The Beautiful Damsel and the Paralyzed Man

Barbie and Ken got married on Saturday night. It wasn't hard to tell they meant everything to each other. She, a beautiful damsel. He, a paralyzed man. Not completely paralyzed. He'd done a lot of physical therapy and, now, it was mainly just his right side and, in particular, his leg.

He'd suffered a stroke following a chiropractic neck adjustment. Three times, he died on the chiropractor's table, finally being revived and hospitalized. A very small percentage of the time, a manipulation can split the inside walls of the vertebral arteries, causing the walls to balloon and block the blood supply to the lower part of the brain resulting in a basilar vertebral stroke.

But, this story isn't a treatise against chiropractic. Quite the contrary. Although I worked in the field and knew that a stroke was a possibiltiy, in over 12 years I never saw or heard of one case. I have two nephews and two neices who are chiros. In our family, we know, firsthand, how the techniques can aid healing. Besides that, even a simple thing like extending your neck back over the basin for hair washing at the beauty salon has been known to cause a stroke.

Rather, it is more about the good and bad that happens in life. The unexpected. Ken's neck adjustment was performed by his friend who was trying to do him a favor and make him feel better. His friend was a healer; this was the last thing he wanted to happen. In an instant, both of their lives were changed forever. Ken has yet to forgive his friend.

But because of his fateful injury, he met Barbie, a physician's assistant. The time came for their first dance as man and wife. With white satin, pearls and tule crushed against a black wedding tux, they swayed, not moving one inch on the floor, to a love song. It was the most beautiful dance I'd ever seen.

HAPPY, HAPPY FIRST OF MAY!

Happy, Happy First of May
Outdoor F***ing Starts Today

Today is May Day, Beltane, the first of May...whatever fits your fancy. Here in the northern hemisphere, the Earth is ripe and exploding with rejuvenation. The plant kingdom is sprouting...pushing its green succulence out of the warming ground. Leaves reaching up...drinking, greedily, the rain. Absorbing, selfishly, the sunlight. Bees and birds are doin' it. We'll, I think the bees are, they're more private with their loving ways. But the birds...ah, I know they are in full flush.

My massage room is in the second floor dormer that juts out into the trees. To me, it feels like a luxurious, cushy tree house. I can hear the pigeons on the roof right outside my windows while I work. All day long, I listen to their throatier-than-usual "Coo, coo, coo." Followed by little, scratchy, birdie footsteps across the shingles. Lots of boisterous wing flapping followed by more cooing.

I watch as a female slowly, but pointedly, strolls past a male. Stopping, just long enough and close enough, for him to catch the scent of her female juiciness. Then she nonchalantly turns, tail feathers in his face, and walks away from him, over the peak of the roof line, out of sight. For a moment he blinks, blinks, blinks. Bewildered. Then, purposely, he struts after her. Obviously catching her, they give air to a velvety, rich, duet of inner and afterglow coos. Pigeon purrs.

I feel voyeuristic, almost a little embarrassed, to be in such close proximity to their love fest. Like I'm the one held captive in my lofty, glass-windowed cage watching life as it goes on beyond my confines.


Happy, happy first of May, my friends.

May we all be so lucky in love today.

Four Tissues and a Wedding

As a young woman,
I smiled at weddings.

I cheered BRAVO
as the new couple began
their dream life together.

As a mature woman,
I smile at weddings.

My heart, burning with the
knowledge of the lessons they'll
learn during their lifetime together,
be it long or short,
sends a wet tear down my cheek.

Flash 55: Tell a story in 55 words of less.

Vail, Colorado: Portal to the Fifth Dimension

We traveled to Vail, Colorado. The purpose? To spend a week tasting the living of life in the Fifth Dimension. Nearly 500 beings strong, we tugged off the veil of forgetfulness and wove ourselves into the warp and the woof of an energy grid several Masters spent nearly 30 years making.

The Fifth Dimension, like love, is a state of being. Once you try to describe it, you are lost in your mental body, your mind, and not your heart. The heart center, like Vail for that week, is also a portal to the Fifth Dimension. It is not a place you can get to with your physical body. You can travel in your Mercaba, a vehicle of light, if you have one. Or, you can simply slow your thoughts, open your heart, slip into its center and you are there.

