Glamour shot from 1986, posted with the caption, “What’s Eve Doing Now?” – an inside joke from my teenage years when my friends and I would come up with titles for my future rock star albums. I’ve always known I wanted to share music with the world.
How to do so has been more of a puzzle lately. Artists have lost a year of livelihood just like so many others. Maybe my imaginary album title is currently “I don’t know what I’m doing now.” Not very catchy, I suppose. 😬
Yesterday I heard that one of my music friends from Nashville had passed away. Back in 2006, John and I wrote a tongue-in-cheek country duet called “I Don’t Know You Well Enough to Miss You When You’re Gone.” We both worked at the Ryman Auditorium and got to perform the song there in February 2008. The Ryman staff was like family, and I developed many wonderful friendships from that time.
Every soul we meet makes a difference. John’s sharp wit, laughter and vivaciousness will always stay with me. I am grateful to have known him, especially at a time when I was new to Nashville and feeling vulnerable about my artistic expression.
Here’s a video of us at the Ryman Auditorium, debuting my then-new song, “I Only Cry at the Movies Now,” with John supporting on lead guitar.
There is more music on the horizon, even if I am not yet sure of its shape or form. For now, I’m happy to serve with yoga. The new online schedule is every other day, Thurs – Mon. Would love to see you. Let’s create community together.
Thursday: Chair Yoga for Strength and Balance Saturday: Seasons and Chakras Yoga Meditation Monday: Gentle Yoga on the Mat
All classes are offered as PAY WHAT YOU WANT Please pay prior to start time to have class link sent to your inbox – via Eve’s Venmo, PayPal or by credit card. Personal checks also accepted.
Eve donates a portion of proceeds to charities that promote equality and healing. This month’s charity is Feeding America.
Click here for more details, including class time in your particular time zone.
It’s January. Gosh, I haven’t thought of resolutions. I’m happy to be healthy and to find peace of mind wherever I can get it.
Last month, I contributed a new song and video for a makeshift band: “We Want More” is full of riotous color and familiar images of past and present, mostly of people in collective motion. We want more togetherness, don’t we?
Yesterday I visited the Museum of Modern Art and saw an exhibit about Félix Fénéon, a French art critic and collector who was influential in shaping modern art of the late 1800s – early 1900s.
Neo-Impressionists believed that combining the vibrant colors of the rainbow would elicit an emotional response in their viewers and encourage them to strive for an equally harmonious society. Then and now, the rainbow stands as a symbol of hope and equality, a utopian vision for the future.
The Museum of Modern Art
Since the current pandemic began, I have been devoting time to the study of wheels and colors and seasons. Somehow it does give me hope.
I never imagined I’d be teaching online, yet here I am. It works better than I thought it would. I resisted it for so long. But there is a voice inside me that says to continue on – make more Music, Art, Yoga.
Do you want more?
Chair yoga and yoga meditation classes resume this week on Zoom. I am also thinking about adding a yoga mat class. If you are interested in any of these, please drop me a line. If current class times don’t work for you, I’m open to changing the schedule. Let me know what you’d like to see. I also offer private Zoom sessions for yoga and voice.
Chair Yoga for Strength and Balance – resumes Tuesday 1/5
Seasons and Chakras yoga meditation – resumes Saturday 1/9
We are up to the 9th Chakra and the full rainbow 🌈
Click here for more info, including class time in your particular time zone.
Big fat flakes are falling, just like when we landed here a year ago. The moving truck didn’t arrive until New Year’s, but we got to camp out and enjoy some NYC holiday magic. Seeing the displays today made me a little teary-eyed.
Times Square is still bare. I recall the ghosts of Christmas past, when we moved through a sea of holiday revelers at every turn. I could not have imagined then that my first year in NY would be mostly void of tourists and crowds.
We have all faced what is possibly the most unique year of our lives. Sometimes I can recognize the value in having routines derailed. Other times I am sad in being sequestered.
This is the first year EVER that I will not travel at the holidays. When I was a kid, we would pack the big blue van full of presents and drive from FL to NC to see relatives. After I got married and moved away, we’d return to celebrate Christmas in Florida. The South calls me home for the holidays, but I will not be going this year.
It’s such a weird feeling. I have been in a decorating frenzy like never before. Memories are jogged by tree ornaments (many made by my grandma); my husband Mark and I both have our stockings from when we were young. I see visions of our families here in this living room.
I will do more to bring the spirit of loved ones near. Having only been a holiday traveler, there will be many firsts:
NEVER HAVE I EVER baked Christmas cookies, never have I made a Christmas dinner, never have I made a good old Southern chess pie. But this year I will. I want to bring as much tradition as I can into this most untraditional situation.
Sending you love and comfort, wherever you are. May you celebrate joys big and small – giving gratitude for each moment of stillness, each snowflake, wave of the ocean, or sunset – swirled in sights and smells and memories you hold dear.
This makes me feel so good – a new song recording with a little help from my friends.
We may be feeling separated in more ways than one, but I am grateful for lifelines. Recently my dear friend Steven Strauss sent me a uke/bass track for a song that we had performed last year on Movie Songs Night. He asked if I would record a vocal. Yes!
This was just the excuse I needed to pull out my dusty recording gear, buried deep in the closet since our move from west to east. A fear of ever-changing technology and a dampening of spirit have stifled my recording pursuits lately.
Dismayed to discover that my ancient gear (from Berklee College of Music days) no longer worked, I called another dear friend – producer Daniel Dennis – who provided me with spot-on upgrade advice. Now I’m back in business, baby!
Here’s a first mix of the song, Picnic, from the 1955 movie of the same name. Steven’s solo has me doing happy dance. 😊
The year is 1990. I‘m a 20-year-old college student. A fellow member of the FSU Jazz-Pop Ensemble asks me to sing a song in his rock band’s upcoming gig. I spend weeks practicing but it is not meant to be – a few days before the show I get waylaid by the flu. The band guy suspects I‘m flaking – he has no idea how badly I want to be on that stage. I always think of this song as the one that got away: Message in a Bottle….
A couple of weeks ago, I turned 50. How can it be? What a year of reflection with this big birthday. In 2020 the highs and lows seem more extreme. The world is upside down and me with it. New place, new circumstances, new decade. I am officially mid-century modern, as evidenced by these birthday pics below.
Sometimes I don’t have much energy to create. As an introvert, you’d think I’d be thriving with all this alone time. But even introverts need connection. I am doing my best to participate in this partially-unraveled world.
Thus the muse channeled this song back from the depths. I heeded the call and got to work. It’s tough. I don’t have a rock band, so this a cappella version will have to do. Even though I wince at the timing and pitch imperfections, it’s probably still better than I could’ve pulled off at 20. I am so much more ME now. I’m 50! 😘
Sending out an SOS to you, dear reader. I hope you get it. Remember we are all more connected than we sometimes believe.
With love and community,
P.S. – For those of you who have been waiting for a new meditation from me, I promise you’ll hear from me soon! In the meantime, here’s one I did last week for the California Women’s Music group. It’s a 30-minute meditation and it starts about 10 minutes in. Enjoy!
A famous quote by Leonard Cohen says, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
It’s from his song, Anthem, and when I hear the words of this master poet I get chills:
The birds they sing, at the break of day
Start again, I heard them say.
Don’t dwell on what has passed away
Or what is yet to be.
Yeah, the wars, they will be fought again
The holy dove she will be caught again
Bought, and sold, and bought again
The dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen first came on my radar in the early 90s when I heard Jeff Buckley sing Hallelujah. I have sung Cohen’s most famous song myself many times, most notably in the Tank, a sonorous empty water tower in Rangely, CO. It’s just me with my friend Tim Kirwin on violin and reverberation that lasts for miles. I’d like to think Cohen would approve of this haunting version:
Tim flew me from SF to CO to record in the Tank on my 47th birthday. What a gift! That was almost three years ago (August 24, 2017), as I now approach the 50 year mark.
Back in the early 90s, I was in grad school writing my thesis on women in the American civil rights movement. I researched key players and events, bringing together black and white, male and female. John Lewis’ recent passing reminded me of those fearful times in the decades before I was born. I always associate the photo below with Lewis, who got many cracks on the head during the 1961 Freedom Rides.
He was so young then, only 21, but already clear about his message and his voice. Dedicating a lifetime to service, here’s a quote from Lewis 50 years later:
You are a light. You are the light. Never let anyone — any person or any force — dampen, dim or diminish your light….Release all bitterness. Hold only love, only peace in your heart, knowing that the battle of good to overcome evil is already won.
Here’s to celebrating the power of voice, the power of words and song. We all have a voice, even if we don’t always know how to express it in poetic ways. “Forget your perfect offering,” and love your own true light, cracks and all.
August 1 marks a new season – connected to communication, the throat chakra and the color sky blue. Three chances to join our next Seasons and Chakras meditation:
Saturday 8/1, Wednesday 8/5 and Saturday 8/8 at 11 am PDT / 12 pm MDT / 1 pm CDT / 2 pm EDT. Please check your time zone.
Songs from childhood tend to leave an indelible mark. Lately I’ve had an earworm that just won’t quit. Did you know that the 1950’s children’s song, Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes is actually derived from an old college drinking song from the 1800s? And that song is derived from old Scottish/English ballads that date back much further.
