The windows were closed, cracks covered with black tape, old newspaper stuffed wherever cold might seep through, albeit irrelevant since any insulation that might once have filled the space behind the walls had long since rotted away or been nibbled by desperate rodents, ancestors of the skinny shadow slowly creeping towards the only source of warmth in the room: a wriggling bundle whimpering pitifully for warm hands that might hug and hold it close to breasts that might nourish the body, a loving heart to nurture the soul. Alas, a hopeless wish, as long nails and sharp teeth caused the soft cry to crescendo, briefly, before the silence was marred only by hungry desperate gnawing and chewing of a satisfied beast.

Loving smile upon his lips

as he gazed upon her face

hands clasped behind his back

cuffed

one policeman took him away

another covered the bloodied head

while the body search never ceases

alas

the husband meant it when he said,

"I love my wife to pieces."

Music is as necessary to me as air. Not a day goes by that is not made better by soothing tones, moving rhythms or lyrics that touch my heart. My tastes are quite eclectic and include classical, pop, all shades of rock including heavy metal, jazz, R&B, musical theater and rap/hip hop. There are myriad songs or pieces that have touched me in some way, that remind me of a particular time or place, a person, a relationship, a feeling. But it is actually an entire genre rather than a song that has stayed with me throughout my life, from my earliest musical recollections till today: country music.

When I was five, my parents divorced. My mom and I moved to a small apartment. Every morning, as we prepared for school and work, she used to turn on the radio in the kitchen and the station was always country music. I fell in love without being aware, especially with the storytelling. Sometimes the songs made me laugh, more often, they made me cry. Music --all music but particularly a good country song -- has had the ability to move me to tears (both happy and sad) since those early days of my childhood.

The first country song I remember crying to every time I heard it on the radio was Spring by Tanya Tucker. The lines that always made me burst into tears were: Momma don't go away/And leave me all alone/Momma said to the welfare lady/Find my child a good home. (There is a happy ending. Although Momma dies and Spring grows up in an orphanage, she finds love and gets married to her best friend from the orphanage in the end. :-)

One song that made my mother laugh hysterically when she heard me sing it was Lucille by Kenny Rogers. The chorus is You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille/With four hungry children and a crop in the field..." I, however, thought he was saying "400 children and a crop in the field." My mother cried she laughed so hard before saying, "400 children? I guess she did leave. I'm surprised she's not dead."

I could be heard singing other country songs throughout the 70s and 80s, along with all the other types of music that touched my soul in those years. In the 90s, life got crazy as I married, lost my daddy, had a child, bought a house, a car and started my career in education. It wasn't until 2001, when I was driving on 95 North heading home from a conference in DC that I found a country station for the first time in years. A new Alan Jackson song came on. I had to pull over because I couldn't stop weeping.The first lines were:

Where were you when the world stopped turnin'/that September day?

Were you in the yard with your wife and children/or workin' on some stage in L.A.?

Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke/risin' against that blue sky?

Did you shout out in anger, in fear for your neighbor/or did you just sit down and cry?

I was in a classroom, teaching that day - where I remained, consoling my students as fear and grief overwhelmed them, until the bell rang at 3:00 pm and I could finally speed to my son’s school and hug him close and take him home. My heart broke when he said so many parents had come to get their children early and he had wondered why I hadn't come sooner.

I cry every single time I hear that song.

After finding that station, I renewed my love of country. Until they took it off the air last fall, 94.7 NY Country was my go to radio station. Now, I'm all classical or "music from the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s" when I have the radio on. But, more often than not, I put on one of my Playlists loaded with country music.

Over the last two decades, I have amassed a treasure trove of country songs that have made me feel not only joy or sadness, but also, simply, connected. We, humanity, share a lot of the same basic life experiences - love; lust; longing; anger; sadness; loss; loneliness; betrayal; family - the good, the bad and the ugly; work woes; illness; death. Country music has it all.

I guess I love country because so often it says exactly what I feel or felt or need to hear...or simply tells a great story that feels familiar or fun. I have it on in the bathroom as I shower, the kitchen as I cook, the living room as I clean, the car as I drive. I take it with me everywhere - it is a part of who I am.

Evil, with regard to morality, as opposed to some supernatural being with a pitchfork and a fiery abode, is a social construct. (Both versions are manmade.) It is by group consensus that evil exists; it is not an intrinsic quality of perceived reality.

That which is considered evil varies century to century, generation to generation, country to country, culture to culture, religion to religion, town to city, war versus peace time...to name a few variations on what proponents of any particular view like to consider absolute, inviolable givens.

