Monthly Archives: January 2009

I can’t stop thinking about him…

I took the path that lines the beach in Santa Monica. I ran slow at first then followed a runner with a good pace for about two miles. I felt good, strong. I felt purpose, inspiration, kinship, and closeness. I started to gain speed on his pace.
Then, he stopped when I was just a few feet behind him.
He turned around.
He was done.
He had enough.
He didn’t ask me.
He didn’t know me.
He was done.
And I was alone.
I didn’t even know him.
The sun hadn’t even set yet. There were more paths to follow. There were more miles to run.
But that was it.
He was done and didn’t ask me if it was ok. I was thoughtfully happy that I had the mile with him, but was sad that our journey was over.
And then I was alone.
With no one in front of me, I continued to run and listen to music I don’t remember.
I looked at the sun to my left. It was ready to call it a day and leave me. And I knew.
This is what it feels like. Not potential loss and sadness. That’s what I’ve been preparing for since my dad fell ill.
Loss is what I feel now.
I don’t even know him. Not really. Not even in the slightest. And yet, the thoughts of him filled every ounce of my day today. Did he know? Did he even know what his life meant to so many people?
I think about how every day, I kill myself to be fit, thin, smart, witty, pretty and keep up. I work so hard to be the best daughter, sister, friend, teacher, lover, actor and writer.
How difficult it is to work so hard. How difficult it is to have friends and maintain them in this life now. How hard is it to just be, just exist and be ok with what we are, where we are, what we are and how we are living.
How much more difficult is it to let go?
To let it all go.
I woke up in sadness today. I went about my day. Why am I so sad? I’ve been questioning the idea of mortality since my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 metastasized lung cancer. Is he going to make it? Is my mom going to make it, supporting him? Should I go home and be with them now? Later? What happens when my mom gets sick? What happens when I get sick? We’re all going to die, someday?
How are we going to live now?
The day was cold. Today, LA was like New York with palm trees. I felt fuzzy, like I was on allergy medication. Not enough sleep? Maybe. Did I eat too much salt the day before or too much caffeine?
I met a friend for lunch. Nice. I ran some errands, did some work. Non-eventful.
I went for the run before sunset.
There it was.
I was late hearing the news.
I didn’t even know him.
And now he is gone.
I run here, alone and watch the sun as it sets and my eyes fill with tears. Did he get to see the sunset? If he saw it, would it change his mind? If I could just show him, perhaps he would know. Perhaps he would feel differently.
It didn’t happen.
The wind, I think. That is what is making my eyes water.
How could I feel for someone I don’t know?
Because there is a man out there that is no longer there.
I knew him by association. I knew him because the people I knew, knew him. I knew the work he did. I knew he was funny and talented. I knew he was nice. He was nice to me, but I didn’t know him. We were in the same circles of friends. Circles of friends that are now so broad for me, it would be strange to call them friends and yet…
I’m very angry. There is a man out there that isn’t…
For reasons I won’t know. There is a man that is no longer out there that is causing hurt and sadness for reasons they will never know.
Oprah has stories. The news has stories. How sad. But it never happens with people you know. It never happens.
It happens.
I tried to wrap my mind around his decision.
I’m sad.
Things suck right now. Dad is sick and I’m overdrawn in my account. I miss my family. I’m alone. No love. I’m lonely. I fail often. I am sad.
I can walk out in the middle of traffic. It’ll be quick. I’m clever. I can go home, find a rope, tie it around something and it’ll all be over. Does anyone feel this too?
I question why, often.
But, I can see the sunset everyday. I can run miles. I can tell jokes and make people laugh. I can teach classes and make people feel good. I can talk to my family and friends. I can try for things. I love my life.
I remember when I was young and two kids from my school got into accidents and lost their lives. I remember the mourning. I remember people who didn’t even know them, were sad and crying. I remember thinking, what is wrong with them? They didn’t even know them. What do they have to cry about? How shallow? And here I am. All I’m doing is thinking about a boy I don’t even know and I’m crippled with sadness.
What is wrong with me?
There is a man, I barely know but have on many occasions thought about. He doesn’t know. He’ll never know. We don’t know when someone is thinking about us. Perhaps we should tell them. Perhaps we should take extra seconds from our days and tell the people we think about, even if it’s for a moment, that we are thinking about them and hope they are well. Maybe, because of the birth of such things as facebook, that we waste numerous hours on, we should take a moment to share, not just our success with, but also our thoughts with.
‘Just thinking of you and that time we had together…”
‘I love you.’
‘I’m here for you.’
‘I know it’s been a while, but I’m thinking of you.’
I have over 500 friends on facebook.
Are they my friends, really?
Their lives matter to me. Their life matters to us, whatever they do.
This is my problem. My problem is that we ALL know so many people, especially with technology today. We can’t all be as present as we may like to be in everyone’s life, but we are.
I do not talk to many, not in the slightest bit, but I think about them. I do. You do. In a moment, you might have a memory or a story or a situation that might bring up an old friend. It might not even spur on the inspiration to contact that old friend, but you think about them. Don’t you?
I think about him. I’ve thought about him. We are not friends, but we are friends by association. He’s gone now and I feel his loss. I feel his loss because my friends feel his loss. Because there is one more of us ‘people’ who is gone. There is someone I know that has affected people in a positive way and has decided he doesn’t want to be here in this world anymore.
What were his thoughts before? How did he do it? Did it hurt? Did he know that he would affect so many people? Did he know that his passing would hurt people he didn’t even know?
Oh my god, were you in pain? How long did you have pain? Could we have just reached for you, held you and told you it would be ok or was it already too late? How could you? What could we have done?
I didn’t even know you and it has affected me. I’m angry that you were sad or lonely or desperate enough to take your life away.
You have left a hole. One that everyone close to you feels. And then there is me. I don’t even know you and I feel it. How many of us are out there that weren’t blessed to know you that you left a hole in. Your life left a hole in more people you will ever know. I’m devastated that someone couldn’t reach out to you to change your decision. I will never know you or your decision.
Consider life.

We might not all be present in each other’s lives but we are all important.
Consider life.
Our existence is absolutely necessary. It is necessary for us to exist, succeed, fail, get married, give birth, divorce, travel to distant lands and share stories with each other, together.
Consider life.
I need you. You need me. We need each other.
Consider life.
There is absolutely nothing that is that bad that we can’t be here for each other.
Consider life.
Your presence is felt. It is known.
Consider life.
Don’t disappear. It affects everyone. Absolutely everyone.
Consider life.
In all it’s pain, tragedy, horror.
Consider life.
In all it’s laughter, happiness and memories.
Consider life.
In gratitude to all of it.
Consider life.
All of our close friends, those in the circle and the circle outside of that circle and the one outside of that one, in youth and beyond.
Consider life.
You might be gone but you will always be a reminder of how important we all are to each other, near and far, known and known by association. Our existence affects more than just what and whom we know.
We are necessary.
I think about you. Be here. You are necessary.

Philip Newby. You were necessary.

Sun and Snow, Ebb and flow

The same old series of poses in a class can provide you with a different set of challenges each practice depending on where you are coming from in your day, your week, your month, your year and the cycles of the moon, the seasons, the sea and all that jazz. The poses get better, you get stronger and the perspective you get when conquering and flowing in and out of a pose depends on how you approached it the last time and the time before. If you approach a pose with frustration, tentativeness, fear, hurriedness or anger, it will never be achieved fully until you come from a place of clarity, pacing and taking the steps, one at a time to achieve the full expression of a posture.

The same old series of challenges in life can surface and resurface and depending on the set of tools and experiences you’ve gathered in your ‘practice’ of life will depend on the lessons you’ve learned, if you learned them fully, in order to deal with them, make progress and achieve success.

We all have them. They will keep coming back to challenge you until you exercise a practice of strength, clarity and calm to get through it.

After you breakthrough the barrier of one pose, challenge or pattern, you will be given more. It’s like building muscle. The process to build and hold it, never ends; it always grows, gets stronger and requires energy to sustain.

