"Where is the love?" he said. Frankly, I didn't know what he was talking about. Didn't I send you one of those beautiful heartfelt Valentine cards? It expressed it all so lovely, I could have written it myself. That has to mean something. I even stopped and contemplated what to write and took my time with it, just so I would say what I wanted to say.

So, there I was, the day before the Happy Heart Day putting the finishing touches on the labor-intensive, fruit-laden, cake that has become synonymous with Christmas and my love. I am not sure how it ever came to be that no cake = no love. Just to keep it on the up and up, I wrapped all four of them, just so he didn't run out. There is nothing quite like brandy-aged fruit cake. I know! There are haters out there, but, this is February, the month of love and you owe it to yourself to come over to the dark side.

It was one of those days when my heart is full. ❤️ I will send these off tomorrow and surround my sibling with more love than he can imagine. Drifting through the rest of the night, I allow myself to bask in the love that I feel. I will enjoy each and every moment, mostly because I have learned that life can be so fleeting. I love this getting together that we do, family gatherings, the traditions carried out, and their meanings passed down to the younger ones. Family traditions give us all a feeling of belonging... Part of something bigger than ourselves. I remember exactly what I love about my life, just being - and inhaling the wonder of it all.

There is no hiding in this family. You just gotta be you and I just gotta be me. As you can see, it doesn't pay - to not be true to you. It is titled Masks.

Flowers. Always. To color my world. #alwaysaflower When I don't know exactly what words to use, I say it with flowers. It fills in the words all on its own.

All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost