The biggest lesson I�ve learned...

The biggest lesson I�ve learned this year is that no one is really your friend, or truly loves you until they�ve seen every dark shadow inside you, and stayed.

You And I Were Not Meant To Be

We just keep missing each other, Maybe we're just not meant to be.
I will never forget the way it felt to be the one to break your heart� but sadly I was left with no other option. There was a battle going on between my heart and my mind for so long before the decision was made. We were best friends and we grew together as people� Together we have seen many beautiful phases of our lives

Be strong and know when enough is enough...

Seriously, be strong and know when enough is enough. Take your stand, speak up and refuse to let others hurt you. Throughout your lifetime some people will discredit you, disrespect you and treat you poorly for no apparent reason at all. Don�t consume yourself with trying to change them or win their approval. And don�t make any space in your heart to hate them. You don�t have control over

Someone worth keeping..

I need someone who will go to hell and back with me. Someone who won�t fold under the pressure. Someone who won�t quit when it gets a little tough. That�s when I know I�ve found something special. Something real. Something worth keeping. Anybody can love anybody when things are good. REAL LOVE stands the test of time, the test of faith, and the test of loyalty. There are people who will take

Being strong is to love someone in silence...

Being strong is to love someone in silence, to radiate happiness when we are unhappy, to forgive someone who does not deserve forgiveness, to stay calm in moments of despair, to show joy when we do not feel it, to smile when we want to cry, to make someone happy when our own heart is broken, to be silent when we feel like screaming our anguish, to comfort when we need to be comforted, and to

HERE�S THE THING ABOUT PEOPLE WITH GOOD HEARTS.

HERE�S THE THING ABOUT PEOPLE WITH GOOD HEARTS.
They give you excuses when you don�t explain yourself. They accept apologies you don�t give. They see the best in you when you don�t need them to. At your worst, they lift you up, even if it means putting their priorities aside. The word �busy� does not exist in their dictionary. They make time, even when you don�t. And you wonder why they�re

Have fun and live your life the way you want to live it.

I guess the real fact of the matter is, we don�t know what tomorrow is going to bring and the only thing we really have is right now. So, don�t stay angry for too long and learn to forgive. Love your friends and family with all your heart. Have fun and live your life the way you want to live it. Most of all, don�t worry about people that don�t like you and enjoy the ones who do.

The broken will always be able to love harder than most.

The broken will always be able to love harder than most. Once you have been in the dark, you are going to appreciate everything that shines. � Zachry K. Douglas

Life is hard enough as it is..

Life is hard enough as it is without choosing someone difficult to share it with.

If the guy you�re dating doesn�t seem to be completely into you, or you feel the need to start �figuring him out,� please consider the glorious thought that he might just not be that into you. And then free yourself to go find someone that is.

? Greg Behrendt

No one is going to love you exactly like you imagine.

No one is going to love you exactly like you imagine. No one is ever going to read your mind and take every star from the sky at the perfect time and hand it to you. No one is going to show up at your door on a horse, with a shoe you lost. Do you understand? That�s why you have to love yourself enough, so that any other love just adds more candles to the cake you�ve already iced.

~ Stephanie

You can't force loyalty or love

It's nothing wrong with wishing the best for somebody, but you have to realize when keeping them close isn't best for you. Unrealistic expectations attract disappointment. Realize that what you want from certain people may be more that they're able to give. Don't be naive. You can't force loyalty or love; and you'll only let yourself down trying to. Everybody won't always be who you want

Don�t get stuck. Move, travel, take a class, take a risk.

Don�t get stuck. Move, travel, take a class, take a risk. There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming. Don�t lose yourself at happy hour, but don�t lose yourself on the corporate ladder either. Stop every once in a while and go out to coffee or climb in bed with your journal. Now is your time. Walk closely with people you

Find One Hundred Ways

I have always loved Quincy Jones' song (sung by James Ingram), One Hundred Ways.  The lyrics stole my heart years ago because, by God, they are true.  If it's violins she loves...well, let them play. Send her roses...just because.  And even better:  in your arms, she will reflect...she owes you the sweetest of debts...yes, let her repay.  Find one hundred ways!

But the lyrics go far beyond romance and reciprocity.  What about living a One Hundred Ways kind of life?

Recently, on a night I had a party to attend, the weather suddenly turned.  By late afternoon,  a sparkling summer day had become dark and chilly.  Rain was not in the forecast but I no longer felt like partying.  So I downplayed it by wearing a boring but comfortable dress, minimal makeup and I regrettably ate too much lunch, even though I knew it would spoil my appetite at the party.  "I'll just put in a appearance and head back home to my bed and watch Netflix", I said to myself.  And then wouldn't you know it -  the party was wonderful and festive and fun.  Our hosts moved the enchanting dinner table from the lawn to the covered porch which was decorated with pots of trailing ivy and bright begonias.  They pulled out all the stops - they found one hundred ways.

Some people naturally live this way.  One sees it in the nurse at the doctor's office who has complete pride in her job.  Her efficiency and manner offer a sense of order and reassurance.  It's the friend who makes your visits special by serving you a delectable warm treat from the oven to go with your mug of tea.  Even when she's dead tired from being sandwiched between needy children and elderly parents.  It's the co-worker with a serious illness, who shows up at the office every day with another new fetching scarf wrapped around her head.  It's the comforting lunch you pack for a loved one that's filled with nourishing food, all attractively wrapped.  It's the elderly woman who still wears lipstick and dresses with care as she sets out on her daily round.

So if flowers are what you love, buy that bouquet for heaven's sake.  If you crave tomatoes, fill the kitchen. Simmer sauce, make tomato tarts, sandwiches, salads.  Ditto watermelon, lemons - whatever it is you're passionate about.  Immerse yourself.  Roll around in it.  Let's stop saving our perfumes, the "good" dishes, and anything tucked away for "best".   "Best" is now.  Use your things. Show them off.  Share them.  Multiply them.

Quincy Jones reminds us that if it's one more star we want, go all the way.  Life is short - shorter than we sometimes realize while in the midst of it.  So, show up.  Be present.  Dress the part.  Go big. Begin today.  Begin again tomorrow.  Do it as long as you possibly can.  Find one hundred ways.

~

Find One Hundred Ways

Compliment what she does

Send her roses just because

If it's violins she loves let them play

Dedicate her fav'right song and hold

Her closer all night long

Love her today

Find one hundred ways

Don't forget there could be

An old lover in her memory

If you need her so much more

Why don't you say

Maybe she has it in her mind

That she's just wasting her time

Ask her to stay

Find one hundred ways

Bein' cool won't help you keep a love warm

You'll just blow your chance

Take the time to open up your heart

That's the secret of romance

Sacrifice if you care

Buy her some moonlight to wear

If there's one more star she wants

Go all the way

In your arms tonight

She'll reflect that she owes you

The sweetest of debts if she wants to pay

Find one hundred ways

In your arms tonight

She'll reflect that she owes you

The sweetest of debts if she wants to pay

Find one hundred ways

Ya gotta believe it whoa

Love her today

Find one hundred ways

Note:  I will be on a special vacation - a journey - for a few weeks.  I'll be finding one hundred ways and I'll share when I return.

My Yellow House

I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after...they've gone through and through me, like wine through water and altered the color of my mind." ~ Emily Bront�, Wuthering Heights

Given my blog-documented love of my hometown, would it surprise you to know that I created alerts on my computer when a house in my old neighborhood goes on the market?  I love to take "tours" into these homes, but alas, they are few and far between because my old hood is not a very transient place.  So I was delighted to find for sale, the petite yellow house that sat kitty-corner to my childhood home.

A variation of Pennsylvania Dutch style, the yellow house is one of three "brides" that were built together in the early years of the 20th century.  They all have small rooms and beautiful wood-paneled walls and lots of charming details, such as inset cabinets and hardwood floors.  While growing up, the little yellow house was occupied by an unmarried and kindly woman named Flora Innes, who walked up our hill every night and past our house, after having been dropped off at the bottom of the street from her wearying factory job.  Flora knew all our names by heart and greeted each of us.  She was a sweet, lovely woman who had suffered childhood polio and walked with a marked limp.

