It is the time of year when I am facing an entire garden in need of pruning.

I should start with a disclaimer:

I love the French.

One day last summer, during one of those hour-long yoga flow classes, I realized that we had come to the end of the class and I had no real idea what I had done for the last hour.

January seemed like a long month, and a month that lacked any kind of rhythm or recognizable meter.

Using the excuse that we are still in the beginning of a new year (a great time to rethink our habits and routines)…

Matt and I spent Christmas week in New York City freezing.

My sister swears that every time she started messing around during her piano practice time as a child, our mother would restart the timer.

On Wednesday Mark came into his lesson with this announcement.

Some years ago Matt interrupted my early morning reading over a cup of coffee to talk to me about turkeys.

One of my Christmas cacti is in full bloom.

Last week a student asked me, “Miss Amy, what are you going to be for Halloween?”

We are not supposed to have favorite students.

Remember “Pease Porridge Hot?”

Last week ten-year-old Nicholas arrived for his lesson.

The composition assignment in the studio this week is to take a favorite book and write music for a scene, or a character, or the emotional arc of the story.

First, a disclaimer: I don’t like to cook.

“Cat hunt!” screamed our six-year-old nephew Felix every time he ran up the driveway this summer…

One of my fifth-grade students and I have a code regarding practicing.

The Little Ones are no longer so little.

Last week I had a dream.