Once you understand that all of life is a series of challenges, it becomes a lot easier to approach. It’s like standing at the foot of the sea. One wave crashes at your ankles and shocks you, even though you see it coming. Another one comes along and tests your balance. You fall. Maybe you laugh a little and hope no one saw. You pick yourself up again and wait for the next one, maybe bracing yourself and tensing your muscles. You fall again. Now you are soaking wet and don’t give a crap if someone saw you. You get up again, but this time, you soften. You don’t wait for the wave to approach you. You approach the wave and you do it with ease. You know what you’ve been through and you can stand tall and feel the salt and the sand beneath you, the sun on your skin. Your perspective changes and it’s no longer about preparing yourself for challenges, but taking them as they come, taking in the whole experience, not just the blow. You take it in just as you would take in a breath, eat a meal or enjoy a conversation with a friend.

Recently, I was without a computer, between homes, family was not close by and my cell phone was dead but charging. I had no distractions, no web surfing or facebook, no craigslist or Westside rentals, no organizing of things as they were all packed away, no calls or blogging, just pen and paper.
I felt like I was in my own little countryside, even though I was sitting on the floor with no furniture and the echo of everything outside reverberating within the walls emphasizing it’s emptiness - perhaps, my emptiness. I took in a big breath and there it was. The earth beneath me shook. We were having another earthquake. It wasn’t a big one. In fact, a lot of people I know didn’t feel it at all. When we had one over the summer, I remember hyperventilating in fear. I have lived in LA for so long but had always been away for earthquakes. I felt this one. I freaked for a moment then realized I didn’t have to. I know what to do to feel safe. I’ve felt this before. I can feel afraid or move with it until it passes. Although I did pick up my charging phone to call my mom, I was relieved because I wasn’t nearly as afraid as I was the last time when I was alone, in fear of the unknown. The rest of my life had just changed dramatically so the earthquake was just the straw that broke the camels back. I hate clichés, but there you go.

When the earth shifted this time, I was still, right on top of it, sitting tall with my pen and paper.

Life is little earthquakes, every single day.

I felt alone, but not lonely, excited but not anxious, quiet but not calm.
I let go of ‘control’ as there was nothing left to try and figure out in my exact current circumstance. It was all ahead of me. The stress of moving, leaving my family while my dad was still ill, living in a place I questioned if I could afford in an economy that may or may not question my ‘job’ in life. I had to let go. There was nothing left to do.

Instead of agonizing over what ifs, I just let go. Even as a yogi, and a teacher, it is still my recurring pattern of a challenge to
Like being reminded to breathe. I always laugh a little when a student tells me they are glad I remind them to breathe because I often have to remind myself of the same thing.
It happens automatically in our systems in order to survive. However, breathing deeply in order to open up space and soothe our systems is altogether different. It’s something very conscious. It is a practice and it begs to be reminded on and off the yoga mat.

Over the last few months I’ve gone through Chrysalis. It’s one of my favorite words. I’m not saying I’m a bug or a perfect butterfly, but I’ve torn down and rebuilt my life going through some ugly f-ing stages that only look a lot better now that I’m through it. You can bore yourself with the details in other blogs.

As a country, we are about to do the same, with a new leader taking office tomorrow. In uncertain times, it will be a sweltering time before things cool off, our questions get answered and our fears allayed. The excitement is overwhelming, almost scary. But let’s be honest, the last eight years have been rather repulsive. We, as a country, can only look up and beyond, hopefully and joyfully.

As a family, we are doing the same.
My mother who was living fearfully as we all were, when we found out my dad had stage 4 metastasized lung cancer, had cried and freaked it all out of her system. I now talk to her and I see and hear that the same strength and clarity she had previously with the challenges of her job and daily life, she now has with the overwhelming challenge of caring for her sick husband. It’s like she’s put a system into play and she knows what to do. It’s like she is being lead. She is leading.
She says that she feels like a new mother again, checking to see if he’s breathing, washing him, feeding him, waking up in the middle of the night and not so much taking care of herself. And yet, she sounds better than she has in a long time.
She says it’s an honor and a privilege to take care of someone. She was chosen for that honor and she has accepted it as part of her fate. She is handling everything, beautifully and I admire her so much for that.
Taking care of myself has gone out the window!! She’ll say.
My dad says he could never repay her for all that she has given to him. He even says that he isn’t quite sure if he would do the same for her.

