Are you a hugger or a non-hugger?
I am a hugger, a squeezer…BUT…only if I like and know someone. I can’t stand it when strangers try to hug me. That’s when I stiffen up and I show my disapproval with every bone in my body.
Tag: <span>Love</span>
I just spend a few hours in my kitchen preparing food for our annual Thanksgiving feast tomorrow. Our fridge is full; there is not an inch of space left on the shelves. The vegetable drawers and the door spaces are filled up and overflowing with food and beverages.
All it takes is one person to make a difference. This video is going viral and I would love to share it with everybody, who is following my blog.
“What makes you feel loved” that is this weeks writing challenge at Impromptu Promptlings and I thought about it last night.
Aren’t all men romantic? Aren’t they supposed to sweep us of our feet and lay us down on a bed of rose paddles, in a room with flickering candles while soft, romantic music is playing in the background?
My husband came home and he looked exhausted. “I just spend 30 minutes in the drugstore looking for a cheap lipstick and they gave me Hell,” he said and I laughed; we sat down and he told me the story.
One day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
My first crush, oh my Gosh I remember it so well. I came home and I was mad. An older boy had pushed me and when I got up complaining about it, he had pushed me again. We were working in the fields and I didn’t stop talking about it.
A good of friend of mine passed away recently. She was 95 1/2 years old and it wasn’t unexpected, but still death left a mark once again. I met her when she was in her late 80’s and fell instantly in love with the little, stubborn, old Lady, who became our neighbor.
I am happily married to 98% of the time. I love my husband dearly, he is my best friend and the nail to my coffin :-). However, there are days, when I want to whack him the frying pan and I assume he feels the same way. There are days, when we seem to talk two different languages. It took me 30+ years of marriage, but I finally found the answer: