Last week, ten-year-old Tommy was playing a little piece in his beginning method book called “Pachyderm Caravan.”

The other morning I was sitting in Zazen counting breaths when the thought occurred to me, “Maybe I have a rhythm problem.”

One evening last month I was out walking, taking in the holiday lights in the neighborhood and talking to a friend on the phone.

I had been thinking about this for a while, but looking around the room at the kids gathered for Christmas Tea made my previously abstract thoughts tangible. 

Our first apartment was in a post-war six-plex near the Kansas City Plaza

It wasn’t until around day three of the Thanksgiving week holiday when I finally felt like I could hear myself think again.

Audrey finished her performance of her recital piece and stood up.

We are in pre-recital mode around here.

I fear my entire life these days could be summarized in three words: Lather, Rinse. Repeat.

Last Tuesday I had this thought: Yikes!

Although the school year has begun, the weather still says summer.

During the last few months in the studio, I have been assigning summer-themed student compositions.

I’m facing an afternoon of rhythms.

“In the year 1936 a writer planted roses.”

Last week I got this postcard from a Little One traveling abroad with her family

Summertime might be my very favorite time of year to teach piano lessons.

“I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills.”

I call them “Practice Sandwiches.”

It was never going to be a typical senior recital.

Last fall I was having breakfast with a friend.