St. Valentine was Gay

Dear Mars, Incorporated,

I love your chocolates. I love that you so thoughtfully hide a secret message inside each delectable morsel.

"Dance to your heartbeat."

"The best things in life are chocolate."

"Express what's in your heart."

I've come to rely on these hidden gems, these pearls of wisdom. When I reach for a Dove chocolate, I know I am going to feel better even before I pop the delicious candy into my mouth. I know I am going to be uplifted, inspired. It touches me that someone somewhere truly understands me.

So you can imagine my surprise when I opened my Dove chocolate this evening and read my special message with eager anticipation - "Be your own valentine."

Are you married, sir? Do you have someone special to spend each Valentine's Day with? Cuz I'm thinking only a pea brain whose physical and emotional needs are already being met would tell someone who is alone to be their own valentine.

Think about it. If you don't have someone special with whom to spend that lovely occasion, then do you really need a fucking reminder that you can always be with just yourself???

For chrissake, moron, how is spending this special holiday alone with myself an accomplishment of the goal of that special day?? Are you truly so stupid that you think taking myself out to a romantic dinner and buying myself flowers and chocolates is some sort of consolation??????

I'd like to meet the person who came up with that little pearl of wisdom. I'd like to take a fistful of these emotional choco-bombs and shove them down that person's throat.

Do a little quality control, sir, for crying out loud.

Sincerely yours,

King of the Beasts

Ever wonder how a lion manages to catch what is one of the fastest animals on earth? Average speed for a mid-sized gazelle - 50 miles per hour. Clearly, the lion has mad skills.

They truly are King of the Beasts.

You are driving too fast if...

This pic reminds me of one of this past year’s funniest moments – the day Jody’s driving scared the shit out of Sable.



A little history - Sable doesn’t do well in a car; she must have her back up against something. So, we bought her a HUGE kennel, it took up nearly half the Subaru wagon-bed; the kennel was doggie-condo sized, and I believe Sable was way happy in it…until that fateful day.

Pooka, who’d been with us for 5 or so months and had pooped and peed in my house nearly every single day of that time, had no such problems in a car. Granted, she would eat anything she could get her mouth around; but, strangely, she wouldn't poop or pee in the car.

We were several days into The Best Roadtrip Ever, traveling from Washington to SoCal via Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), Jody insisting on driving the entire way. Sable-The-Perfect-Dog was in her crate and Pooka-The-I-Will-Shit-And-Pee-Whenever-The-Hell-I-Feel-Like-It-Not-So-Perfect-Dog was in the very back.

Jody is not a slow driver. She is also not a fast driver. She is a super-sonic, high-speed, lightning bolt, gazillion miles an hour driver.

PCH is nothing but curves. Many of them hairpin curves. Being in the car with Jody as she drives down PCH is like riding the Mulholland Roller Coaster at California Adventure.

So, no big surprise when there was sudden effluvium. Sable does on occasion have gaseous emissions, but dogs can’t really yell “SAFETY!” Expecting nothing more than a little sway-related flatulence, we rolled down the window and continued on our merry roller-coaster-ride-from-Hell way.

The incoming air, however, did little to relieve our olfactory senses, and Sable was looking extremely upset, so we pulled over…

Turned out to be a little more than flatulence. Jody had literally scared the shit out of Sable-The-Perfect-Dog.

So, there on PCH, we leashed the dogs to the side of the road and, while Jody cleaned out the kennel, I…had to…wipe…Sable’s…butt.

And I swear to you, Pooka looked at us and said in crystal clear English, “I shit in the house and you beat the crap out of me! Sable poops and you fucking wipe her ass?? What the hell??

In The Beginning...

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth; and the earth was without form and empty, and darkness on the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was brooding on the face of the waters.

Then God said, let there be light, water, land, brussel sprouts and an apple tree. And lastly, before everything went to hell in a handbasket, God said, "Let us make man."

(I don't know who God was talking to when he said "Let US..." but, why the hell didn't that other omniscient being say, "Um, could we talk about this first?)

