That title got your attention, didn't it?! I’m writing on a heavy, controversial subject today, something I scarcely do. I didn’t intend on it, but after watching a short video of Gianna Jesson tell her story of surviving a late term abortion (she was the infant, not the mother), I was inspired to put my two cents in. I’ve always considered myself a feminist, and gotten some crazy reactions from people when they hear that. Once I even got a self-righteous, knee-jerk response, “So I guess you don’t believe in God.” It’s hard for me to control my emotions and not engage in arguing with these kinds of people. If I do, I may end up sounding just as ignorant and foolish as they do. Proverbs 26:4 Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him. I would like to ask them, “How much time have you spent seriously studying feminism? If the answer is zero, how can you possible say that it doesn’t fall in line with what God teaches?” Some people joke, “You’re for w

I sat at the piano in the very first ballet class for the youngest beginners, no older than 4 and 5. I watched quietly as the teacher tried to settle the girls who explored the large room with excitement and wonder. They wore their brand new pink leotards and white tights, just taken out of the package today. Their mothers had brushed their hair into a ponytail, then twisted the loose ends into a pink, sparkly hair wrap. Bobby pins held the wispy hairs tight to their heads. The girls wandered inside, taking notice of their elegant appearance in the wall-sized mirrors, as if today was the ultimate of all “dress-up” days. They grasped the wooden bar, and mimicked the movements they’d seen ballerinas do on TV. The girls jumped up and down like popcorn when they finally took notice of the teacher, tall, sophisticated, and graceful. She wore a chiffon black skirt around her waist that gently swayed with each movement, and satin pointed shoes with pink ribbons that laced up around her ankl

Before I joined the Army, I couldn’t run a block or do a push up. Actually, before my 3 years in Army ROTC, I spent half a semester in Air Force ROTC. I still remember my very first physical fitness test there. I did 7 - count ‘em 7 - push ups, and ran a mile and a half in about 17 minutes. The only event I passed was the sit-ups and that was only barely. After my decision to join Army ROTC and commit to 4 years active duty upon college graduation, I began really disciplining myself physically. I woke up early to run before class, I did-push ups and sit-ups every night before bed, and I even recall once going on a 4-mile ruck run by myself on Thanksgiving (running with a huge pack on my back). I would run laps around a track or in a gym and force myself not to cut corners, or quit before my planned distance was achieved. I wouldn’t let myself walk, no matter how exhausted I was. I remember thinking that it was all up to me and by taking it easy on myself, although no one would ever

My little friend lives just outside. She chirps and sings and flies with pride Today I watch her only through glass. I’ll stay inside till the rain has passed. The dark gray clouds have darkened my mood. The wet showers have dampened me too. But the rain won’t keep her hidden away. A puddle is the perfect spot to play. A few little drops won’t stifle her song. Soon the others start to sing along. A dripping wet wing is no nuisance to her, Instead she basks in a refreshing shower. Ok my friend, you’ve lured me out. I’ll save another day to pout. So clearly you show me, so plainly you say, “Rain’s no excuse to waste the day.” *Painting by Dot Small

I listened to a radio interview of author Sonny Brewer on NPR the other day. I’d never heard of him before, but what particularly caught my attention was his new project called Don’t Quit Your Day Job , a compilation of 23 authors sharing their work experience prior to their writing success. Coincidently, I myself recently googled, “how to write a novel,” thinking that maybe someday soon, I would write my novel idea that's been in my head for about 4 years now. There is wrinkled, used scratch paper in my desk, scribbled on napkins in my purse, and Word documents on my computer with random fragments for a half concocted novel. Every time I seriously consider beginning the writing process, I feel overwhelmed and totally lost as to how to go about it. After all, the publishing world is about as challenging and confusing as the music industry. One impossible thing at a time please. I did hear a piece of advise in the interview however, that I’ll hang on to and use on days like tod

