LOVE: February 14, 2018
Love is cracking open a new book I’ve been dying to read.
Love is that first sip of morning coffee.
Love is a new fountain pen.
Love is my writing group.
Love is my book group.
Love is my Pilates studio.
Love is old Looney Tunes cartoons, particularly watching Pepe Le Pew corner that cat and declare his l’amour for her.
Love is a glowing fire on a freezing winter night.
Love is the warm air of a Richmond summer.
Love is sleep, particularly the uninterrupted kind.
Love is a handwritten letter.
Love is honesty, and the friend who can speak it.
Love is putting a fresh coat of paint on a tired wall.
Love is the ability to help.
Love is being on my patio with my sister.
Love is pink roses.
Love is champagne.
Love is an afternoon nap in the sun room, cat curled up in the bend of my knees.
Love is writing.
Love is having my writing published in the Nine Lives: Life in 10 Minutes Anthology.
Love is a deep massage to release jacked-up shoulders.
Love is an organized desk. Or closet. Or anything, really.
Love is late morning “coffee” with Mike.
Love is any movie adaptation of any Jane Austin novel.
Love is music.
Love is Ian playing music.
Love is peanut butter.
Love is Halloween.
Love is purple.
Love is in the quilts on our beds made by my sister’s hands.
Love is being forgiven.
Love is forgiving myself.
Love is my friends.
Love is the family I have.
Love is the family I have made with Mike and Ian.
I was born in Oswego, NY,
"I had always wanted to be a writer, but was impeded by the belief that to be a writer one had to be extraordinary, and I knew I wasn't. By the time I was ready to give up my academic career I had realized that while books are extraordinary, writers themselves are no more or less special than anyone else." The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield