It’s a time of year for settling in, hunkering down, preparing for winter. The days shorten and we are inclined toward introspection. For some, the oncoming season correlates with depression. For all of us in the northern latitudes, it's a kind of yearly soul-hibernation. It's never easy, but it makes the unfurling of spring so miraculous.

At home, I may not have a Steinway grand, but I do have more creative input. I'll be singing in these streams, and curating sets that include originals and somewhat obscure covers in addition to standards and classics. I'll still be taking requests, but I'll also be engaging more with audience questions. And I may have guest appearances every so often from my talented housemates.

I was, and remain, convinced that it will be the small changes—so small that you actually have to look for them—that will add up to the big shift in consciousness that humanity must undergo. In other words, not a revolution, but an evolution.

I know of no better initiation into summer than eating a ripe, organic, locally-grown strawberry (ideally from your own or your neighbor’s garden). The shock of sweetness, the juice staining your fingers and your lips, the flavor of sunlight itself. It makes me wonder what the hell those things they sell at the supermarket in December for $4 a pound are, and how they get away with calling them strawberries.