Enter the Zero Point--the point of nothingness. In the Fifth Dimension, there is very little need for verbal communication--communication is telepathic. There is no complaining or yearning. There is a lightness of being...an ease that makes our Third Dimensional existence feel heavy and cumbersome, like living life in a clumsy space suit. A realm of all things and no things. Everything and nothing. All potentiality and no potentiality. Pure space. Shiva.

As a massage therapist, I spend most of my work day in a very relaxed, altered state. But, boy howdy, spending a week in such grace is splendidly blissful. The trick is to make it last. To not let the heaviness of this dimension weigh us down. We are truly multi-dimensional beings. There are so many dimensions beyond the Fifth to visit that the very thought makes my eyes bug and my neurons short circuit.

Well, enough blithering for one day. Time to enter my elevator and hit the "UP" button. Who knows what dimension I'll visit next?

And the Winner is...

Okay, so this is my nominee for Actress of the Year to date. Dalia Dippolito, in the Boynton Beach Babe. A newlywed, she allegedly hired a hit man to kill her husband, Michael. I know that marriage can sometimes be a drag, but really, do you need to take a hit out on the schmuck? I think she paid somewhere around $4,000 for someone to cap his a**. Turned out the "hit man" was an undercover cop. Where did she find him? Craig's list? In my opinion, bargain shopping for a hit man is like bargain shopping for eye surgery, just not worth the risk. The price point should have been her first clue that things would not go well. I don't know the going rate, but I would think that a top-rate killer, who can get the job done AND keep his mouth shut, would charge at least $10,000.

Now, I'm not saying her husband didn't deserve it because I don't know. More information is coming out about him and he's not so squeaky clean either. He did a couple of years in prison for Grand Theft and Organized Fraud. Right now, his lawyers are saying there is no connection between the hit and his priors, but it certainly makes me wonder.

I have been married over 30 years and I can honestly say I've never thought about putting out a contract on my mate. There are times he makes me feel passionately in love, just in love, in like, lukewarm, indifferent, ticked-off, thinking about how nice it would be to show him the door, wanting to send him to the moon, and then back to passionate again. Sometimes my emotions can range through these levels in a matter of hours. I'm sure that R feels the same way about me.

Really, what would it take for you to send out a hitter on your mate and what is the going rate these days? Holy Moley, I know we're in a recession but, she paid four grand and is surprised when her stair-stepping buns get hauled to jail? Nice try Boynton Beach Babe.

The Dog and the Robins

Miss B. B. La La


This is our B. B. girl. The B. B. stands for Butter Butt. We named her this because when she was a pup, she was the same color as butter and sugar when you cream them together. She is one of the sweetest dogs on this planet. The woman who pawned this fluffy snowball of a home-needing pup on us nine years ago, told us she thought she would be sweet because her mother was sweet. She also told us that the cream colored pup was a Chow-Australian Shepherd crossbreed. At least, she said, she knew for sure her mom was a Chow.

As B. B. grew, we didn't see either breed in her. Finally, we asked the pup's donor if she had a photo of the B. B.'s mama. Well, upon inspection of the photograph, the mother looked like she probably was part Chow. She certainly was furry enough. But Australian Shepard? Not a chance.
A few months earlier, the last of our other dogs, Jennifer, an actual Australian Shepherd, had crossed the Rainbow Bridge leading to dogie heaven. My husband's mother was in the hospital, very ill and not expected to live. We were sitting the bedside vigil, taking care of her affairs, and hosting visiting relatives. The last thing we needed to take on was a puppy. But who ever said that death leads one along the rational path.

Now, I hadn't told my husband I was bringing a puppy home because I didn't know that I was. The pup's donor just appeared at the doctor's office where I worked one Friday. She was a patient and knew we had just lost a dog. She walked up to me with this white puff of a pup and, despite my protestations, put her in my arms. That was that. I was taking the pup home with me.

I had to give a massage and had no choice but to take her in session with me. I set her on the floor. She cried non-stop. God Bless my dog loving patient who eventually, probably wanting peace and quiet, asked to hold the little whiner while I finished her massage. Within minutes, they were both asleep.

The day B. B. came to our house to live, I remember my visiting brother-in-law walking in the front door of our house. Upon seeing her, he asked what she was doing here. I told him that she would be living with us. He gave me the evil eye. Opposite of my brother-in-law, who questioned the canine's presence with raised brows, my husband said, oh, look! There's a puppy! He bent over, scooped her small body up and wrapped his great big arms around her. B. B. was accepted then and there. Immediately.

