She loved music. I don’t think a day went by that she didn’t sing, whether it was a song of praise, a ditty she wrote about her daily life or a silly little song to our dog. We spent so many Sunday afternoons in Mom and Dad’s bedroom listening to records- Barbara Streisand, War, Jim Croce. Yes, we sat and listened to music. Not while we were reading a magazine or tapping away on a phone; we just sat and listened. Or sang along. Some of my oldest memories are of my mom singing while she rocked me to sleep in a big wicker rocking chair near the window. Those cowboy lullabies were my parents together: Dad the cowboy and Mom’s voice telling his story. It made me feel safe. As Christmas gets closer, I can’t help but think of Christmas Eve night, when we’d all sit in the quiet dim of evening, the Christmas tree and a few candles the only light in the house. We’d sit together and sing sacred songs until time for bed. She’d wake us in the morning with-what else?-a song.