Evil does not exist without humanity to infuse it with meaning. It does not exist in nature.

Neither does "goodness."

Both exist as a result of humanity's attempt to maintain order so that people might coexist in relative peace in (large) settled populations.

When consensus erodes, when personal welfare or survival trumps the well-being of the group, all social contracts and constructs weaken and decay.

Entropy then chaos ensue.

Once upon a time, long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a king and his beautiful queen. One day, as the queen was sewing next to a window watching the first snow of the season, she pricked her finger and a drop of blood fell…certainly not on the snow, as it has been reported in other sources, because really, was she hanging out the window while she was sewing? No, a small drop of blood fell upon the snowy white fabric of her gown and she said aloud, sighing, “I wish I had a daughter with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as night.” And because wishes really do come true, nine months later she gave birth to a little girl who she named, Snow White. As you can imagine, the king was not happy with the name the queen chose, wanting to name the princess after his mother, or even her mother, or his nanny, but the queen stood firm…well, that is, she did until she died after giving birth to Snow White. The grieving king briefly considered naming the child Anna, for his dead queen, but he knew her dying wish, so Snow White it was.

Finding life as a single parent quite trying despite a castle full of help, the king remarried within the year. He brought home his new beautiful queen and settled down to life as a family of three (plus 127 servants, 24 horses, 10 dogs and 6 cats).

Snow White had a happy childhood, spent largely in the company of the many servants and pets. She was sweet and kind and much beloved by all. Well, mostly all. The queen was fairly indifferent to her for most of Snow White’s childhood and the king, though he loved her dearly, really didn’t have much use for a daughter. Now a son, that would have been ideal. They could ride horses, go hunting, read history books. What did he know about embroidering and other such womanly tasks? Alas, neither of his queens provided him with a son and heir…

And the queen? Well, she was more interested in herself and the study of alchemy, than raising a child. Little did the king know her apparent barrenness was intentional. The idea of seeing her belly distended with child was anathema to her. Every day, she closeted herself in her secret chamber where she made potions – some of which actually worked hence her childless state, and asked a mirror of gilded frame, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” And she heard, “You are, my queen.” What? Yep, she heard it. I did not say, the mirror replied. The queen was certifiable. When was the last time a mirror talked to you? (If you actually answer that, might I suggest therapy?)

Anyway, all was going along quite well despite the queen’s questionable mental state (perhaps brought on by ingesting myriad concoctions to keep her young and childless…or simple narcissism), until the day her “mirror” told her that Snow White was the fairest in the land…it didn’t take a “magic” mirror to recognize the untold beauty of the kind, young princess. What to do, what to do? Ah! Get the huntsman to cut out her lungs and liver! Of course! (I know you’ve heard it was the heart, but my sources are impeccable, and it was the lungs and liver she requested.) And if you didn’t think she was not quite right in the mind before, I do hope that we are on the same page now.

So, the queen ordered the huntsman to take Snow White to the forest and return with her lungs and liver. The huntsman refused to follow orders blindly, but he also didn’t want to be on the wrong end of the queen’s psychosis, so he sent Snow White off into the woods to fend for herself and brought to the queen the lungs and liver of a boar.

Not one to be hoodwinked, the queen noted that the huntsman didn’t look her in the eye so it was no surprise when the “magic” mirror told her that Snow White was still the most beautiful in the land. (The huntsman was found later that night by one of the grooms. His heart had been removed. So, there was heart removal in the story. Just not Snow White’s.)

As for Snow White, she slept on the forest floor that night and when she awakened in the morning, she was surrounded by seven men, who we have come to know as the Seven Dwarves. The thing is, they weren’t actually dwarves. It’s just that, in addition to being beautiful of face and hair, Snow White was quite the Amazon. She could have done runway modeling, no problem. But to her, they were little men, so when she told the story later on, they became the seven dwarves.

Anyway, the seven dwarves took pity on the beautiful goddess at their feet and took her to their home to care for them. I mean to care for her. Right. She took one look at the pigsty they called home and shooed them out while she cleaned. They went off to work in the mines and when they returned it was to a clean home and a hot meal. Bliss. Snow White was sound asleep curled up on a rug by the fire (all the beds were too small for her). Of course, after dinner, they joined her there on the floor rather than make her sleep alone in a strange place…

Well, this story is getting a little long so we’ll cut to the chase: The queen was not pleased that Snow White was still living somewhere in the kingdom. She sent out spies (no, it was not the “magic” mirror that told her) and found out that she was living in the forest with seven men. ("What? Whore," she screamed to no one in particular.) She used her “magic” powers and created various poisons to kill her off, and on her third try (the dwarves foiled her plans the first two times), was finally successful with a poisoned apple and a few days off her "eternal youth" serum.

