Turn to each other again and again.
These are the ephemera that deserve my attention, not the dust tumbleweeds in the hallway or smudges on the fridge.
. . . my practice connects me to the visceral nature of playing an instrument, the raw thrumming vibration that courses through your body when you put your hands on the keys.
I remember the year I was old enough to go to Midnight Mass. My uncle was in town for Christmas, and he took me -- just me, no siblings -- to the darkest, most mysterious Mass of the whole year. I was probably 10, the youngest of five, and all of my siblings were now... Continue Reading →