The snow has made things even more challenging. My dad, not working now, has cabin fever and has tried to escape and run mindless errands, but my mom’s silent alarm wakes her from sleep or her other duties and she reigns him back to reality, back to the living room or bedroom or den, where he watches HGTV, plays Scrabble with my mom or dozes off.
I don’t think there are any words left, my mom will say. On to gin rummy, they go.
I suggested Twister. Then I reneged that idea. Too much flexibility involved.

I try to bring him joy and have joy in my life. My mom says.
If my mom only knew, she is joy. She doesn’t have to try at all. It’s her gift.

My mom, who would normally dress in PJ’s all day if she had a choice, don’s jeans and a tee shirt, her new uniform as she cleans, prepares food, and makes her calls and emails for her job as a realtor. She’s upgraded but is looking forward to putting on makeup and some earrings to go and get her hair cut on inauguration day. She might even file and paint her nails. How she indulges!!

This is her new normal. We all look at Michelle Obama now like she’s the new Jackie O. My mom isn’t nearly as famous but ten times more fabulous.

She’s lost weight. She says it’s the new ‘Cancer’ diet. Everyone who knows someone with Cancer is on it. It’s all the rage.

How can she be so f-ing funny with all that is going on? She’s my mom!


I had a conversation with a dear friend the other day who works tirelessly and passionately, yet feels alone. I told him that work, however rewarding it might be, is not the same as loving and being there for others. My mom is my example. I see how that has changed how I look at my life, work, errands and the endless to dos.

Love, support, trust, it’s everything we need to be happy. Of course, an infinite supply of cash and unlimited health care would also be a bonus, but hey, I’m talkin’ reality here.

We’re not my mother. We’re not all dealing with caring for someone who is sick.
But, if I can use my mother as an example, if we put as much effort into loving each other, giving someone a free pass on the freeway for cutting you off, smiling at someone on the street or giving someone a compliment, getting our nails done so we feel better about ourselves and can walk taller, doing crow pose or headstand away from the wall in the yoga room, telling someone we know that we care about them, love them, or are just thinking about them. That’s really all that really matters at the end of the day.



Each other.

Need, not want. It’s necessary. It’s part of life’s plan. It’s the test, challenge, accomplishment we are here for.

It’s the greatest gift and the greatest service.

We are the sum of our actions.

It’s not worth nothing.

Our challenges make us stronger so we can take on more.

We don’t ask for more. It’s just inevitable.

Our practice in yoga and in life tests us so that we can approach life in the fullest, clearest manner, so that the light within us can shine and reflect greatness on everything we encounter. We can assist people. We can help people. We can serve people. We can take all of our challenges, individual and collective and use our strength together to get through.

Today I went for a run on the beach. My beach. Your beach.
I watched the sun set again, like I do almost every day, with gratitude and with hundreds of others lining the California incline.
The days are getting longer. Each day, each minute, the sun gives us a little more of its time.
I watched it go down. I was alone, with hundreds of others.
The sun went down.
That was a day, I said to myself.
I saw the dolphins dive up and down reflecting off the beautiful red and purple in the sky.

My dad doesn’t miss work. He doesn’t miss getting up at 4AM and fighting traffic in the cold snowy streets of Manhattan. But he also has Cancer, pain in his back and weakness as he walks.

I come home and put on HGTV. I know he’s watching it and it makes me feel closer to him.

I call my mom.

It’s snowing again.

Karin, my sister, brought in fresh dry wood from the cold outside. She hates talking on the phone, but I feel closer to her.

My mom tells me she just lit a roaring fire in the fireplace.

I feel closer to her.

I tell her about the sunset and she tells me about dad.

We share the challenges of our days but we revel in the fact that we had the sunset, the snow, a roaring fire and each other, close by and far away.

And at the end of the day, that’s all we needed to get through.

High Hopes…

“Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
In a world of magnets and miracles
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
The ringing of the division bell had begun

Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide

Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There's a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we've been so many times

The grass was greener
The light was brighter
The taste was sweeter
The nights of wonder
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river
Forever and ever”

I can say, unequivocally, that I would have never been an artist if it weren’t for Pink Floyd.

I would have never picked up charcoal or lead or ink or oil and canvas if I never heard that sacred music.

I can say, without a doubt, that I wouldn’t have followed down the path I was on in the past and the path I’m on now if it wasn’t for my dad.