Did I mention how much I love my husband? He accepts every homeless critter I bring home with no more than a roll of his eyes. He rolls with me as well as on me. What more can you ask of a man. Out of all that sadness and sorrow of life's passing, we found new life. New hope. We found a bouncing, peeing, pooping reminder that life goes on.

She soon grew out of her gangly puppy stage to fluid dogdom. Now, B. B.'s sweetness is in direct proportion to her dimness. B. B. is not particularly gifted with intelligence quotient, IQ. We didn't realize it at first, but as we acquired other dogs forming our new pack, it became exceedingly clear. Don't get me wrong, I am not disparaging her lack of neurosynaptic activity. In fact, it is a trait for which we have come to have an affinity. A simple-minded dog is an easy dog to handle.

Nothing pointed that out more than when we got the black dog, Maaco the Crazed, pictured in the above header photo. That dog is SMART. Too flippin' smart. We have to have triple latched gates because he learned how to open one latch and then a second. So, up went number three. He figured out how to open doors with regular knobs by using his mouth. He slides the latch on his crate with his tongue and then flips it up. The list goes on, and on, and on, and on. In our book:

Dumb dogs = Easy.
Smart dogs = Pain in the Arse.

Miss B.B. La La is EASY. She also exudes as much fur as she does sweetness. A lot! At this time of year, with the seasons changing, spring is causing hair to abandon her body...in handfuls. She is fully blowing her coat. Wispy handfuls on the floor that move everywhere with movements and vernal breezes. We vacuum every day because of Miss La La.

Every year it is the same thing. Her free falling fur is so soft and abundant that I always thought it a shame there is nothing to use it for. A friend of mine, who has lots of different kinds of animals, learned how to spin and was actually spinning her animals hair into yarn for fabric weaving. We aren't that industrious. We just suck it up with the vacuum. Often.

A few years ago, we started noticing that, during April and May, the Robins would build nests under my next door neighbor's patio cover. They would leave Marvin's yard and fly over to our yard to collect bits of dried grass and mud. They would fly back across the fence with their treasures. One morning while looking out our kitchen window, we noticed a mama Robin swoop down and, with excited quickness, pick up something special in her beak. On the flight back to Marvin's, she stopped to rest atop the fence and proudly displayed her find. It was a nice, creamy, soft tuft of B.B. fur. During these months, the Robins collect her hair to soften the twigs of their babies nest. It has become an annual spring play to which we look forward to seeing.



Photo: froggirl030 Photobucket.com

If you ever had a chance to just sit and rub one of B. B.'s ears between your fingers, you'd know how softly the little nestlings will be swaddled in her fur. The sensation is calming...soothing...protecting. It is comforting to know that Mother Earth's Recycling Center never wastes one of her creations, no matter how insignificant it seems to us.

She completely utilizes every thing she makes down to the most minute detail. Her leaves that drop to the ground from the trees in the fall of the year, break down and become fertilizer for the soil. Her dinosaurs, buried en masse eons ago, become oil oozing tar pits of future petrol. Monogamous crows take the scavenged carcasses of carrion, hydrate them with water and return them to their nesting females for sustenance, water, and perpetuation of their species. I can not think of one thing the Mother creates for which she doesn't have some future purpose.

While Randy and I view all of B. B.'s discharged and fallen hair with dismay and janitorial resignation, the Mother sees the tufts as royal cocoons for the fledgling Robin babes. Sweet Life. Sweet Love. The sweet, absolute divine architecture of the Mother reigns supreme. All Hail the Mother, we have so much to learn.

Happy, Happy First of May!

Happy, Happy first of May.

Outdoor f***ing starts today!

I first heard this verse a number of years ago from my friend, Jeanne. This celebration was a family tradition passed down to her from her mother, aunts, and older cousins. Her complete story can be found here. As I recall, one of her aunts, who wouldn't say shite if her mouth was full of it, had no problemo spouting this happy jingle. Heck, I'm not even sure that all of them even "Did It" but it didn't stop the merriness. Wasn't there a sistah who was a spinstah? Now, I might have hallucinated that part and will have to confirm with a fact check.

