That fire has given me energy to raise my children amid a family of tyrants and sycophants
. . . 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 →
My pajamas smell likemy dresser of old clothes and wood and my parents' house where the dresser stoodgathering t-shirts and jeanssweaty softball uniforms and acrylic sweatersboxes of love notespassed from my boyfriend in high schoolpins from corsages and forgotten petalsa diary from 1982.It gathered dust and supported book stacks,in imperious federal styleuntil it came to... Continue Reading →