck me. So I wandered back to the bus station. I took my time, avoiding the crowded stuffy subways, and walked up town towards Port Authority, when I heard a drum roll from only a few feet away. I turned my head and saw the beginning of a parade, when it suddenly dawned on me...it’s Flag Day! And what luck, I ended up at the very beginning of the procession

Life is full of ups and downs. Weeks, even days have high moments followed by unexpected low ones. And sometimes they occur simultaneously so you’re not sure which one to feel. Happy and thankful for certain things, yet sad and confused by others. A song can’t be written with only one note. A song can’t even remain in one register. It requires use of the whole keyboard, beautiful harmonization, and even ugly clashes. - those usually last only for a second however before they’re resolved. I suppose if you look at life like you look at a musical piece, it all makes sense in the end. I look at a sheet of music and am terrified and intimidated by its complexities. I wonder how I will ever work through the 16 th notes, precise rhythms, and unusual key. But I always get through it the same way, one note at a time, one measure at a time, one page at a time. There are sections I don’t understand, that confuse, anger, and frustrate me, and those take longer to work through. The composer sure

Last night, I drove over the George Washington Bridge, sipping hot water and warming up my voice with vocal exercises learned from high school choir class. I was on my way to Clark Theatre at Lincoln Center in Manhattan to perform in a benefit concert for the World Mission Foundation . It’s been a while since I’ve performed on a stage in front of an audience. Parties, restaurants, and bars are a completely different venue. People are having conversations with one another and are generally occupied with something other than giving their full attention to the musician providing background music. I am free to make mistakes, forget lyrics, and play wrong chords in those instances. But not for a performance. A stage requires perfection. A mistake is seen by hundreds of eyes. In my incessant over preparation, my voice became hoarse the morning of, leaving me to exhaust every home-remedy for sore throat relief I could imagine. When I arrived at the theatre, I was first shown to the dressin

I’ve written songs, blogs, and more about my anxiousness and worry. I suppose some people are just more inclined to be constantly restless and apprehensive. I don’t know if I’ll ever get past it completely. Yesterday, it stormed all day long. I was out running errands around town in the pouring rain. It’s frustrating because I don’t get my morning run in, and Joy with her boundless puppy energy is cooped up in the house all day, running laps around the dining room table and torturing the cat. Sometime in the afternoon, the gray, dim light that poured in through the living room window mini blinds, turned into a warm, bright yellow. I peeked out and discovered the beauty of a perfect summer afternoon. Joy and I rushed outside and played fetch until she was exhausted, which only took a few minutes. She tore up and down the grass, chasing birds and barking in such a frenzy, she tired herself out in no time. It was a good thing too because as we walked towards the front door, I felt sprinkl

Why must we get angry over small things? Why do we judge others for doing something that we may personally disagree with? I have spent a lot of time with those who believe men must have short hair, women must wear skirts, the Lord’s supper must be taken only on a certain day, too much make up is evil, women should aspire to be mothers and wives and nothing more, drums in music is evil, along with public swimming pools and movie theatres. If these things, as well as others were not followed to the letter, there would be judgment. Not from God, but from other fallible human beings.  To most people that idea seems ridiculous. However, even those “most people” don’t realize that they too have their own “rules” to be followed in order for their idea of a reasonable standard to be met. I have caught flack for joining the military, marrying an NCO, even looked down upon because my husband and I have no children. Everyone thinks they know best. But only One knows best for me, and that is the

This is a song I wrote probably 6 years ago, but never really knew the right arrangement until Norah Jones came along. Then I knew I wanted that acoustic, simple sound with the piano as an embellishment, rather than carrying the entire accompaniment like many of my other songs. Hope you enjoy. Recording below. “I Still Think About You” Words and music by Elizabeth Grimes Copyright 2009 Verse 1: You didn’t break my heart. You didn’t crush all my dreams. You never mistreated me. We agreed it wasn’t meant to be. We casually said goodbye Both smiling as we walked away. No anger pain or sadness. Another boy, another day. I never was in love with you. And still I swear this is true. But ever now and then I have a passing thought of you. A fleeting moment of memory When I bite my lip and smile. And think of that brief time We were together for a while. Chorus: I still think about you. Sometimes I wish you’d just call. One more try could be the last try. Could be the end of it all. Could

My car has over 106,000 miles on it, nearly each and every one of them driven with myself at the wheel. Some of what I pass is familiar, and much is brand new. There are rolling green hills in North Carolina that could pass as a view from Ireland. There is farmland in Pennsylvania that could be the inspiration for a painter’s masterpiece. And there are sunsets in Nebraska that couldn’t be more beautiful, even if they were set over the Italian waters of Venice. When I hear of people who grew up in strange and exotic places like Key West, or Hawaii, I wonder what amazing things they've seen and experienced. What unique stories they must have to tell. They must really have special lives unlike any other. During my travels, I've realized that it’s not just the pictures on postcards that are magical. I know of a place called the Russian Bottom in Lincoln, NE, where the majestic blare of a railroad train horn brings unmatched awe and wonder to little boys on a daily basis. I once h