There is a commercial on TV (I think it's for Target) that shows a woman cooking pancakes in the shape of a teddy bear. I saw it the other day and randomly said to Eddie, "I want a teddy bear pana-cake (I still haven't outgrown the habit of pronouncing it pana-cake)." He replied, "Just to clarify, do you want a teddy bear pana -cake, or a teddy bear piano cake?" After a moment of contemplation, I jokingly decided, "Both." To my surprise and delight, the next morning Eddie was in the kitchen creating a masterpiece breakfast of teddy bear pancakes, complete with strawberry eyes and chocolate chip buttons. They were as adorable as they were delicious. Today, after a long day of work, I came home to heavenly sweet scent. Eddie was baking. When the egg timer dinged, he stayed in the kitchen with his creation until finally he called me in to unveil it. It was a teddy bear cake. I mean, an actual 3-D bear covered in frosting. He apologized that the

When Eddie and I lived in North Carolina, we discovered Friday night jazz at Cypress Bend Vineyards , a picturesque vineyard in the green farmlands of Wagram, NC. Every other Friday evening, they set up a quaint tent by the patio, complete with a stage, dance floor, and intimate five-piece band that performed jazz standards while guests enjoyed music, food, and wine. We went the first time at the referral of my former Army supervisor, the same one who encouraged me to audition for the Army Soldier Show. It turned out that he and the owner of the vineyard were old friends. I was happy to see that upon our first visit to jazz night, my former supervisor was there as well, and I secretly hoped that he would talk the owner into letting me play a few songs at some point during the night. My wish came true when the owner and lead singer had a short, private conversation, then approached me and asked if I’d like to play during their 10-minute break between sets. I happily agreed, as I usua

Whew! Today was the first official day of recording for my EP with Modern Vintage Recordings . After much blood, sweat, and tears, we chose 8 of my songs to track, although 3 of them may still be eliminated. Previously, we recorded very simple guides with only my voice and piano. The musicians use this as a base to record with so they have the feel for the tempo, style, and length of the song. The first instrument we recorded was drums. Doug Yowell , who has played with Suzane Vega and Duncan Shiek to name a few, was the drummer and he was AMAZING. He recorded 8 tracks in about 4 hours and contributed greatly to the project with his spontaneity and creativity. It's mind boggling to think that he was able to construct such a driving, detailed, and passionate drum arrangement with only an obnoxious click track and rough melody of my scratchy, out of tune voice. It's clear that drums are the backbone and framework for any piece of music and I'm proud to have him play on my E

This is one of the four pianos outside Lincoln Center that was set up by Sing For Hope in their  Play Me, I'm Yours project. This was the first time I had ever been to Lincoln center, and look at that, it was to play a piano! I've been back one time since, and that was for an actual performance in a theatre for a World Mission Foundation fundraiser. Enjoy the video! To see more photos from the Play Me, I'm Yours project, click here . To see videos, click here .

On my second day at my new job as a pianist for a ballet school and company , I found myself struggling through the combinations. I thought that certainly after some practice, the job would become easier, but I suddenly found myself over thinking the counts, struggling with intros, and having trouble “squaring off the piece.” I was worried the instructor was getting frustrated at the disruptions. Even worse, the owner of the company, made visits in and out of the class room and I was certain she noticed my fumbles. The mirrored room reflected my image like a string of paper dolls. Every missed count echoed against the walls. Every mistake was magnified by a hundred. When the night was over, the owner very seriously pulled me aside and asked, “Can you stay a bit after?” I nervously replied that I could and she motioned for me to walk back to her office. As I sat there waiting for her to enter, I actually texted Eddie, “I think I’m about to get fired.” I silently prepared my plea for

I grew up in a Baptist church, attending at minimum 3 times a week - Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday evening. On top of that, I went to a Christian school, where we had regular Bible classes and weekly Chapel. Thankfully, I knew from a very young age what “salvation” meant, the importance of prayer, and God’s love and promises. At the age 4, I asked Jesus to save me, forgive me for my sins, and help me live a life pleasing to Him. After that, I recall very diligently saying my prayers every single night in bed after my dad tucked me in. I did it without being told or reminded. It just became a part of my life. As a child, there were only a few things in my world that made the list of important requests to pray for. I prayed for my dad to quit smoking (which he has since), and for all my family members to get saved if they’re not already, then I listed them by name. Even at that age from grade school and up, the thought of someone I loved passing away without knowing Jesu

