I’ve never been a huge fan of opera music. I’ve seen 2 operas in my entire life, O Pioneers (based off the book by Nebraskan author Willa Cather) on a 6 th grade field trip, and Phantom of the Opera , the movie (does that count?). But something happened recently that made me want to give it another chance and reminded me that music of any genre can be one of the most cherished and powerful gifts.  It was on a hospital visit with a charity called Sing for Hope , where I and two other volunteers prepared music to serenade the patients. One of the performers was an operatic soprano. The evening was filled with poignant and sentimental moments , as music often brings out emotion in the most unsuspecting people. And in a hospital setting, a place most dread to be, it was amazing to see the smiles and appreciation on the faces of those we sang to. We entered a room of two older ladies who had been placed together as roommates. From the very start, we could tell they would be characters.

I’m currently recording an album of original songs with Modern Vintage Recordings in New York City. Every step of the professional recording process in the studio is absolutely foreign to me, since the most state of the art equipment I’ve used before is Garage Band that came with my Mac. We’ve done the foundation instruments, drums , bass , guitar, even some strings . And we have much more to accomplish before I take my place behind the fiber glass wall and sing into a fancy, breakable-looking microphone to lay down the final vocals. This is something I dread. I’ve been wondering just how badly my pain-staking self-critique and neurotic perfectionism will hinder the process and drive me and everyone else totally crazy. Well, today I got a preview. We bought a recordable Christmas book for my nephews (sh, don’t tell them). You know, the one where you record your voice reading the story and it automatically plays when you turn the pages. We thought that would be a great way to stay

My Great-Grandma (top right) and 9 of her 10 children “It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man [or woman] stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, [s]he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.” -Robert Francis Kennedy I watched a single rain droplet slide off an orange leaf, and into a giant puddle that formed on the sidewalk. The puddle flowed into a crevice in the pavement and created a stream of rainwater that made its way down a muddy hill and trickled into a creek below. I watched the waves and ripples spread like an outstretched hand until I lost track of which one came from where. I wonder if that first drop knew what it would become a part of. My maternal grandmother is the most patriotic person I’ve ever known. She is the human embodiment of yellow ribbons, American flags, military parades, and Ray Charles singing “America the Beautiful.” Though

I awoke to the gentle song of birds outside my window, like a cartoon Disney princess. After I laced up my tennis shoes and went outside, I found that golden leaves had been laid out at my feet, like a royal carpet lining my running route. At work, I found that the 5-year old ballet class had come to entertain me, like court jesters, and I smiled at their silliness all through class. And when I arrived back at home, I found that a grand meal had been prepared in my honor. What a majestic life I lead! 

This is a video taken at Riverside State Park in New York City's West Side. I always liked the song " Lodi " by CCR, but when I moved to northern NJ to be a struggling musician in NYC, it took on a brand new meaning. I now refer to it as my anthem. "If I only had a dollar for every song I sung. Every time I had to play while people sat there drunk!" The whole song applies to my life here so far but I sing the words with pride. The hard work is a badge of honor, and someday it will all pay off! Enjoy the video! To see more videos from the Play Me, I'm Yours project, click here .

Our dog, Joy, is a Shetland sheep dog, which means she can’t possibly run or chase enough. She attempts to herd anything that moves, which includes squirrels, blowing leaves, and our cat. I always joke that one day, we’re gonna get some sheep so that our dog can finally do the job she was bred to do. When we got her a year ago, the neighbor children were nearly as thrilled with her as we were, and became her pseudo family and best playmates. Often when I walk with Joy by the neighbor’s window, I hear a tiny, little voice yell with delight from her second floor bedroom, “JO-EE!” (she has trouble with the “oy” sound and has taken to calling the dog “Joey” instead). This is generally followed, thirty seconds later, by a storm of children racing out of the house and oodling over Joy while she lays on the ground, basking in the love fest. Once, the five children begged me to take her to the back yard and let her run and play without the leash on, which I obliged. They squealed as they ra

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived at the orthopedic wing of a New York City hospital. I volunteered, with an organization called Sing for Hope , to spend about 2 hours going from hospital room to hospital room, serenading patients. Two other girls volunteered as well, and we took turns choosing a song to sing to an audience of one. We were told that the average age for the orthopedic wing was about 65 or older…my specialty as it happens, from years of playing for retirement communities and nursing homes. I brought my guitar so I wouldn’t have to drag a keyboard around and found that most patients were extremely pleased with the impromptu concert. Some clapped along, some dozed off, but most simply smiled with sincere appreciation and delight. I prepared titles such as “Pennies from Heaven,” “Tennessee Waltz,” and “Walkin After Midnight.” But I saved the best song until I found that one person who would appreciate and love it the most. And soon I found her. She was an older