So God created Adam. And then, because Adam was such a huge crybaby about being lonely, God took a rib from Adam's side and made it into Eve, and gave her to Adam.

(I personally would have just whacked Adam over the head with the rib and said, "Cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it." Then I would have shoved the rib up Adam's a...)

And Adam, being full of good manners, thanked God. Then Adam, also being a male chauvinist pig, turned to Eve and said, "Woman, suck my dick."

And Eve did, because women were subjugated at that time, not yet having the courage to burn their bras or even the common sense to invent them. And Adam came, and Eve swallowed...and then she puked. All over Adam.

And strangely, this turned Adam on.

Or so I was told last night. By one of the Adams.

Now, likely everyone in the world knows about this fetish. I did not. I wish I still did not. I was able to handle Golden Showers (the hearing of it, not the doing). But it's called Golden Showers. It sounds so exotic, so...fourth of July-ish! Of course, one can't read about Golden Showers without also picking up that there is a similar fetish, one of defecating on the other person. That one doesn't really remind me of pretty fireworks, not so much.

But vomit?? This is soooooo a guy thing. This one is definitely about vulnerability and dominance. We are completely and utterly helpless when we are puking. We are chagrined, full of a sense of our own weakness, disgusted with ourselves and sure everyone else is, too.

And I know a thing or two about women - we are a fastidious lot. We perfected the art of ablutions. Our own vomit embarrasses us; other people's vomit makes us go, "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" There are, of course, those odd occasions when Vicky must allow another woman to puke down the front of her skirt and sweater rather than let go of the poor woman and watch her fall on her face. I promise, though, I was not in the least bit turned on by that.

And, that was a different dynamic altogether! I can guarantee you that, if Adam had thrown up on Eve after cunnilingus, Eve would have ripped the spare rib out of her own chest and beat Adam to death.

Oh, that gives me an idea for next Wednesday's pool night!

These are a Few of My Favorite Things

I love my house. It isn't big, it isn't fancy, but it is nestled in a grove of evergreens and desiduous trees that always, always present an amazing view when I look out my kitchen or bedroom window.

I am looking out my kitchen window now. The tree-lined drive is hung with tendrils of fog; the sun is not yet high enough to penetrate the canopy and melt the fog from the ground up. And so the shrouded veil hangs four feet off the ground, turning the evergreens ever-light-green.

Sable is standing, jet-black and full of morning alertness; she is watching for the bunnies that have taken to taunting her in the a.m. She is sure she will catch them this time.

I wonder if this year's crop of bunnies are offspring of the-one-that-isn't-afraid. The one that, when I put my hand on the ground, walked straight into it! All 3 inches of bunny fur, curled in the palm of my hand. I have bunnies on my property, and quail and deer and mockingbirds. Even the mockingbird isn't afraid of Sable.

I stand at my kitchen window and watch as Sable protects me and mine. I slowly sip the most excellent cup of coffee I've made, Kona coffee, a gift from Linda and Gerry from their trip to Hawaii earlier this year. God, how very much I missed them when they were gone...

I turn the cup to read the reflection cast onto it's glossy side. I remember the day Jody and I painted these mugs - her saucer has scribbled nonsense on it, nonsense until you read it's reflection on the cup..."Dream." Scribbled on my saucer, the word "Revive." I have such fun with Jody, such fun.

And there he is, my friend Del Sol. The fog has lifted, the dew sparkles on the tips of ferns and blades of grass. The day has begun.

I love my life.

Was it as good for you as it was for me?

Fearless Leader:

Dear Comrades,

Great job showing up last week. I just wanted to remind you that this week we have a “bye” week. That means our team does not play. Therefore, your attendance is strictly optional. This is great for those of us who actually have better things to do with our lives… like taking out one of your mistresses for an early Valentines to avoid conflict with the girlfriend and/or wife.

However, I do encourage you to show up, mingle and flirt. I might not make it by 6pm but I’ll definitely make an appearance because I am devoted to this team and each and every single one of you. I love you guys.