But who did they first get it from? No one seems to know. How far back in the family lineage does it extend? No one seems to know. Every year on the first of May, these Irish Catholic women would send May cards to each other. They would call each other and laugh their private little laughs. Their secret day, it seems, was a joyous occasion leaving all the young ones to wonder what was so funny. Jeanne witnessed this secret ritual for years before she grew old enough to be initiated into this sacred rite. She told me. I told everyone I knew. Now I'm telling you this bit of wisdom so it can continue being passed down through the matriarchal line.

May Day is a Celtic holiday marking the waxing of the bright time of the year. The next holiday is the Summer Solstice from which, being the zenith of the light, the year begins to wane. May Day is also know as Beltane. Beltane means "brilliant fires" or "fires of the Bel" after the God Belenus. On Beltane, or May eve, two bonfires were lit from nine different kinds of wood and people and domestic animals passed between the two fires to eliminate disease and misfortune.

With all that is going on with the Swine flu right now, perhaps today would be an excellent day to resurrect this idea. As this was a time before electricity, brands were lit from the bonfires. These, in turn, were used to light fires throughout the village. Long ago, the Pagan festivals at Beltane included dancing around the May Pole, singing, and sexuality. And the party went on "All Night Long." I believe this to be the origin of Lionel Richie's song.

The mass conversion of Pagans, along with their rites and rituals, to Christianity was not always peaceful. The natives were subject to political and military campaigns, laws, demonization of their gods, and threats of torture and death in the name of enforcing Christian belief. After a while, the Church sanctioned the existence of Pagan ideals in the belief that conversion was easier if the rituals were left intact but presented as worshiping the Christian God. It was intended that indigenous people would continue to practice their traditions but the reasons why would be forgotten in time. Seems insidious to me but I guess insidiousness was what the conversion was all about. I mean, how many people are really aware of the many calendars in existence other than the Gregorian Calendar? Few, I think.

Although most early records of May Day are benign and vanilla, they almost always mention 'going-a-maying' or 'bringing in the may.' This referred to going out and gathering greenery to decorate houses and public buildings to welcome the season. Around the mid 13th century, there were derogatory writings about priests playing maying games. Apparently the clergy was not so different then than it is today. But the celebrations were widely accepted, being participated in by religious and political leaders as well as royalty. There is even record of funds being appropriated from public and church coffers to help cover the costs of the celebrations.

Ancient writings tell of young men and maidens, old men and wives wandering around the hills, woods, groves and mountains all through the night. Shucks, the good times probably also included maiden and maiden, merry man and merry man. Making merry, making love, and kissing on the green grass of spring was the order of the day. In fact the term "green gown" was a metaphor for what young girls got from lying on the grass with their lovers.

Amour-wise, it was a busy time of year. Makes me wonder about all the little love bugs that were probably conceived on this day. Let's see, you count back three months. Okay, it's May. So, April... March...February...!!! Holy Green Gown! I WAS born in February. On the first, to be exact. Oh, Momma. Oh, Papa. It all becomes clear now. I was the result of a 'going-a-maying' tryst! Guess I can't blame you...or Rio. And somewhere, I believe I read that in latter years, May 1st also became a day associated with honoring laborers. Again, an epiphany for me. Labor most certainly follows nine months of pregnancy. There is such synchronicity in the world isn't there? I am always amazed!

All kidding aside, love and passion "peak" at this time of year. The chasteness of the young maid has given way to the fiery sexuality of a woman. A woman free to experiment and taste delights, heretofore, untried. To all of my sistahs:

Happy, Happy first of May.

You know what starts today.

Carpe Someone! Carpe Diem!

My 50 Years of Friendship with Barbara

Barbara: 1950 Graduation Photo



My mother's birthday was Sunday, April 5. She would have been 76 years old with nearly a full head of brown hair. She died on Friday, September 7, 2007. Although we tried to stop it, she drifted away from us into the lost land of Alzheimer's. A short time after she crossed over, her best friend, Millie, sent myself and my brother and sister, Mark and Tami, a copy of this letter. I have edited the original only to make it cohesive for those who don't know our family.

My 50 Years of Friendship with Barbara

I first met Barbara in November of 1956 at a little restaurant called The Shack. It was a trailer that had been remodeled into a cafe with six stools and two booths. Bill and Reva Lakmann had purchased it that same year. Many years later, I married Bill after Reva's death. It was a family business and their sons worked after school doing prep work. A few others, including Barbara, worked the day and evening shifts.