He owned the film, “The Wall” by Pink Floyd. I remember watching it at 11 years old, alone, in the dark, in my childhood bedroom. I couldn’t watch the whole thing without picking up pad and pencil. I drew all night, rewinding, forwarding and pausing with unabashed wonder at it all. My mouth was agape and my eyes were wide open in the blue television reflection of beauty, horror, passion and fervor.

I totally got it and had no idea what it meant all at the same time.

The music and inspiration floored me and I knew I had a way to express myself that had nothing to do with the way I looked. I was a fat kid back then and the way I had to express myself was of the more silent contemplative nature.

I knew I had something to say, but couldn’t speak up.

My mom and dad were all but happy to provide me with endless music, exposure to Broadway plays, New York City, lots of paper and tools to use and put on that paper.

I had never known anything like watching, ‘The Wall”.
My whole portfolio when applying for College and art scholarships was inspired by walls, running and escaping to freedom.


Today, I am in my new place in Santa Monica. The place, I’ve longed to find for months. I had so many walls in my way to climb over and knock through in order to get it. I ran like hell all over the city to see my potential dream oasis of apartments, apply for, buy gifts for and bribe management companies, file the right paperwork, get the funds and get it done. I have it now. And, I have my freedom.

My first night in the new apartment…
I woke up three times drenched in sweat.
I woke up in the morning with a day filled with things to do. I felt disoriented and uneasy. Regular life went on like normal, clients to teach, mom to call and check in about how dad was feeling, groceries to buy, people to call, E-mails to send.
I went about my busy day and came home. Hung some stuff and put some more stuff away.
Clutter made it’s way to carpet, but it still didn’t feel like home. Nothing felt right.
After all the nails, packing tape and garbage was cleared out from under my feet, I put my I-tunes on shuffle.
I was surprised I owned so much crap and I was surprised I forgot about Dave Matthews and A Tribe Called Quest and all the music that made me who I am.
I danced around to the Xanadu soundtrack.
I made carpet angels on the floor to Paul Simon’s Rhythm Of The Saints.
I lie still on the floor.
My first ‘still’ in weeks.
I don’t feel here.
I don’t feel there.
I don’t feel anywhere.
I don’t feel.
I only hear what’s in my head and on my I-tunes as I listen to the next surprise, always something new and always a reminder of some memory that, even at it’s most painful, is still sweet.

“Some stories are magical, meant to be sung. When the world was young and all of these spirit voices rule the night.”

When I talk about my dad, I always say that I know him best by his right side. That is the side I would see when he was driving.
At home, he was always drowned out by the burgeoning personalities of the women in the house, from my mom and my sisters to the dog and the cat.
But, when my dad was driving, he was in his element.
He was the one in the driver’s seat of the path, the conversation and the memory that was to follow.
I have so many of them.
Many of which I have written about here. When he would pick me up from college, load the car up with my laundry for the holiday or dorm gear for the summer; we would always stop for McDonald’s breakfasts. I can’t imagine that now, but back then, those days were divine and sacred.
In those days, even after long months and years jam packed with life and experiences, I was more than happy to hand the mic over to my dad and listen to him talk.

“So you think you can tell. Heaven from hell, blue skies from pain. Do you think you can tell?”

Mostly, dad would play his music. Paul Simon, Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, Stevie Nicks, The Eagles and Pink Floyd. He would tell his stories - his college days, his life, and his dreams – he’d pause at a bridge or chorus and sing along in a wispy attempt of a tenor that would go in and out of his own speaking voice.

“Diamonds on the souls of her shoes. Diaaamonds, ooon the souls of her shoes.”

He’d pause and let us both listen to a scat.
He’d light up another Newport cigarette or throw some rubbish out the window.
That always made me cringe, but the rest, the rest, was just bliss.
I knew my dad then.
I owned him.
It was my time with him and no one could ever take that away from either one of us.
It would all be over in another hour or so, when the influx of the family dynamic would take over.

At streetlights, he would take his hands away from the wheel and pick at his cuticles.

I often catch myself coming off the 101 on Highland, getting to a light, taking my grasp off the wheel and picking my cuticles. When I catch myself, I don’t stop, I just feel closer to him.

Then I go home and get a manicure.

‘We’re just two lost souls swimmin’ in a fish bowl, year after year.”