Happy Valentines,
Your Fearless Leader

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Me:

Um…what the ****? What happened to “I’ll definitely make an appearance because I am devoted to this team and each and every single one of you. I love you guys.” I SAT BY MYSELF FOR TWO FRIKKIN’ HOURS! Where were you guys? WHERE WERE YOU, FEARLESS LEADER!!!???

Do you know how embarrassing it was to have everyone in the bar tell me “Didn’t you know your team has a bye?”
Do you know what it did to my fragile state of mind to sit at a table a-l-o-n-e while some guy I’ve never met kept whispering in my ear, and another guy I’d never met talked about LICKING ME???? FOR CHRISSAKES, A STRANGER ASKED IF HE COULD LICK ME!!!!!!!
DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DRINKS IT TOOK TO CALM ME DOWN???

Ok, that last one was a rhetorical question – it always only takes one drink to get me to any desired state of mind. :-) :-) :-)

In any case, Amy did finally show up AFTER TWO FREAKIN’ HOURS; none of the rest of you did and I’m a tad miffed! You guys are in such trouble. And don’t give me any crap about you had a bug to fix!!! You each owe me one drink…

I prefer blue. And Adam, no red-headed sluts, although there were a couple there last night…

(PS – I’m taking a poll; on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being “not bitchy at all” and 10 being “the bitchiest bitch in the world”, how bitchy was that? Linda says I need to be more bitchy, so I’m trying it out on you…)

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Fellow Teammate:

I don’t know if I would call it bitchy, I personally got much entertainment value out of reading your email. But that is probably because I have a sick sense of humor. But look on the brightside, you got tons of attention from males. Who doesn’t like getting attention from the opposite sex? (or same sex if you’re Goodbar :-P jk)

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Me:

HE WAS 90 YEARS OLD!!!! And, to make it worse, he had a pacemaker AND HE MADE ME TOUCH IT!!!!

I am DEAD serious, before I could stop him, he GRABBED my hand and put it just below his shoulder where there was something boxy clearly under the skin – EWWWW EWWWWW EWWWWW!!

And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, HE GAVE ME THE SHUTTLE NUMBER FOR THE PRIUS HE DRIVES…for MICROSOFT. HE WORKS FOR US!!!!!

I hate you. I hate all of you. Except Amy. But particularly FEARLESS LEADER, who led me down the primrose path with his promise to make an appearance. Hey, FEARLESS LEADER, were you by any chance dressed as a 90 YEAR OLD MAN WITH A PACEMAKER??? Nope, didn’t think so. Jerk. YOU owe me TWO drinks…

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Speaking of licking, where is the rest of that poor cat's face??? Someone is gonna have a huge furball in the morning...

Lick me, you fool

Life's Like This...With A Little Help From My Friends

Avril Lavigne has the right of it...

Uh huh, life's like this
Uh huh, uh huh, that's the way it is
Cause life's like this
Uh huh, uh huh that's the way it is

To my dear friends - thanks.

Judge Judy

One of my new team members just stopped into my office to tell me how very glad they are that I'm here. Three guesses as to what happened next, and the first two don't count...

When I was done crying, I went back to work.

What the hell is wrong with me??? Must everything make me cry these days?

The thing is, I thought I had regained my composure from the Judge Judy incident enough to blog about it. In fact, I was gonna blog about it today. Now I suspect that, if I do, I will be bawling all night long. Sigh...

Ok, deep breath, one, two, three, go...

I got a citation for driving with expired tabs. I was driving with expired tabs, so the citation was justly deserved, and I don't argue that at all. However, it was by accident. See, I've never registered my own car, never had to put tabs on it. That's always been done by "Someone-Other-Than-Me." But I've survived the Year of Becoming a Woman (2006), followed by the Year of Learning to Do Things Myself (2007). One of those things was renewing my tabs and then actually putting them on my car.

Of course, when the tabs magically appeared in the mail, I thought, "Hm, I don't recall renewing, but whatevs." And I then nervously applied them to the license plate of my car, feeling immensely proud of myself. "I'm a BIG girl now!" I said to me.

