By Margaret Evans, Editor

I think y’all know me well enough by now to know I won’t be writing about basketball.

Actually, if I were smart I wouldn’t write about anything at all for a while. I’m so disoriented and discombobulated that any opinion I express might very well change a few hours from now, and almost certainly will have changed by the time you read this.

Writers Note: It's been seven years, y'all. Seven years since sweet William broke his tiny, little bones. He's now 14... same age as his cousin Margot. It's also seven years since I looked 37 in the FACE and began to face my own fears as a writer and put myself OUT THERE. Where is that? I still don't know, but I am still loving it all on the brink of my 45th birthday, seven years later. Much love to you all . . .

By Margaret Evans, Editor

January 20, 2017 – It’s early in the morning on Inauguration Day. I’m at my computer and have just watched a YouTube video of a 12-year-old boy, oozing braggadocio, discussing the fire he set at a protest last night. This clean-cut, apple-cheeked lad is so proud of himself, so completely without shame or fear of reprisal, I can hardly believe my eyes and ears. Not much surprises me anymore, but I am aghast.