Scrabble is kind of a special game to my husband and I. We first played it years ago in the Army out of pure boredom. I was the Executive Officer of our Battery and he was the training room NCO, which meant I was his supervisor. Our offices were right next to each other, and as a brand new, naïve Second Lieutenant, I depended on his expertise quite a bit in the early days. He was not only a good soldier, but extremely intelligent. Really, he has a genius IQ of 154. Sometimes I like to play a game I call Rain Man, where I throw random, complex math problems at him and watch as he solves them in his head. He doesn’t really care for that game. But I digress. One day, I came to work to find that several computers had been stolen. As a result of sensitive information being lost, the entire battery was forced to live in the building until someone broke down and confessed. There we were, about 50 us, trapped in a smelly, old, military building for 4 days. We marched to and from the gym to s

My first day as a pianist for the New Jersey School of Ballet was not a disaster, so I guess that would make it a success? I never thought that sitting at a piano for 7 hours could be so exhausting. And I do mean 7 hours, not so much as a 5 minute break between classes. Each class demanded continuous music from the first exercise to the final minute, to include warm ups, cool downs, and stretching. Midway through the day, the company owner noticed me stretch my aching back and brought a seat cushion for the unforgiving, wooden piano bench. The instructor periodically reminded the dancers, "Tummies in! Head up!" And every time he did, I found that my own posture miraculously improved. As I expected, the learning curve was steep. I quickly found that many of the pieces I practiced did not fit the atmosphere or style of the classes, so I was forced to play certain songs over and over. Once, I was caught like a deer in the headlights when the instructor raised his hand, cueing

My grandma is a gardener. There is a square of dirt in her front yard that blossoms into colorful beauty every year. She has personally cultivated every plant from bulb to flower, putting in hours of nurturing care to see that they're brought to their full life and potential. To me as a child, her yard was a sanctuary of fantasy-like charm, with ancient looking bird baths, decorative stepping stones, hypnotizing gazing balls, butterflies, birds, squirrels, and solemn stone statues to watch vigilantly over everything. Red and pink roses climbed the white siding of her house, using their green, ivy arms to pull them ever upward. My grandpa's bountiful tomato plants became home to a small family of bunnies. Lilac bushes lined the manicured, green lawn, filling the atmosphere with a heavenly aroma. My grandma has never been one to shy away from work, knowing full well that effort today is required for a result tomorrow. I've seen that in many aspects of her life, from her

I’m officially finished with pre-production on my EP with Modern Vintage Recordings . That means…studio time! The first day of recording is set for next week. Today my producer Eshy and I went over the eight song guides with a fine tooth comb, ensuring that everything was in good order for the musicians as they learn and get a feel for each song. I was very conscious of the fact that this was the last meeting where things were up in the air, optional, still open for discussion. I lingered at the studio today, listening and re-listening to many of our guides, questioning and second guessing some of our previous work. We tweaked, re-did, re-wrote, cut, and copied until all eight were saved on the computer and put into a folder. I realized that if I had it my way, we might be in pre-production forever. I would never be a hundred percent happy, and if I couldn’t be that, I could never move on. I guess that’s why producers are necessary. Eshy had to snap me out of it. “I’m happy with t

I took about a month hiatus from running, not because I was injured, or too busy, or out of town. Just cuz I didn’t wanna. A few days ago, I realized this has probably been the longest break I’ve taken from running in the last 5 years. So, I’ve been getting back into form lately and this morning was my first attempt at the “long route” in quite a while. I took Joy with me because if she sees me put on my running shoes, she completely flips out and begins howling if I don’t put her leash on her within the next minute or so. She’s usually a pretty good running partner at only 10 months old, though often she tires drastically after the third mile and I feel guilty of animal cruelty for yanking her leash and prodding, “Come on Joy! Keep going!” She also gets distracted by things like squirrels and Burger King wrappers blowing in the street. But today, she was a different dog. She ran me into the ground. It made me think of my old dog, Duchess, who at 12 years old would run 6 miles with m