Yeah...no. They were Jody's tabs. As a result, Jody got cited for driving with expired tabs ($200 citation), then six months later I got cited for expired tabs (another $200 citation).

Oh, this begged to be explained. So, I elected to "plead my case." I was sent the paperwork to do so in writing, if I preferred, and a court date, if I wanted to do so in person. Not a freakin' chance, I thought. Writing it is. Except I never wrote out the explanation and mailed it, so I was left with no option but to go to court or a warrant would be issued against me.

"Fine," I thought. "Just how bad can going to court be?" The answer is bad. Really, really bad. Especially if you have social anxieties and get assigned the Judge-From-Hell.

I sucked it up. I went to court. I sat in the back hands folded neatly in my lap and breathing calmly. The judge came in. She looked nice. She talked about mitigating (explaining extenuating circumstances) and transferance (electing to pay a flat $100 and the charges will drop off the records if no other infractions occur in a year). I'm reasonably confident she will reduce my charges when she hears my story, so I determine to mitigate when it is my turn.

She calls the first name. No one responds. She calls the second name. No one responds. She calls the third name a bit snappishly, and a woman stands and makes her trembling way to the front where the judge instructs her to sit and speak into a microphone. Huh? Our voices are gonna be broadcast to the entire room??? I feel a little vomit in the back of my throat.

The woman is there for the same reason as me. She explains that she went through a messy divorce and just fell behind on some things. The judge asks her if she has her current registration and the woman shakily replies, "No." The judge barks, "Well, why not? Is it in your car? GO GET IT!" I'm thinking, shit, my current registration is in my car. I can't leave, though, cuz she calls your name once AND THAT'S IT.

The woman races to her car. The judge calls another name. No one responds. The judge is not looking so nice now, she is looking a little like Queen of the Dragon Clan. There are little wisps of smoke coming out of her mouth as she barks another name.

A man this time. He says he doesn't doubt the officer who cited him for running a stop sign, but there was a car in front of him so he doesn't really see how he could have run the stop sign. His excuse sounds lame to me, and the judge is apparently of like mind, so she refused to reduce his fine, and he starts to speak and she says, "Mr. Blah, you are interrupting me, don't do it again." And he says "Ok," just as she starts to say something, and she says, "Did I not just tell you not to interupt me again? And you did it. Fines stand, you are dismissed."

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The first woman comes back in. The judge tells her to give the registration to the clerk. The clerk hands it to the judge. The judge reduces the woman's fine to $110 and calls another name. Another no show, and now she is pissed. There are flames and her eyes are glowing red.

She calls my name and I stand, willing myself to not throw up. I step into the aisle and start the long approach to the dragon lair. I have some strange sort of tunnel vision and I am certain she can see the sweat on my brow.

The door opens behind me and a little round woman barrels through and heads straight for the judge. The judge stops her in her tracks with a look and a growl, "WHO are YOU?" The woman replies in what vaguely resembles english. The judge asks her why she wasn't there earlier, tells her "I CALLED your NAME." The woman has no sense whatsoever of the danger she is in; in fact, she is bullishly making her way down the runway. The judge apparently desides the quickest way to get this obnoxious woman out of her court is to let her have her say. The woman sits down and tells the judge she didn't know, blah, blah, blah, and the judge looks straight at her with those glowing red eyes, and says, "Ma'am, I am reading here that this is the third time you have been cited for this infraction. The fine stands. You are dismissed." Then she belches a spurt of flame for good measure.

The woman stands and continues towards the judge and clerk, and the judge commands the woman, "MA'AM YOU WILL LEAVE THE COURTROOM IMMEDIATELY!" The judge then stands and says, "Court adjourned."

Huh, what?? But, but...