There are some days, like today, when I know I need God's help. I know that I can't do it alone and I must ask Him to carry me through. But like everything else in my mind, I talk myself crazy. I'm not sure what I should say. I'm afraid I'm asking too much, or asking for something other than God's will. I feel guilty, like maybe I only pray when I want something, or that He should devote His attention to those really in need, the poverty stricken, the abused, or ill. All I know is I need help and to get help, I must ask Him for it. There were times, I'm ashamed to admit, when I would simply forgo prayer all together for all the above reasons. It wasn't until recently, He reminded me what to do. Now, when I feel this way, I simply revert to back about 20 years to Sunday school and recite the Lord's Prayer. I close my eyes, take a breath, and pray every word, allowing the words to flow with fervent conviction when needed. The Lord knows what's r

“There is no substitute for hard work.” –Thomas Alva Edison My heart tells me this is true, but my mind tells me, ” Maybe you’re not working hard enough. Work harder. Do more. And if you don’t reach your goal, it’s simply because you didn’t work hard enough .” We’ll see soon enough. Tomorrow, in fact. If I don’t reach this goal, I hope I can handle it. I hope that my reward for recently recognizing my neurotic crazy and trying to correct it, will be to reach this goal. If not, I may slip back into neurotic crazy. But I hope not. But if I do reach this goal, how will I ever learn to cope when I don’t reach one in the future. Maybe I’ll never learn. But I’m trying to learn. I’m doing it again, aren’t I? C'est la vie. What will be will be. I can say it, now if I could only believe it. Nope, still not there yet. But I’m trying. God, can I have points for trying? I guess we’ll see after today, because points is what I need.

I had the weirdest case of déjà vu today in the city. I took the subway up town to spend some time at Central Park on this beautiful warm afternoon and buy Goose an ice cream from one of the local vendors. After walking block after block through the packed city, I hoped and prayed for an empty seat on the stuffy, crowded subway car, but to no avail. Instead I was pushed to the middle of the aisle where the only way to balance myself as the train raced across the railway, was to grab the overhead steal bar. I reached up with my left hand and grasped the horizontal bar with my fist. Only a few steps in front of me was the side sliding doors that I would exit through. I looked down and noticed my feet were shoulder width apart, one slightly in front of the other. Then I realized that my right hand was placed over my purse, which had fallen to the front of my waist to keep the crowd from knocking it off my shoulder. That’s when I realized it. If the metal bar was a static line, my purse

Today, we made our first trip to the Jersey Shore since our move to this area. It was complete with unnaturally toned muscles, orange-tanned bodies, and a long, wooden boardwalk lined with funnel cake vendors and carnival rides. I’ve heard that the freezing ocean up here is not fit for swimming until at least mid-July, but the beach was packed with sunbathers nonetheless who worked up the nerve to go mid-calf into the chilly water. Seagulls flew overhead, shrieking as they swooped near open bags of potato chips. Sea shells covered the fine, golden sand. Umbrellas sprang up from the ground to form an insignificant, but appreciated dot of shade among the barren dunes that stretched on either side of us as far as we could see. Eddie, Goose , and I laid on the beach relaxing and getting some much needed color on our pasty legs, when the sweat began to trickle down our faces. We decided to sacrifice our toes and ankles to the cold water in exchange for momentary relief from the heat. As th

They say the first step to overcoming a problem is to identify it. I am the queen of psyching myself out. I can talk myself into circles and make the most microscopic problem into a catastrophic ordeal. There. I identified it. Actually, I’ve known for quite some time. It’s been my life long struggle. Since I was a child, I remember correlating two unrelated issues and tying them together to make them absolutely causal. If I didn’t memorize this one verse (out of like a thousand), I would never win the Timothy Award in Awanas. If I never won the Timothy Award, I would let down my parents, Mrs. Brooks, and myself. Therefore, if I didn’t memorize that one verse, everyone I cared about and looked up to would be disappointed in me, I would never earn their respect, and I would live my life sorry and alone. My first year in ROTC, if I didn’t max my physical fitness test (obtain the highest score possible), I would be a horrible officer when I was commissioned three years later. Being in th

A true story.... (to hear recording, scroll down) "Maria" by Elizabeth Grimes, Copyright 2009 Vs 1: "Mi esposa bonita, te amo," he told her. And she cried with joy for she believed it was true. To prove his love for her, he endured the pain. On his right arm he showed her the fresh green tattoo. Te amo, Maria. Te amo, Maria. One day she found his lies. And he chose another. And she cried with grief as she watched them both leave. Oh, but his young, new chiquita won't let him go with out his pancho for when he takes it off she just can't bear to read, Te amo, Maria. Te amo, Maria. And now he must live wearing that sweet angel's name. Te amo, Maria. (Now he's missing Maria.) Te amo, Maria (He dreams of kissing Maria.) Te amo, Maria. (Now he's missing Maria.) Te amo, Maria (He dreams of kissing Maria.)

Gray, stormy clouds eventually gave way to torrential rain fall. For hours we remained trapped in the tiny, confined space. We wondered when we would be free from our aching backs, headaches, and discomfort caused by the cramped area. There was no end in sight. Every sleeping position was tested, then rejected. It was hopeless. There would be no sleep. No comfort. Not even a nice view to enjoy. And with hours to kill, there was only one thing left to do. Go surfing. Music surfing of course. On a ten hour car trip to pick up our little Goose (Eddie's cousin) from North Carolina, we made the best of a looong trip by rocking out to the iPod. By the time we were on the Garden State Parkway, we had choreography, back up harmonies, and microphones. No one can do Aretha Franklin like 2 mezzo sopranos and a baritone who halfway know the words to "Chain Chain Chain," but man, can we milk those high notes! We scanned the 8 kilo bites for the perfect tunes to lift our spirits and