In the Army, we used the expression, “fake the funk,” a phrase I always thought sounded gross for some reason. But it basically means, if you don’t know what the heck you’re doing, act like you do and people generally won’t notice the difference. This is something I fear I will be doing in my new position as a ballet class accompanist for a few weeks until I get the hang of things. I observed a class today and was exhausted by the end of the 1 ½ hour session just watching the pianist. The mental focus of reading the instructors mind, and silently counting with the accuracy of a metronome totally drained me. And on my first day, I’ll be playing for about 8 hours straight. I’m praying there’s a lot of children’s classes scheduled for Saturday. (Can you ballet to the Itsy Bitsy Spider?) When I got home, I tore apart my horribly overstuffed and disorganized music shelf for anything that sounded a little more ballet-ish. I would imagine there might be some funny looks when the inst

Somehow, someway, I got a job as a pianist at a very prestigious ballet school and company  as an on-staff accompanist. I responded to the add, like so many others, one of a dozen expecting never to hear from them. But one day they called me in for an audition . Caught completely off guard, I asked what sheet music they would like me to play. The director explained that it's not so much what you play, but how you play it. The accompanist must watch the ballet instructor as she demonstrates an 8 count dance combination for the class. Based on her vocabulary (adagio, degage, etc) and physical movements, the pianist chooses an appropriate 8, 16, or 32 bars to play. When I drove in for the interview/audition, I observed an experienced accompanist and scribbled notes on a scratch piece of paper for future reference as he skillfully played without question or hesitation for each combination. The class moved so quickly, I was sure I would never get the hang of it. The director asked

Here is a video from the Play Me I'm Yours project shot at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Time certainly does go by. I can't believe I've already been here for nearly a year and I feel like I've barely begun. Enjoy the video, special appearance by Joy S. Grimes. For more videos from the Play Me I'm Yours project, click here . For photos, click here .

She pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders and shifted uncomfortably in the metal folding chair that sat in the morning shadow of the building lined street. The chill of the early day made her shiver. The stage and podium were set up only a few rows in front of her, giving her an unblocked view. She waited in nervous silence, her trembling hands clutched the tissue that she held to her face to catch her uncontrolled tears. The eerie feeling of both sorrow and dread was now a familiar, annual event. The bell rang at 8:46, sending a jolting chill up her spine as she released a suppressed sob into her tissue. She closed her eyes, and again, let her mind torment her with what he may have experienced at that exact moment nine years ago. Maybe he felt the ground underneath him give way. Maybe he tried to call her. Maybe he prayed, cried, ran. She shuddered again, and felt the comforting hand of a stranger on her shoulder. She listened as the names were read out loud with similar inf

I don’t think the anniversary of 9/11 should feel like a storm brewing. Unfortunately, on this eve of the 9 th anniversary, that’s exactly what it feels like. I suppose it has something to do with this being my first 9/11 in this area, about 25 minutes from where the World Trade Centers fell. The drama of the proposed Islamic Center and Koran burning has taken over not only the national news, but every local TV and radio station as well. The wind has picked up outside. The trees are swaying uneasily in the gray, cloudy sky as we brace ourselves for the chaos, protests, and rallies that will surely ensue tomorrow on the sacred ground where so many people lost their lives. It has become the “where were you” question of my generation. I was asleep. A freshman at UNL, my classes that day didn’t start until 11 so I slept late when my dad abruptly woke me and told me to watch the news. Against my parent’s wishes, I went to class that morning on the city bus. Of course, no one could concent

There’s a chill in there air now. It’s strange to think that just last week we ran our window air conditioner full blast and now I have to bundle up with a sweatshirt to walk Joy in the morning. Fall is by far my favorite of the seasons. I love the colors, the crisp air, and bringing all my jackets and sweaters to the front of my closet. And boots. Let’s not forget it’s boot season. I think what makes fall so very special, is that it seems shorter and less appreciated than the other seasons. There is a solid 3 months of summer, and yes it goes by quickly, but we certainly know for a fact it’s there and take advantage of every minute. Spring blurs together with summer, making it feel longer than it is. But fall is overshadowed by the long, never ending winters and anticipation of the holiday season. No one rejoices on the first official day of fall, but rather they mourn over the end of summer. No one mourns over the last day of fall, but rather rejoices over the first snowfall.  And l

