She was seven years old the first time she set foot on a beach. As she made her way to the shore in childlike anticipation, she suddenly felt her heart sink in disappointment as she watched her feet step through the grass-overgrown sand. Styrofoam cups and plastic bags blew past her. There was no water in sight. She thought the ocean would look like it does in the movies, and miles of fine, sparkling sand would stretch out before her with deep blue waves reaching as far as she could see. As she made peace with her crestfallen expectations, her bear foot stepped on something hard and sharp. She jerked back, angry at this stupid beach, and checked the bottom of her foot. No cut. She bent down to examine the culprit. As she grasped the object and raised it eye level, golden, liquid-like sand poured to the ground in a single, fluid stream. She was left holding a shell. A real seashell. Like on TV. Her mouth fell open in amazement as she traced with her fingers, the tiny, perfectly aligne...

This is a video of me playing for a cocktail party at the Montauk Club (which is gorgeous by the way) in Brooklyn, a historic building so old that when I asked where the restroom was on the 2nd floor, I was told I had to go to the first floor because when it was built, women weren't allowed on the 2nd floor. It seems the majority of performance gigs I get (as opposed to accompaniment gigs) are for events such as restaurant and cocktail party background music. I love playing for those. I get to sit in a corner with a piano and play whatever I want. I know that people are listening, but not giving me a hundred percent of their attention, which takes some of the pressure off. I would be happy if I could do just one or two of these a week. That would fulfill my performance craving. It would be Heaven . This song is "Lover Man," recorded by a ton of people, but my favorite version is Billie Holiday. When I played this for Ceil (one of my piano teachers from years ago), s...

Another old one from college... My Grandma in one of her extravagant Hispanic get-ups "Home of Buffalo Bil" by Elizabeth Grimes “Did your family go on a vacation this summer, hon?” asked my third grade teacher in a high pitched, deliberate tone with her hands on her slightly bent knees to maintain eye contact with me. “Yeth,” I had a slight lisp until I was ten and still do when I get nervous, so I’ve been told. “We went to North Platte.” After a moment of confusion, she laughed. North Platte, NE isn’t a typical vacation spot for most people. However, driving three hours to a tiny town in Western Nebraska and staying for two and a half days in the local Holiday Inn every summer as a child gave me memories that help define me still today. Who even knows how we found out about it in the first place? My Grandma possesses an innate talent for locating community events from plays to rodeos to craft shows; in this case, Mexican fiestas. My Grandma, or Granny Pooh, as w...

Patience is a virtue. Just not one of my virtues. The thing about impatient people is this. If you hurry, you’ll get there faster. If you get there faster, you’ll be done quicker. If you’re done quicker, you can move onto the next thing sooner. Getting more things done means a sense of accomplishment and productivity. Then again, it also means a constant state of anxiousness, half done projects, and disappointment when expectations are not met. I remember as a little girl, stapling holes together in my dresses rather than asking my mother to sew them because I just had to wear it that day. Of course, the staples worked for an hour or two and then I was left with my underwear peeking through the pink, flowered dress pattern for the rest of the day. I’ve cut my own hair since junior high because I can’t stand the thought of making an appointment and waiting til Thursday to make my hair look the way I want. Several times, this meant making the appointment anyway to fix my little misha...

Have you ever had one of those days when you want to punch the wall, punch a pillow, or punch your husband for no good reason? I had one of those today. I agreed to do an accompaniment job that I shouldn’t have agreed to, because I knew it would stress me out way too bad. But did I listen to myself? No, I agreed and as a result spent the last several days pulling my hair out trying to learn all the songs from “Hairspray the Musical” and “In the Heights.” I’ve never seen either play. Finally, I broke down and did something I don’t think I’ve ever done before. I cancelled. I found a replacement pianist, gave her the music, and wished them all good-ridance. With that out of the way, I found myself in our disastrous little apartment, still working out the kinks to our new window air conditioner, and comforting a sick puppy who needs four doses of medication a day and breaks my heart every time she whimpers in pain. Oh not to mention a pile of laundry, I didn’t get my run in this morning...

Yesterday in church, the preacher spoke of James 4:14 and reminded me of this piece I wrote in college. I hope you enjoy it. "Vapor" By Elizabeth Grimes I never liked nursing homes. There’s something in the heavy atmosphere, with the plastic lunch trays, worn out slippers, and 28 inch fuzzy TVs playing the same two rotated movies that breaks my heart for the elderly people with no choice but to live there. Maybe this feeling began when my best friend fainted in a nursing home on a Christmas caroling field trip in the fifth grade. She’d been wrinkling her nose at the smell through the whole first song when it finally got the better of her. Or maybe the feeling derived from watching movies like Fried Green Tomatoes , where resident’s rooms consisted of a twin sized bed with a metal bar around it, a table stand, and a possible window. I’ ve heard horror stories about the treatment of some residents that I can't even repeat. And the smell is nauseating . My mom told me it...

I held my 1½ year old nephew in my arms, conscience of the fact that we had only one more day together before I flew back home. Although the stroller was available, I opted to leave it vacant as I cuddled little Zach in my arms, balancing him on my hip for as long as my strength would allow during our long visit to the enormous Henry Doorly Zoo . We went into the gift shop where I was determined to find him a present that he would cherish forever. I love picking out toys and gifts for my nieces and nephews, but I rarely get the chance to take the kids with me and let them choose something they want. I slowly walked through every aisle, allowing Zach’s little eyes to absorb the overwhelming amount of colorful, plastic, and stuffed toys. With his sweet nature, I thought he might like a stuffed animal. I watched his face carefully as we moved past the penguins. He was curious, but not love struck. The alligator scared him a little, so I quickly set it back on the shelf. Ducks, bears...