Here’s a taste of ye old drinking song, Tavern in the Town, with the all-too-familiar melody.
Those early folk songs seem to have the same themes – lost love, drinking and dying – sung to a catchy, uptempo beat (My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, anyone?). No wonder these tunes stick around for centuries. 😀
Going a little further back, I’m continuing my Seasons and Chakras series next week. Yay! I’ll be teaching Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes in terms of self-touch, self-care and compassion.
We are in the season of green, the heart chakra. 💚 This chakra is also related to the hands and sense of touch. Last month we focused on the torso/spine – now we look at what’s above and below, from head to toes.
This meditation will include face massage, toe yoga and points in between:
We were commenting that we’d only had a handful of nice days so far this spring. Well today is the nicest one yet. I am writing from our back patio, a private oasis for a million eyes to see (remember that movie, Rear Window?).
Staying at home has led to a serious nesting phase. I’ve painted furniture, I’ve hung a gallery wall, I’ve ordered plants galore. Laszlo the cat has never enjoyed so much togetherness.
I found myself singing for spring in another online music festival. Fun! The whole family unit made a surprise appearance during one of the songs. Highlight of the show for me.
Click image to hear song. If you’re in the mood to be serenaded, you can also watch the whole half-hour set: Eve sings songs for spring
As summer approaches, I wonder what else I can offer in an outward way. I’m feeling a need for more connection, less hibernation. I rely on my yoga training to guide me through shifts in seasons and surroundings, as this is my first springtime in NY.
Back in SF, I led an exploration of seasons and chakras. Ritual is such an important part of self-care. My aunt wrote a book about it, and I use this as part of my teaching. We are now midway through our spring-to-summer transition.
I’m planning to host an online meditation session for this particular shift of seasons. I’ll be sending out details soon. If you’re interested, let me know and I’ll put you on the list!
Update: Find info on Eve’s online class offerings here.
We all had plans, didn’t we? When our House Hunters International episode aired two months ago, I had eyes on leading a yoga retreat in Portugal – lining up the location and pricing for October and getting ready to send out an email blast.
Now I find myself retreating inward more and more. No outward plans. Cagey in the heart of the concrete jungle.
At home, I’ve been staring at the cover of Georgia O’Keeffe, The New York Years. I ordered this 30-year-old art book when I found out O’Keeffe used to live in our building. One thing I love about New York is pondering all the creative ghosts that have walked these streets for centuries.
Here’s the view from our building, taken from O’Keeffe’s penthouse apartment in 1936. These ghostly skyscrapers were new then. The ones I’ve pointed out are still standing and I walked by all of them today.
I have mixed feelings when I go outside – guilt and relief entwined. I take an empty Sunday stroll down 5th Avenue, remembering throngs of people on this street when we first landed in New York during the holidays. Today I see a ghost town, with no more than five scattered figures at a distance. Instead of people watching, I’m peering into frozen window displays.
It reminds me of a song I learned while a student at Berklee College of Music: I Remember – a Sondheim tune from the 1966 TV movie, Evening Primrose. Turns out it was filmed one Sunday morning at Stern’s department store across from Bryant Park, which is where I am standing now.
The store closed long ago, but I conjure up echoes of the stars Anthony Perkins and Charmian Carr (that’s Liesl from Sound of Music). Here’s a synopsis of the film:
The people are gone. The doors are locked. Darkness descends inside a department store. Fleeing the pressures of the outside world, an unhappy poet is at last alone. But not for long. In his newfound sanctuary, he comes across a group of hermits who have been hiding there for years. Among them is a girl with whom he falls in love.
She wants to see outdoors (having been stuck inside since she was a child); but when they attempt their escape, they are turned into mannequins. Pretty gloomy stuff. Yet I find her song absolutely beautiful:
I remember sky It was blue as ink Or at least I think I remember sky. I remember snow Soft as feathers Sharp as thumb tacks Coming down like lint And it made you squint When the wind would blow. And ice like vinyl On the streets Cold as silver White as sheets Rain like strings And changing things Like leaves. I remember leaves Green as spearmint Crisp as paper. I remember trees Bare as coat racks Spread like broken umbrellas. And parks and bridges, Ponds and zoos, Ruddy faces, Muddy shoes, Light and noise and Bees and boys And days.
Certainly there are many silver linings in our sequestering. My solo exploration led me to that building on the O’Keeffe book cover, which has been overlooking Bryant Park for almost a hundred years. I’ve never noticed it before, with all the usual busyness of that space. Today it stands out in stark relief.
One more ghost for you: my younger self and singing voice captured during my music school days. Click image or button below to hear my rendition of Sondheim’s I Remember (with fellow student Joe Smith on piano).