As a young woman, Lesley Gore and Helen Reddy were my background music.
Womanhood was being re-defined.
Lesley reminded an insecure teen that ‘he didn’t own me.’
Later, Helen proclaimed it was time for women to roar. Chanting “I am strong. I am invincible,” she cheered me on.

A guy wrote a song for me once. It was about my smile. It should have been significant. As it turned out, it wasn’t. He didn’t give me much to smile about.

My three-year-old granddaughter sang “You Are My Sunshine” for me. I think that’s the last time a song made me cry. She’s ten now. Those years go by.

We’re sung into the world and we’re sung out.
Some days a melody, some days a march.
Sometimes in harmony, sometimes in discord.
With sharps and flats,
Piccolos and tubas,
Whistling or waltzing,
Strumming or humming,
The daily serenades go on,
And those years go by.

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