After I took an online spin around the inside of Flora's old house, my daydreams began to ignite.  You see, I am in love with a boy I went to high school who lived not too far away from Flora and from me.  Since I "re-met" this boy many years after first laying eyes on him in 7th grade and long after Flora had been gone, I began to imagine all the what-if's that surprisingly bubbled to the surface since spying Flora's yellow house in my in-box.

What if my love and I had found our relationship back in high school?  What if we had actually married all those years ago?  What if we had bought the yellow house from Flora's relatives when it first hit the market 40 years ago and what if we had a family of our own in the yellow house and what if we had had a long life together?  I even went so far as to imagine myself taking family china out of one of those delightful built-ins and setting the dining room table for Tuesday night dinner with his now diseased parents!  In our house...our little yellow house???

I always believed that the dream of what might have been is the most painful dream to let go.  We watch our fervent wishes slip from outstretched hands like rocks dropped from a bridge that disappear into dark water.  But that is only a tragedy when one has to do an abrupt about face of no choice of their own.  I don't feel the dreams of what-if have a similar power over us.  After all, who's to say that the girl I was 40 years ago was ready for that boy I now love?  Who's to say I would have felt the spell of the little yellow house in the town I was so sure I wanted put in my rear view mirror as quickly as humanly possible?  Time changes us...it grinds us and then polishes us if we are open to its lessons.  Only then can we become whole or at least more of who we were meant to be in the first place.  And then there is love - what of love?  Well...love carries its own timepiece, doesn' it?

My fantasies about the little yellow house resulted in some magically entertaining reveries for driving to work last month but I have since discovered "my" house has been sold to a pair of young newlyweds.  I was told that they have already erected a matching shed in the postage stamp of a backyard, replete with matching shutters and window boxes.  I would have done that first too.  And their parents often come to help.  I just know they are enjoying that marvelous wood dining room with the built-ins, which no doubt are storing some family treasures.  I'm so happy for them and I believe that somewhere, dear Flora Innes is happy too.

As for me, I am now wearing the diamond ring that once belonged to the beloved mother and guest at my imaginary Tuesday night dinners.  And I've learned that any color home can be my yellow one - our view and our reflections are ever-changing.  Like wine poured through water...

There Be Dragons

Dear Readers, you may know that I do not write for a living.  At least not all my living.  My style writing and other contributions, paid writing, etc. have never filled the coffers completely and so I must have a full-time job at all times.  That job is in the financial sector - a roly-poly mess of a world with changing regulations and ever-squeezing and strident edicts.  This isn't really a pretty post - I'm talking about work reviews - you know, when your boss rates you and determines your very worth as a human being and your right to exist on the planet.

If you have been visiting my blog for a long time then you might remember my sad post from two years ago when I left a job I held for 20 years.  It was an arm wrench and just as painful.  What drove me from that position were, for lack of better words, viperous women.  It is said that the art of the deal is the art of war and I would go so far as to say that work is a battleground.  And if all is fair in love and war then all is fair in the modern workplace too.  I had my annual review yesterday.

Despite my passion for my job, my boss snared me on some very petty things.  And in 12 months, this was the first I had heard about them.  Among some of the infractions, apparently I should have attended the company's Christmas party which I would have had to buy tickets for, accompanied my boss home from a meeting instead of driving home with lovely co-workers so we could have a rare dinner together, and provided a set of birthday cards each Monday for clients.  Initially I was told the required company cards were gauche and calls would be made instead.  Not so, I discovered in my review.  When did reading your boss' mind become a core value to be rated on?

So this weekend, this precious three day weekend, I am allowing myself to grieve a position I believed to be perfect as my final act.  My consolation is that I will wake to a kind friend waiting for me in "his" leather chair in the den I decorated after my daughter left home and married last year. I'm sure he will silently get up and trod downstairs to fetch my daily joy - a mug of creamy and delicious coffee.  Then he will then sit back with a Twinkie (a favorite weekend Breakfast of Champions) where he will stare at me kindly and blink until my tears flow and re-flow with yet another rendering of hurt and sting until I am spent and have no words left to say.

