By Rosetta Diane Hoessli
Someone has asked how I title my articles and books, and I have to confess – it’s a little embarrassing because it’s so simple.
Let me tell you a story. Back in 1985, the evening after my father had passed away, Kevin took our daughter and me down on the San Antonio Riverwalk to listen to our favorite singer, Mike Clancey, at an intimate club. (Mike still plays all around the city.) That night, seeing my swollen, tear-washed face, he sang beautiful, original songs in an...