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Field Notes from the Longest Night The longest night of the year has begun.Darkness has settled in, not heavy, but complete. The air outside is cool, crisp, and dry. Thin, wispy clouds drift overhead. After a steady breath beneath the solstice sky, I return indoors to the comfort of my chair beside the tree in my studio. The white, flocked branches are gathered with quiet treasures: animals, birds, pinecones, and small echoes of the natural world. Cool white lights glow again

A quiet holiday reflection about a mother, a daughter, and an evening drive filled with Christmas lights, music, and small moments of joy during a difficult season.

A letter from a quiet November night Dear friend, The other night, I sat down at the piano for the first time in far too long. Not to rehearse. Not to perform. Just to be inside the music again. I used to play almost every day when I was still teaching. Back then, music wrapped itself around my entire world—classrooms humming with harmony, laughter echoing through the halls, my hands always reaching for the keys, my voice blending with others. I lived in sound. It held me ste

A raw, honest reflection on burnout, chronic illness, parenting differences, and the painful space between where you are and where you hope to be. This episode explores the emotional “in-between” — the ache of trying, the weight of being unseen, and the quiet resilience of holding onto a future that still feels out of reach.

There are few memories as vivid as a middle or high school dance — the drama, the music, the excitement, the nerves, and yes, the tears. So many memories swirl together like a mixtape of adolescence. Today, I’m focusing on one particular dance memory that always brings a sly smile to my face. It’s tied to a song that was equal parts fun and ridiculous — and, for me, a perfectly safe outlet for a bit of harmless, naughty rebellion. When I say ridiculous, I mean it most affecti

Isn’t it funny how sometimes the very person you thought was standing in your way ends up showing you the path you were meant to walk all along? For me, that lesson came wrapped in a choral score and a bit of teenage indignation. 'You Raise Me Up' by Josh Groban became the bridge between the singer I thought I was and the musician I was becoming — a lesson I didn’t want, but one that shaped me as a performer, songwriter, and educator. In high school, I sang soprano in both Sh

I don’t know if pep rallies get their due in the music world—they should. Autumn each year meant after‑school rehearsals, football games, parades, and yes, pep rallies. The noise, the lights, the surge of unified energy—it still thrills me. In those moments, the whole school came together for a shared purpose: pride. Students who had never spoken in the hallway found themselves standing side by side. We weren’t just spectators; we were a part of the wave. Sure, the focus was

Memories are funny things. If you’ve seen the first episode of A Fire That Sings, you heard how The Greatest Love of All by Whitney Houston—discovered in third‑grade chorus—became my anthem, my promise, my home. 🎵 “Because the greatest love of all / Is happening to me / I found the greatest love of all inside of me.”  But there’s another song, a companion on that journey: One Moment in Time by Whitney Houston. I’m not entirely sure which came first in my memory—but both arri

A heartfelt memory from a 1990s school dance, where two nostalgic songs—Knockin’ Boots and Jump Around—unlock the story of a small act of kindness that transformed a lonely night into a lifelong glimmer of belonging and self-worth.