Men are from...

We went on a bike ride this early Spring weekend- the first hint of the summer to come. Warm days sprinkled with the scent of blossom- mmm....
A bike ride was in order to stir the blood after a winter's stillness. Our wheels of torture came out storage: I brushed my seat off with my palm and declared mine ready! My husband cannot do that. He cannot simply ride. First the air compressor was assembled and cleaned then our tires were checked. Oil and gears and wrenches and adjustments...
I went back into the house to get myself ready. Not to warm up the muscles, mind you... I took a long shower and shaved the accumulation of winter hair, clogging the drain. I softened my skin and scented it with freesia. A spring sweet blouse with strawberries, princess pouf sleeves and a brocade ribbon on the left shoulder blade was brought out: complimenting my petal pushers. I painted my toenails to match and found the perfect sandal. I came downstairs ready to decorate my bicycle with pansies from the garden.
"I thought we were biking!!" My husband's astonishment at seeing my efforts.
He was in ninja mode: full bike gear, helmut, mirrors, emergency kit, back up water, and locks.

We rode seven miles on the B&A trail: paved and suburban. It was as pleasant a day as anyone wanted and our styles may have looked opposite from afar, but from within and around the last twenty years we have managed to meld these styles into a freedom of no hands on the wheel and will continue to blend this mismatch until we die.

All she ever wanted

When I am anything less than happy I like to think that being alive, american, caucasian, & healthy are just about as good as it's gonna get so sit down and smile. This big world is so awful for so many so readjust your perspective and find gratefulness.
That does it everytime.

Lucky

When you are lucky enough, there are people who come your way that add depth and excitement and this will make you happy. We all, each of us every one, are in touch with humans throughout a spectrum but: when you are lucky enough there comes along a person and you want to spend all your ideas on them.
When I first became lucky it was not like infatuation, but I did think about them all day long and consider their opinion as I moved about my world. I wanted to learn more about the things they knew and thought up ways to make myself more interesting to them.
Then I settled down and settled in...
The best friend to be was the best me, and I could enter their realm quite satisfactorily without effort and the language that flowed was much more beautiful.
I am so very lucky to have a friend in you and look forward to all the regions we will travel together. I value our oneness.

First comes love, then comes marriage....

"I've never raised anything" I told him, so he let me have the puppy. A token perhaps, for the hand I provided in rearing his two sons.
So now I have Winslow, several books, and my first roll of paper towels in years. Such an innocent beginning for all of us. My border collie- Spot- was patient and playful. We layed on the floor and tossed, tugged, & toyed with a puppy that now ruled every room in the house. His ears smelled like cinnamon to me and the endearing habit of hiding his nose in any armpit, crotch, or knee fold made me feel motherly. "Awwww... puppy, snuggle on in here." Exuberantly, he ran toward any voice that called and instantly became the licking happiness that everybody loves. Simply adorable.
Winslow's beauty still illicits more comments than my sometimes shy self cares to respond to, and he still rules most rooms, but I have learned that raising something does not complete a person and that a puppy, no matter how incredibly cute, needs a firm momma first- and a ear scratching second. Hard to do when those eyes are glad you're home again...

Vein of My Existence
Sun shoots throughstark naked branches.The criss-crossed shadows explode below like swollen and varicosed veins painting the road.The path ahead of me is bloodshot at best.

by Anne Cunnigham

My Funny Valentine

When we were getting to know each other and first falling into the love of things we were quite poor. Our activities circled around one another and the small world of our tropical apartment. My lover made gifts to me of music. He would tenderly clean the album with just the right brush, adjust the stereo needle, careful place all the equipment in line, then proudly snuggle up for his reward for giving me such a beautiful gift. His most flourished display came on Valentine's Day when he played My Funny Valentine. Twenty years later we still wink across a crowded room when the song softly- barely audible- comes across speakers no longer his own and instantly makes us younger, hotter, and for that moment- alone in a tropical apartment kissing for only the one hundreth time.
For his birthday I am learning My Funny Valentine on my trumpet. This time I will play the music for him: coming from within my heart to his ears and on down, I hope, to that tender heart of my lover and my friend: my husband Jose.