In 1959, the City of Redding decided that they would not renew the business license as the trailer was not up to code. It was moved off the property and a new, larger building, with two rooms seating up to 60 people, was built. Barbara started working the night shift which started at 5:30 p.m. Barb always seemed to arrive late and by that time, The Shack would be busy with the dinner crowd. Bill would always be waiting and looking at the clock. At 5:40 or 5:45, brakes would squeal, a car door would slam, and Bill would say, "Barbara's here!" I worked some evenings with her but when the breakfast girl quit, I started working the a.m. shift. I missed working with Barb. But on my days off, I would go up at night, help her close and catch up on all the news.

In 1969, customers kept asking Bill when he was going to enlarge again and put in a lounge. On October 12, 1969, The Shack Lounge was officially opened and there was standing room only for three hours. It took off. It never stopped being a very popular "watering hole" for many.

The Shack became known for its famous Broasted Chicken and The Shackburger. It was a good place to work and employees stayed on the job for many years. Mark, Barbara's son, was also a cook there. There were customers from out of town and state that would always stop in to eat and visit with the waitresses, namely, Barbara. So many of them would wait to sit on her station. George Kutras came in every morning for breakfast and would only sit in Barbara's station, no matter how long he had to wait. There were so many others, it would take pages to name them all. She brought in so much business for The Shack and was a favorite with all. We worked there for 37 years.

The year 1977, brought a big change in our lives. Bill passed away in February and Bud, Barbara's husband, in August. There were so many similarities with our lives. She had four grandsons. I had four grandsons. Then, a few years later, she got her little girl, Kerriann. Mark went to Korea and brought her home. Barb was in seventh heaven. I never caught up with her on that one. I didn't get any little girls. Our mother's both passed away within a few months of each other. My mom in March and hers, Wilma, in July.

We had so much fun with our trips to Reno, Las Vegas, Hawaii and Stockton to visit with Barb's sister-in-law and her husband. When going to Reno, Barb would drive as far as Susanville and I would take it on into Reno. She didn't like driving in the cities.

She got me interested in doing ceramics and we spent many years making them. Barb was so talented and artistic. She went on to do so many beautiful stained glass pieces. She made beautiful windows for the front doors of Mark and Ronda's homes. And one year she made 12 hanging lamps and gave them as Christmas gifts.

In November of 1993, a friend, Tom Parker, called Barbara and I and said he knew of a good deal for us to get into. We were both a little leery of Tom's "good deals." He knew of a little restaurant in Anderson that was open only on weekends while the Jolly Giant Flea Market was open. We were both ready to leave the Shack. It was no fun working there anymore and business had dropped off. Bill's sons had to sell it in 1985 and the new owner was hard to work for. So, we took the big step and signed the papers on November 23, 1993. We opened for business at 6:00 a.m. on December 4, 1993. Barbara kept her job at The Shack until the 7Th of January 1994. She said she wanted to stay until then so Sue, the owner, would have to pay her the big Christmas bonus of $50. I had quit in December--no bonus for me!!!

Our business took off. I did the cooking and Barb took the orders and cashiered. We had lots of fun and soon needed some help. Mark came down and cooked for us sometimes and Tami's son, Jacob, worked for us too. We never got rich, but we never lost money either. In December 1994, we decided to get out of it and sold it to a customer. Barb missed having her weekends off and my mother, who was 97, needed more care. It was the right thing to do. We would have more time to play.

When we both left The Shack, Sue's remark to one of the customers was, "Now that Barbara and Millie are no longer here, maybe people will realize I'm the one that owns The Shack and not them." We got a good laugh out of that. We never knew we were so popular.

My memories of our Saturday night in December every year to bake our 32 fruitcakes and make 32 pecan rolls are ones I will always cherish. We both loved to bake. Four or five hours later, we would be all through--tired but happy. I still have many of her hand written recipes that I continue to bake but miss her being there doing it with me.

Barbara was more than just my friend--more like a sister. We watched each other's children grow up, get married and start their own families. I remember helping Barb with Ronda's beautiful backyard wedding with the sun shining brightly in our eyes. Even Bill came to the wedding, because it was Barb's family and he thought so much of her. He never did that for anyone else.

In all of our 50 years of friendship and all of the trips we took together, we never had an argument. We were too busy enjoying ourselves. I have so many good and fond memories too numerous to mention. I will always be thankful I was one of the very fortunate ones to have a friend like Barbara. I believe very few are so lucky.

