Here I am. Back in North Carolina to see my little "Dimples and Brown Eyes." I wrote this song about my husband before we were together and before I was even sure he returned my feelings. I wrote it while I was on Staff Duty in the Army, probably at 3 am, freezing to death in November  of 2006 while Eddie was at SFAS training (read the Frog and the Owl Valentine's Day blog). I remember how easily the words flowed as I wrote them. And this is one of the few songs I wrote with no instrument. No guitar, no piano to help me. But it's definitely one of my favorites. To hear a recording, please go to http://www.myspace.com/maryelizabethgrimes Click on Dimples and Brown Eyes in the right hand box and press play. I hope you enjoy it! "Dimples and Brown Eyes" words and music by Elizabeth Grimes Copyright 2008 Don’t you wanna keep me warm? I’m pretty sure, I think you do. No one’s cared for me like you. You play a song to see me smile. I’m wishin for you all t...

This morning on my run, I thought just how much a person can learn from such a simple thing. So much of running (or exercise, or anything that's hard but good for you) can be applied to our daily lives! Put this on a t-shirt (actually it’s probably already on one). Kind of an easy metaphor, but you can’t expect creative genius every day! Life is like a run… You have to go one step at a time. Every now and then, you need a friend to motivate you, yell at you, and get you through the hard parts. Sometimes you don’t wanna, but you gotta ! There obstacles on the path. Avoid ‘em. Crash into ‘em. Or just power through ‘em. If you prepare your mind and your body, you’ll do much better. If you don’t stay disciplined, you’ll slow down. Sometimes if you hurry too much, you miss the beautiful view around you. It’s much better with music! If you’ve given it your all, you feel satisfied and rewarded when it’s over.

I don’t consider myself a perfectionist. My house is not meticulously clean or organized. I don’t match my socks before I put them in the drawer. There are dirty dishes in my sink from last night when I made cookies (and those definitely didn’t turn out perfect, ew). But there are certain things, whether it’s writing or recording a song, or a performance in any setting, when I turn into a complete rain man, obsessing continuously until I’m finished. It’s more than just focus and discipline, which would be normal and healthy. It’s crazy, fanatical, consuming fixation, followed by an overly harsh and judgmental review of myself. I am my biggest critic. I am prone to automatically assuming that performance was awful, that song sounds horrible, or I acted like a complete idiot and they’ll never call me to play for their party again. If I don’t feel like something was a complete success, then I categorize it as a total failure. I don’t know why I do this. My husband bears the brunt of my ...

I began to reflect on all the people in my past whose influence has affected my life to this day. There are probably millions, some I have completely forgotten and some I never knew existed. Some that my pride has wrongly told me had no affect on me whatsoever and some who I sing the highest praises and will remember for a long time. I think about my piano teachers actually quite often, because they were all more than just teachers to me. They were friends and role models. And I’m so grateful at this point in my life that all 3 of them have inspired me in some way. I started piano lessons with Mrs. Anderson at the age of 6 (I think). Mrs. Anderson had the talent and abilities of a concert pianist. Her sight-reading skills and classically trained fingers could have graced world-wide stages reserved for only the finest talent and she would have been among the best. Of that, I’m positive. Her call in life, however, was to be the devoted wife of a humble pastor and mother of their childr...

This is a song I wrote for my mother, Mary, who used to rock my sisters and I to sleep when we were little girls. The songs I remember hearing most are; Mary Had a Little Lamb (all 3 verses) and Amazing Grace. To hear the recording of this song, please go to: http://www.myspace.com/maryelizabethgrimes Click on Mary's Lullaby in the right hand box and press play. You can also view video of a performance, scroll down. I hope you enjoy it. Mary's Lullaby words and music by Elizabeth Grimes Copyright 2008 The stars in her eyes twinkle like the ones outside Now she’s fast asleep. And the creak in the floor from that old rocking chair Plays in time as her mother sings. Sleep tight. Sleep tight. And close your eyes. Mary rocks her little lamb to sleep. Oh Mary rocks her little lamb to sleep. All through the night, she’s not in her bed For her mother still rock-a-byes. When she forgets the words to the rhyme she hums And sways to the lullaby. Sleep tight. Sleep tight. A...

Every little girl dreams of being a ballerina one day. Ballerinas are beautiful, graceful, and they get to twirl in pretty, flowing skirts. For some girls, it becomes their way of life and they go on to make a career out of dancing. For most girls though, it remains a childhood endeavor, remembered fondly and bringing a sense of pride and accomplishment that carries through to other aspects of their lives. I played piano for a ballet recital in a large church basement with a linoleum floor for a stage and hundreds of parents and friends in metal folding chairs for the audience. The recital consisted of 7 different classes varying in age and skill. Some groups danced to piano music while others danced to a recording and I had not yet seen all the performances when the recital began on that Sunday afternoon. They went through, class after class, dancing in graceful, fluid unison. Each girl displayed a perfect bun in her hair, with great care taken to ensure all stray strands were both ...

I played the piano for a children’s choir in Harlem. There were hundreds of kids ranging from kindergarten to 8 th grade and although they were energetic and excited for the performance that night, they were a bit under rehearsed. The only person that seemed to bother, however, was the very frazzled choir director. We scrambled through a very last minute run through of the songs and then the children were dispersed for hair and wardrobe checks. As the choir gathered back to their seats in the 2 reserved front rows, I kept glancing at the back door. My husband was to meet me right after drill that evening (he is in the Army Reserves). Knowing how traffic could be and that he drove his own car all the way through the city rather than using public transportation, I was afraid he might miss the program. In a matter of minutes though, there he was. Walking towards me smiling. I must be immune to camouflage now. Because while it scarcely registered in my brain that he was still in unifo...