It will be then that we dress and drive to the beach where in only a few short months the sand will be warm and covered with summer umbrellas that will stretch as far as the eye beholds.  They will be as bright and colorful as massive children's beach balls magically suspended in air.

And not one dragon shall be near.

~

THE INNER VOICE

Somewhere in every heart there is a discerning voice. This voice distrusts the status quo. It sounds out the falsity in things and encourages dissent from the images things tend to assume. It underlines the secret crevices where the surface has become strained. It advises distance and opens up a new perspective through which the concealed meaning of a situation might emerge. The inner voice makes any complicity uneasy. Its intention is to keep the heart clean and clear. This voice is an inner whisper not obvious or known to others outside. It receives little attention and is not usually highlighted among a person's qualities. Yet so much depends on that small voice. The truth of its whisper marks the line between honor and egoism, kindness and chaos. In extreme situations, which have been emptied of all shelter and tenderness, that small voice whispers from somewhere beyond and encourages the heart to hold out for dignity, respect, beauty and love.

John O'Donohue

Tea and Sympathy

• "Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different".  ~C.S. Lewis

A shy classmate in my kindergarten class admitted at circle time that her mother let her drink tea.  Our teacher gasped and looked askance and said that little children should never be allowed to drink tea.  I stayed silent as tea was the beverage of choice at our house every Saturday at breakfast and always when one was sick in bed with a cold.  Both my grandmothers drank tea - one - the indulgent one, gave us "tea time" every Saturday at 3:00 when we gleefully spoiled our dinner with tea, potato chips and M & M's.  My brother was also allowed ten consecutive teaspoonfuls of sugar into his delicate bone china tea cup.  This I know because I counted each out loud. One...two...three...four...

With my other grandmother, tea was more refined.  We sat at her table with silver spoons, cloth napkins and small sandwiches.  But at both houses, tea was always sympathy...and love.

I drank gallons of tea this week.  The stress of the election coupled with too many, too-early signs of the holidays bearing down, had me reaching for the tea box regularly, even at work.  One simply cannot help but slow down when there is a warm brewing cup in the hand.

I have friends who visit often for a chat and a cup of tea.  As soon as I see my "tea-friends" car, I put the kettle on.  And when I visit them, they have my favorite mug heated and waiting.  Tea time is our text, our email...our network.  It is the way we touch hands and receive understanding for life's inevitable speed bumps.  In the time it takes to drink just one cup, we sort through the tough week at work, an elderly father's unexpected fall, or a grown child's move to a distant town.  We nod in communion over tea, offering each other something as warming as the fragrant elixir in our cups.

My kindergarten teacher may have believed that tea stunted children's growth or something similarly old-fashioned.  But I believe tea along with sympathy makes us grow -  in strength, if not in stature.

A Birthday Letter

Tomorrow is a big birthday for me.  I  know.  I can't believe it either.  I am not 17 as I am in the picture below (follow the blue eyeshadow trail).  That girl had no idea what she was doing.  If I thought she would have stopped long enough, I would have written her a letter:

~

Dear Donna,

Don't be in such a rush.  Enjoy just being you for a while.  The big things like love and marriage will take care of themselves.  If you can't go out for a night because of studying, don't worry.  You will have plenty of nights to go out.  And after the studying, just be...or read a book.  There won't be much time later for reading books and many other things for that matter.  Life, work, and family will encroach.  It may be years before you can read a book in one sitting again.  Do it now.

Call Nana more.  Someday you will lull yourself to sleep with remembrances of her.  You will reach beyond your memory to search for the very things you can see right now by spending more time with her.  Really look at the way she lives, decorates, dresses, cares for Gramps.  Study the things that will be gone one day.  Ask her about what life was like during the 1920's.  And ask her to show you how to make her pie crust.  Her stuffed peppers too.  You'll never be able to do it if you don't ask her soon.

Have more confidence in yourself.  See the things that others see in you and nurture them.  Your smile, your tenderheartedness.  Embrace those things.  Embrace who you are.  Don't be like the others.  Don't be afraid to stand out.  And while you're at it, defend yourself - speak up when someone steps on your toes.