Even when her illness was beginning and she had to give up driving, we still went out every Saturday for lunch. Her favorite was Applebee's Oriental Chicken Salad. I would pick her up and Tami and Brandon would always be there. Brandon usually doing some yard work and Tami, things in the house.

Weren't we all lucky to have her for a FRIEND, MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER?

Barb, we'll have a lot to talk about, dear friend, when we get together again. In the meantime, know that I love you and all our good times. Neither you, nor they will ever be forgotten.

Millie


Millie at mom's memorial service

Millie became a great grandmother at the beginning of 2008 and mom, if she had lived, would have been one in September of 2008. How many of us have been blessed in having such a wonderful friendship for 50 years? How many of us will find a friend whose life parallels ours so closely? How many of us can say that we found a friend to love and share with so fully and freely? How many of you have a friend like that in your life?

Sometimes the soul mate we yearn to find is right before us and not, by necessity, of the opposite gender. A soul mate is not necessarily a mate. Thank you Millie.



Happy Birthday, Mom. We love and miss you.

Every Shoe Deserves a Mate

Sherry-Ann_photos Photobucket.com

Every Shoe Deserves a Mate

LOVE, the greatest joy of all, often feels just outside our reach. We spend countless hours looking for, and talking about, the qualities of our ideal mate, our soul mate. Our heart yearns for another with whom to share our lives, to make us feel whole. We use technology, the Internet and e-harmony, in its pursuit. We long for a healthy, nurturing relationship. All too frequently, we enter into a relationship and initially, like a comfortable pair of shoes, it feels so good! As we walk down Hookup Highway, the shine of new dulls with dust and the chaffing blisters of complicated begin. Often, over time, the shoe no longer fits.

Being human, we look outside of ourselves for confirmation of our worth. Many of us get tangled in unhealthy relationships. Even in good relationships, there can be unhealthy times. We don't know how to be with ourselves let alone with another. We never learned. There are very few instructors teaching self rapport.

Our confusion starts early, when we are young. During our pubescent, salad days, our hormones, becoming active, carry all kinds of erotic messages through out our body. Suddenly, our structure is different. We feel warm tingles in new places. Our brain gets strange signals and reason is, often, unreasonable. For years we've been comfortable in tennis shoes, but now, WOW, trading up to that pair of high tops or high heels sounds salacious. We are in love!

Audballer-Photobucket.com

At least, we believe we are in love. But there is a difference between attraction, desire and love. If we have not been taught the difference, life can be as precarious as a tiara on a skater's head. If we have never learned how to go inside ourselves to find our own richness, we may unwrap many Wonka bars looking for the Golden Ticket. And so, we go from relationship to relationship to relationship looking for fulfilment. We feel so blessed and extraordinary when we find that special someone. But if we are not whole and healed, we will fill our relationship with all of our old, composted beliefs. If we have not cleared the toxic relationships we've had with our mother and father, we may attract mates with those same qualities. An overbearing critic, a domineering dictator or a nagging shrew may be in our future.

Even if you are on spiritual path, the relationship may not be wonderful. Say you are quietly meditating. In the quiet purity of your mind, your soul, in expansion, comes to give you a fleeting tease of eternity. If your lover is with you, you are in conflict with this being and your soul. The moment dissolves. It doesn't work. Even if both are on the same path, there is still conflict. One aspires when the other doesn't.

So, become enlightened first and be in a relationship second. It is much easier! Being enlightened simply means operating from a place of high vibration, a state of lightness and positivity. When we are enlightened, we know that we are here to serve humanity. Otherwise, the tug-of-war can continue. Why are you looking at her and not at me? You say you love me, but why won't you tell me you love me? If you loved me, you wouldn't... (fill in the blank). If you loved me, you would...(fill in the blank). This is the contention of relationship most of the time.

Enjoy your time with you. Dare to be who you are! Establish a relationship with yourself whether you have a mate or not. Learn how YOU act and behave in certain circumstances. When a relationship problem arises, it will be much easier to sort out.

So, this Valentine's Day take time to, not only celebrate your lover, if you have one, celebrate yourself too. Buy yourself a rose. Treat yourself to a scrumptious chocolate truffle. Savor a fine glass of wine or a rare tea. Treat yourself to a massage. Enjoy the splendor of the sunset with your soul.

After all, every shoe deserves a mate.

_Beautiful_Disaster_16 Photobucket.com