“Every piano lesson starts with hand sanitizer and ‘What’s new?’” a young precocious student once told her mother in an innocent world Before Coronavirus.

It was the last day in the last week and month of what had become a long, exhausting semester of online piano lessons.

Life under quarantine is like one long migraine.

Yesterday should have been our spring studio recital.

I stopped looking at my calendar weeks ago.

It was the week before the studio recital last November.

This week we reached the point where we now have been sheltering at home as long as we spent traveling through Europe in January.

While there are so many things about online piano lessons that are a challenge, or simply impossible…

Two weeks ago, I had never heard of Zoom.

In the summer of 2003, we moved from Boston to Albuquerque, both a cross-country and a cross-cultural shift.

Our collective nervous system is shot, fried, spent.

Sometimes it seems like all I do, all day, every day, is count things.

We all have our sacred places in this world; Georgia O’Keeffe’s house in Abiquiu is one of mine.

I went to Vienna in search of a flower shop.

In studio performance classes we have a practice called “performance goals.”

Every morning in Vienna we woke up to the bells of St Stephen’s Cathedral.

Once, a dozen years ago, we spent a miserable weekend in the Cotswolds.

Every August of my childhood, my family would take a two-week vacation to Colorado.

In front of our house is a huge prickly pear cactus.

This week I was teaching a pre-Impressionist piece to Sophie.