Another week, another production meeting with Modern Vintage Recordings . I was still feeling the momentum from last week’s stroke of creative genius when I arrived at the Lower East Side studio this morning. It turns out, so was my producer and again, we found ourselves overflowing with new ideas and struggling to eliminate the surplus. I thought that by developing a very specific concept and style for my EP, it would finally allow us to decide on a firm 5 songs so we can begin the much anticipated recording process. Oh how I was wrong. I played what I believed were my strongest songs that told “ my story ” the best. My producer nodded in agreement and then highlighted the song titles on the “definite list.” The trouble is, by the end of the session we had 8 titles instead of our goal of only 5. And there we were again, needing to cross off a song, but not being able to hit the delete button. And finally my producer (his name is Eshy by the way) threw up his hands and said in h

Yesterday was a truly amazing and magical day. Eddie and I spent the day in Gloucester, MA and bought last minute tickets for a whale watching tour. It was about a 7 hour trip all together. We left the port and traveled over 2 hours in the Atlantic to our destination where a large group of hump back whales were feeding off the coast of Boston. As we approached, our guide (who knew all the whales by name) announced over the loud speakers that she spotted whales ahead on the horizon. At once, all the passengers crowded to the bow of the boat, straining our eyes to see. She described the sight as a puff of smoke coming off the water. I had trouble spotting it at first, but soon understood what she meant. I was thankful to see that from afar and had no idea what was in store as we inched closer to them. Suddenly I realized that they were all around us. We were in the center of about 30 hump back whales. We stayed in the area for about an hour and a half and gazed with dropped jaws at t

One ray on one wave. Countless ripples ocean wide. The ray turns to stars.

This is a video Eddie took at Gantry Plaza State Park in Queens when I toured 60 pianos throughout the city's 5 boroughs for the Play Me, I'm Yours project. This park was right on the water with an amazing view of Manhattan. I felt inspired to play New York New York. The song says, "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere," but I often find myself thinking, "If I can make it anywhere, I'll be happy. " I'm laughing, but it's so true. Enjoy the video. Forgot to mention it's a duet with random heavy machinery and vehicles driving around and making beeping sounds. Makes it sound very New York New York. To see photos from the project, click here . To see more videos, click here .

Eddie and I set a goal 3½ years ago on our very first date. We had an unusual romance and by the time we went on our first date, we knew we would be spending the rest of our lives together. It was a typical evening – dinner, movie, dancing – but we had to travel to another state to do it. See, we were in hiding because of our forbidden love. Okay, insert looong story here if you’re interested. We kept the ticket stubs from our first date, as is the sentimental thing to do. We saw  Night at the Museum with Ben Stiller at a South Carolina movie theatre. Then Eddie had a brilliant idea. We should see a movie in every state, and keep the ticket stubs as a memento. And without hardly trying, we soon had 15 ticket stubs under our belt, thanks to the Army Soldier Show. I toured across the country with the show and Eddie would travel to visit me every chance possible. We would steal away when time allowed and go see a movie. Visiting family made it easy too, with me from Nebraska and Ed

I’ve become pretty familiar with the subway system in New York City. I no longer need my laminated, color-coded map to live permanently in my purse like a security blanket when I venture to places in the city. I’ve seen, heard, and experienced a smorgasbord of cultures, music, and customs in those underground, cement tunnels. Chilly in the winter and stagnantly suffocating in the summer, the subway system is truly a unique city below the city. Once I saw an old man who had dragged his enormous heavy wooden harp two stories below ground to play on the platform for spare change. His talent astounded me and I thought, I would pay to hear this man on a stage . Other times, the sights are heart breaking. The homeless trying to keep warm in the winter or just looking for a dry spot to sit, hoping a passerby will feel compassion and drop in some change. There are the “regulars” – like the man when I switch from the 7 to the 6, who plays hymns on his Native American flute. And there are some