I stand and take a wobbly step forward. The red eyes fix on me. "Who are YOU?" she says. And if I hadn't been scared shitless, I might have replied, "Why I'm Dorothy Gale, from Kansas, and this is my dog, Toto." But I am scared shitless, so I open my mouth and squeak out my real name, and she barks "WHY DIDN'T YOU RESPOND WHEN I CALLED YOUR NAME???" I motion behind me at the door through which the woman came and say, "I did, but that woman walked in right then." "IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE SURE I AM AWARE YOU ARE HERE!" she growls.

So I do the only sensible thing and burst into tears. This sooooo does not please her. "MAAM, WHY ARE YOU CRYING. YOU ARE HERE FOR EXPIRED TABS. I SEE NO REASON FOR CRYING." This of course calms me immensely. NOT. I try to speak. I try to tell her that I've changed my mind, that I don't want to explain my circumstances. What comes out is something like "I ee wu ee awwwww!" "MA'AM, I CANNOT UNDERSTAND YOU. SPEAK UP! SIT DOWN! STOP CRYING!" And I reach wayyyyyyyyyyy into the depths of my soul and pull out every ounce of courage I possess and open my mouth and squeak, "I (sob) just (sob) want (sob) to (sob) pay (sob) my (sob) ticket." And "ticket" comes out about sixteen octaves higher than planned, which apparently really, really bothers a dragon's ears, and so she refuses to let me off the hook. "MA'AM, YOU CAME HERE TO EXPLAIN YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES. SIT DOWN AND TELL ME WHY YOU WERE DRIVING WITH EXPIRED TABS." I sit, I wipe my eyes and nose, I take a deep breath and I whisper into the microphone, "I put the tabs on the wrong car." And the effort of speaking those eight words completely and utterly exhausts me and I burst into a fresh bout of hysteria.

"DO YOU HAVE YOUR RENEWED REGISTRATION WITH YOU?" Oh, God. I am gonna be dragon-broiled steak now. I shake my head and mouth, "it's in my car." "GOOOOO GETTTTTT ITTTTT!" She booms. Dorothy had nothing on the speed at which I exit that courtroom. I sob all the way to my car. A little voice in my head says, get in and drive away, forget about the fucking ticket, jail cannot possibly be that bad.

I start pawing through my glove compartment. I cannot find the registration. I find two, but I can't tell which one is the current one. I see a date, 2007, I can't even remember when 2007 was. I have no idea what I am looking for, but I have found my voice. "Oh God, oh God, oh God." I grab everything that looks like a registration certificate and I scurry back to the courtroom and hand all of it to the clerk, who calmly extracts a single soggy sheet and hands it to the dragon. I sit down, I am now breathless and sobbing. I am praying I don't have to speak again, cuz I know I left my voice in the glove compartment.

The judge looks at me. "Ma'am," she says, "first I would like to apologize for barking at you." Huh, what? Wait! Where'd dragon-lady go? "I realize that you were indeed approaching the bench when I called your name. I also understand your anxiety, and barking at you clearly didn't help. I apologize.

In the future, if you should need to mitigate a ticket, I would encourage you to do so in writing. If you find you need to come down to the courtroom, let me know in advance and I will put you last on the docket and clear the courtroom so it is just you and me.

I see here that you've lived in this state for 27 years, with no such infractions in the past. I'm dropping the charges, you are free to go." I sit there. "Do you understand? I'm dropping all charges. You may leave."

And I leave. I am sure someone is going to come up behind me and tackle me to the ground and cuff me for trying to escape, but no one does and I make it to my car, and I somehow manage to put it into gear, and I drive with one hand while wiping the tears that are now flowing like a river down my face, and I pull into Starbucks thinking a latte will settle me down, and the woman at the drivethrough window gives me a coupon for a free latte cuz she sees I am traumatized, and I return to work and the maintenance guy offers to paint my wall blue, a calm, soothing blue.

And I call Jody and tell her I had my day in court and she asks me how it went and I say, "Not bad. Not bad at all!"