It’s funny, when you get what it is that you want.
After the giddiness subsides you are left alone, in the quiet, with your thoughts.
Most people turn on the lights, music, television, invite over a pal, to prove that life exists where you are and that all is well.

I lie on the floor, finally cleared of packing tape and boxes.

There are no memories here.

“Comfortably Numb.”

I smile.

I stare at the ceiling.
Vertical blinds.
There’s a creak in the floor over there.
There’s another one over here.
I didn’t notice them when I first saw the place.
There’s chipping paint in the corner.
It’s quiet.
It’s a new year and I live here.
I’ve built and rebuilt my life.
Reinvented myself.
My hair is shorter and no matter how many miles I run, my hips are rounder.
I’m new again.
I’m exactly the same.
I remember.
Big walls.

“Wish you were here.”

Had I known when I moved out here years ago, that I would eventually have to think about what role I’d play in caring for an ailing parent, I might have thought differently.
I live for my family.

"And still those voices are calling from far away..."

I live 3000 miles away from my family. From the flight screen on Virgin America Airlines, it says that I’m only 2874 miles away.

There seems like little hope on some days and a lot of hope on others.

“There may come a time that I will lose you, lose you as I lose my sight, days falling backward into velvet night. “

My dad is always alive, big, strong and well with me. He is not sick. He is sitting to the left of me talking about the weather and effortlessly stroking rubber to concrete along the FDR or West Side Highway. “Mom is making Chicken for dinner. It’s going to snow tonight.”

“Slip sliddin’ away. You know the near your destination, the more you’re slip sliddin’ away.”

I remember one time my dad picked me up from Boston University and played this song in the car. We sang and harmonized the whole song. That only happened once. I only remembered it a million times after.

I am in LA and getting the score from my mother daily, literally. I’m waiting by the phone as if I am waiting to hear if I got into Harvard, have Aids or that the Red Sox won the World Series.

I see myself pausing my own life, because I don’t know what’s next for us as a family.

I don’t know how to commit to anything here because I don’t know what will happen there.

I’m half and half.
The fat free kind.
And really yummy in coffee.

Some days my mother is manic, often just exhausted and out of sorts. She is trying to manage her job and taking care of my father full time.

"'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device."

She tells me to come home.
She tells me to stay and live my life.
She lives by the moment. I love that about her.
But these days, the moment can be of panic or drama, then release of emotion, despair and letting go.
I try to keep up with it all, not quite the drama queen, but more like a drama princess, understanding the gravity of the situation from what I hear but not being able to follow because I’m not there to see the changes.

“You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move, but I cannot hear what you are saying.”

I constantly search for my appropriate place between life here and there, the space between if you will. I consistently as a yoga teacher and student, look for balance in my life, how can I be, just be, enough here and enough there and be ok with just that.

One of the things I like to do whilst in traffic, especially after a long day or after something big happens, is call my mom.


Talking to her always makes it better. It’s important to me that she knows what’s going on. Even if she can’t remember it all the next day, I know she’s listening in the moment and responsive. It’s enough that she knows. It makes it real.

Today, I returned from my busy day with things that happened and didn’t call her. I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her what happened in my day. It was nothing compared to her day.

I felt lost.

“There may come a time when you’ll be tired as tired as a dream that wants to die. Further to fly, further to fly, further to fly.”

Someday it will happen with my mom too.

Not now, but it will, someday.

I visit that scary space.


I visit the space.

The space between my breath, the space between the calls, the space between the popcorn bumps on the ceiling, the space between the songs, the space between time that just happens between the memories being made and I decide.

It’s all enough.

Life is not easy.

It’s a series of running into walls in order to find freedom.
Life is pain in pleasure and they will all make for good stories and good memories and wild horses couldn’t drag me away from that.

I’ll take every bit of life I can get, good, bad, far away and close.

“I have my freedom but I don’t have much time. Faith has been broken, tears must be cried. Let’s do some living after we die. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away. Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day.”

(Song Quotes from Paul Simon’s Further to Fly, Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes, Slip Slidin’ Away, Spirit Voices, Pink Floyd’s High Hopes, Comfortably Numb, Wish You Were Here, The Eagles, Hotel California, The Rolling Stones, Wild Horses)