The poor dwarves were bereft. (Who would take care of them now?) They lay her to rest in a glass coffin so that they could gaze upon her beauty (as her body decayed???) Lo and behold, not two days later, a prince from the neighboring kingdom happened to be hunting in the very same forest where Snow White lay. He ordered his grooms to carry the beautiful woman in the glass case to his castle. Needless to say, no easy task given her size and, not surprisingly, one of the grooms dropped his end. And a good thing it was: It wasn’t poison that kept Snow White in the death-like state. It was a piece of apple lodged in her throat. Being dropped knocked it out and she awakened. The prince knelt beside her amongst the broken glass and begged her to marry him (which would join the two kingdoms and make him the richest, most powerful king). Of course, she said yes (or perhaps just nodded and smiled. There is some debate that two days with minimal oxygen intake left her with some neurological issues. Or maybe it was the poison.)

The prince, knowing what the wicked queen had done, invited her to the wedding feast. For her attempt to murder his beloved, Snow White, he ordered her to dance in red-hot iron shoes until she dropped dead. Um, what? Yep. Red-hot iron shoes. I kid you not.

And they lived happily, ever after…

My husband and son have had long discussions about who they would include in their survivor group in a zombie apocalypse. (I think it's hysterical that this was a serious topic of conversation.) Each member brings some necessary skill for survival. They include me, they say, because I will keep everyone positive and cheerful despite dire circumstances. Lol. Seriously. Otherwise, I have miminal survival instincts and am pretty useless out in the wild. Camping has never been my thing. Not even glamping.

Anyway, if I were in a room of survivors (although, how long would anyone actually survive in a locked room with 1000 people?), without my loved ones, I'm afraid the gift would be wasted on me. I wouldn't want to be without them. At the risk of sounding maudlin or hyperbolical, they are my raison d'être. So, if one knocked on the door, I would ask the group to put me out. And my loved one and I would be together, either against the zombies or part of them, I guess, if he was already one. But, most importantly, together.

A woman of a certain age

more memories

than dreams

more what you see

is what you get

than how the young oft seems;

more tears for what no longer is

than what has yet

to be

knowing one life

is what you get

before the end you see;

more laughs and smiles and joie de vivre

risks and chances

seized

more letting go

is what you get

more anxieties eased;

more moments lived to the fullest

more gratefulness

expressed

more acceptance

is what you get

a feeling one is blessed;

Don't bemoan the end:

Rejoice because you've been.

for each trait

that makes me

who I claim,

there's someone

in the world

who has one

just the same;

there's no unique

no one and only

no rare and novel kind,

you'll be surprised

if you look around

how many you's you'll find;

I've seen my smile

my eyes, my hair

my quirky snort and laugh,

creative artsy writers

OCD chiefs of staff;

devoted wives and mothers

friendly introverts

unmedicated depressives

cautious closet flirts;

happy in each moment

grateful for each day

Polyanna pesismist

seeing everything in gray;

singing sidewalk skipper

babies and animal coo-er

language and book lover

volunteer and good deed do-er;

strangers call me sunshine

my family says the same,

but I can't be the only one

to be called by that name;

perhaps the key

of what makes

me, me

(just speculation

there's no guarantee)

is each quality I've mentioned

contrary though they may be

is one thread of many

in the tapestry

of me.

A back can be made weary

made to bend and to curve

by invisible things you carry

and false gods you make it serve

worry, fear and hopelessness

expectations and stress

grief, regret and sorrow

what you do and don't possess

dreams, hopes, responsibilities

bills, bills, bills

justifications, rationalizations, excuses

belief all pain relief resides in a pill

pharmaceutical or religious

they both get'er done

like liquid, needle or powder

they'll cause a back to grow numb

be careful what you carry

your thoughts can weigh you down

take deep breaths, be in the moment

remember, a smile's lighter than a frown.

The change

in the pitch

of his voice

is the sign

he will soon

take a swing,

and each word

to slide out

his mouth

will have a

rather foul ring;

so pay close

attention,

don't ignore

the writing

on the wall,

stay safe

from his

nefarious

intentions:

in a pinch --

aim for the balls.