Jody

I have smart kids. I am certain it is because I insisted on eating chocolate throughout each of my pregnancies. Chocolate, especially dark chocolate, makes you smarter. Really, really dark chocolate (like 85% cocoa) makes you smart AND leaves no sugary aftertaste :-)

What, you may ask, makes me think the girls are so smart?
1. They studied snails
2. They dress up for Halloween as Sister Chromatids

When our house was broken into, the thieves stole three laptops and all my jewelry. Such is life, eh? Material possessions and all that? Well, sort of. From the time the girls were old enough to want to buy mommy presents, they've bought me silver hearts, for my charm bracelet. The bracelet was full of hearts, so full not many more would fit on it. Hearts with jewels, hearts with Pooh Bear, hearts with inscriptions from my girls to me. The thieves stole that bracelet.

I could not stop crying. I'd remained strong throughout the discovery of the break-end, tracking down the missing daughter (she was at a friend's),talking with the police, and even watching the guy hammer two-by-fours over my front door to hold it in place until it could be repaired. But when I discovered the charm bracelet was gone, I fell to pieces...

And the girls, amazingly enough, knew exactly what to do. They got out the video camera and did a CSI video, reenacting the crime. They "found" bugs at the scene of the crime and used their gestational stage to determine time of the crime; they rushed important evidence to their lab and used an icecream maker-cum-centrifuge to process the evidence. They even sang the song - who are you, who who, who who. Who are you, indeed...

We never found out who they were. And we never recovered any of the stolen items. But I never hurt again over that bracelet. Whenever I think of it, of any of it, I smile. The girls were smart enough to know that.

Jody is the smartest, and she truly should be a crime scene investigator. It is almost painful to go to a movie with her, if suspense is involved. Within five minutes, she will say nearly under her breath, "Oh geez, I can't believe it." DO NOT ask her what she means, or she will spoil the movie for you. Sixth Sense took her less than six minutes to figure out.

The latest example of this is Shadow Man by Cody FcFadyen. Jody is on page 11, and she just told me how the book will end. I am on page 433 and only know who done it because the detective in the book just solved the crime. Clearly, my mother needed to eat more chocolate.

Jody isn't going to be a crime scene investigator, however; she's going to be a talented writer and director. Wait and see...

Gray Danger

Ave Maria

I am having the loveliest life time. I am sitting in my living room listening to le troisième de mes anges sing and play the piano. She has never taken a single piano lesson, yet she can play.

She is playing Ave Maria, and she is singing it opéra. High notes and all.

Sable is looking worried, perhaps a little scared, especially on the high notes. My heart is ready to burst, as always when I hear this song.

The song, if you don't know, is a religious song, blessing Mary and the fruit of her womb. People choose it quite often to play at their weddings. And yes, Gerry, there really is more than one version of the song.

I have chosen it to be sung at my funeral by my four truly amazing daughters, quatre signes de l'amour de Dieu pour moi. Four signs of God's love for me.

I've committed to dying at 98. I can't live to be 100 as Linda has vowed to celebrate my 100th birthday in high fashion, including photos. So, I must die before then and I can't die in my 99th year. So, 98 it is. So let it be written, so let it be done. Amen.

I can see the funeral in my mind's eye; hear the song. People will file in while songs of lesser emotion play in the background, ten friends (a lofty goal, to have ten by then), my sister and brother, their children and grandchildren, my grandchildren if I ever get any. My daughters will be sitting in the front row, full of grace and beauty; their spouses and children will be right behind them.

And then it will be time; the four of them will make their frail way up to the front. Music will start, and then...music will start. Their voices will reach me, wherever I am, singing this song that captured my heart so many years before - when Becky opened her tiny mouth and let the notes flow and float with the most amazing clarity and strength...into my soul, where they remain throughout eternity.

Blessed Mary, grace aplenty, Blessed is your fruit.

For Jody, But Gerry Can Play Too.

or appropriately dubbed by Gerry, "The DaVicky Code."

I've written a special message just for you, Jo. Since you are a master at solving mysteries and breaking codes, I've decided to encrypt this message to provide you a challenge. Gerry is along for the ride because he thinks he's so hot at Scrabble, which is not at all the same thing as code-breaking :-)

I've used a special encryption tool; you will need the tool or extreme knowledge of how the tool works to break the code. Have fun!

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A Perfect Dozen

I drove through Starbucks yesterday and, when exiting the lot, the line of oncoming traffic was so incredibly long and the cars behind me so incredibly impatient, that I decided to turn right instead of left and swing through Larry's Market. I wanted to pick up some olives anyway, so a quick trip to Larry's seemed an intelligent idea.

I got a few more things than olives, however, but such is life. Since I'd only gone for olives, though, I hadn't stopped for a cart or even a basket. So there I was, twenty things balanced in my muscular arms (stop laughing Jody), and of course every single line at the registers was two or three people deep. It was quite apparent that I was not going to be able to quickly deposit the goods on the conveyor belt to bankruptcy. Again, such is life.

I heard a man say to his wife, "Lane 4!" with way too much energy, so I hopped over to Lane 3. There were two people in line, two elderly ladies and they were together, and they were only buying fruit so I figured it would be quick. $23 worth of fruit - actually, that's not a lot of money but that IS a hell of a lot of fruit. And the older woman, she had the most beautiful white hair, shoulder length, washed and blow-dried into a style that perfectly suited her pleasant face, looks at the slightly younger woman and says, "Are these yours bananas? Because if they are, I didn't get any." And the slightly younger woman says, "Yes, their mine, but you are welcome to share them; I don't often eat bananas." This works out well, and the older woman continues to unload her groceries until she realizes she can't reach the rest from the angle she is at.

So she tells the younger woman, "I need to back the cart out." And the younger woman turns to me, apologizing in the nicest fashion, and I tell her, "Oh, I don't mind at all! Please take all the time you need." And I am sincere because these two women are so lovely with each other that it is totally making my day.

"Your friend has an English accent," I say to the younger woman. "Is she visiting you?" "No," she replies. "She's lived here 27 years. I'm actually visiting her. She's my cousin."

And so we chat - about London and Texas and grandkids and eventually about Karen being accepted into grad school in London. And by now the cashier has rung their fruit up and extracted $23 from the older woman's checking account, and they say goodbye and wish my daughter all the best and are on their merry way.

And now the cashier is ringing up my $105 worth of olives and other sundry items. She holds up the bouquet of roses I've chosen, smells them, comments on their color. "I like two-toned roses," I tell her. "The two colors dry so intensely that they are beautiful long after they've died." She asks me if I often dry my roses and I tell her I do. I don't keep them, but I like to see how the colors intensify when the flower has long withered and dried.

And then she is done extracting money from my checking account, and I gather up my two bags and 1 dozen roses and turn to leave, and the two older women have waited for me. They want to tell me once again to wish my daughter the best from them. And we walk out to the parking lot together with them telling me about the Cotswolds and Stratford-upon-Avon and other parts of the English countryside that I must see when I visit Karen.

And then we say another goodbye and "ever so lovely to meet you!" and go to our respective vehicles. I put my armful of groceries on the seat next to me, and as I look at my beautiful two-toned roses, think, "What lovely, lovely women!" And I pull two of the roses out of their bouquet and get out of my car and walk over to theirs and tap gently on the window (wouldn't do to give them a heart attack in the parking lot of Larry's) and the older woman opens her door with a smile for me and I hand her the two roses and say "These are for the two of you," and she replies, "Oh they are lovely! If you don't mind, I'll give them both to my cousin, she will love them and they'll mean a great deal to her because her husband has just died and it's been very rough on her, that's why she's visiting me."

And I turn to walk toward the younger woman, she has returned the cart and is walking back towards the car, and I see she has been crying, a fact that has completely escaped my attention while she was so pleasantly chatting with a stranger about the Cotswolds, and she holds out her arms and I hold out mine and, there in the parking lot of Larry's, we hug like we are sisters.

And I go home and put four of the roses in the kitchen, six of the roses in the bathroom and keep two of the roses in my heart.