Don't marry the first person who asks you.  Step back and think about it first.  Would he make a good husband?  Would he be committed?  Will you mind eating on a TV table next to him one day?  What kind of father would he make?  I know he thrills you now but when the baby has croup and dinner isn't made, will he step up to the plate?  If not, wait for the next bus.  And remember, buses come along every few minutes.  Choose the one that's going in the direction of YOUR dreams.

And when you do marry, don't do or be everything.  Keep a part of yourself for yourself.  You'll be a better wife in the long run.  And a better mother.

When you have your babies, sleep when they sleep.  That's a hard one.  But try.  Let the housework go because babies don't keep.  They grow up faster than you know.  You will miss the way the nape of their necks smell and the way they fold into your arms.  Don't worry about the dirty clothes hamper so much.

Have more fun.  Let loose.  Don't take things so seriously.  Dance more.  Laugh.  Be silly.  Be ridiculous.

Ask your mother for advice.  She wants to tell you what she knows and someday, you will be glad of it.  All your life, you will think back and hear the things she said.  Know that she really is wiser than you. You will need her strength on playback until the end.  Get it while you can.

Buy the boots you love.  Yes, they're expensive but you'll be glad you did.  The cheaper ones will never leave your closet floor.

Trust your gut.  It won't fail you.  But be still enough to hear what it is trying to say.

Bloom where you're planted.  Sometimes life takes you in a new direction.  Don't fight it.  Instead, lay the tablecloth and light the candles.  While you are there, you might as well be happy.  And remember that living well is always the very best revenge.

Make a friend of Change and you will make a friend for life.  Nothing is stagnant.  Life is ever-flowing in ways that will soon amaze you.  Be open to the possibilities that come with change.

Be less afraid.  You are resourceful and will land on your feet.  Pink-slips come to all of us.  The landlord that wants your apartment for his son and new wife.  The young boss who cleans house at the office.  It's what you turn the pink-slips into that matters.

Wait three days.  If you're heartbroken or just broken down, three days will make all the difference.  Don't panic. Draw on what you know.  I swear it's magic.  Just 72 hours and suddenly, it won't matter about the new haircut that was too short or too weird.  Or the haircut the kids gave each other.  Or the dishwasher that leaked on the new hardwoods.  Perspective takes only three days.

Appreciate your youth, your endless energy and stamina.  But don't be afraid to get older.  Every decade has its joys.  I know that's hard to believe but its true.  Each age brings new jewels.  You will get smarter. Keener.  More savvy.  You'll choose better friends.  You'll discover companionship can be just as wonderful as love.  Sometimes better.

And know that someday, you will be very glad you are not 17 any longer.

(You'll just have to trust me on that one.)


Love,

Me

A Golden Fall

I got a lucky break one early fall morning when a working mother from a nearby town called to see if I was available to watch her two little girls everyday.  It was a referral from a referral that somehow panned out and yes, I was available to be a "nanny" to her girls as long as I could bring my own daughter along with me.

It was perfect because her eldest, a four year old moppet with red hair would be big sister to my child and her youngest, a sweet toddler, could be baby sissy.  Mom was a nurse who fled out the door each morning for the early shift.  Dad was around renovating their beautiful old home and I was to be cook, chief bottle washer, and babysitter.

It's amazing how quickly I fell in love with my new charges even though the oldest could be a handful.  But it's not hard to become fond of small children whose fingernails you clip and baths you oversee.  I ushered the three girls outdoors as much as possible and fortunately the big old house was located on the expansive and ancient town green.  We spent hours upon hours that fall in the public gazebo playing games, having picnics and putting on plays.  I taught the girls my favorite rhymes and songs and read them hundreds of nap-time stories.  The hardest thing about the job was getting up early and putting my sleepy child in the car to drive the long country road to their place.  It's probably the reason why one of my daughter's first words was "silo" given all the farms we passed on those quiet misty dawns.

When colder weather settled in, Mom filled a trunk with old clothes, hats, and endless strings of beads for dress-up. The girls played so many imaginary characters that once I thought other children had entered the house. One day, the oldest was sporting a very pretty black onyx ring set in rose gold filigree on her finger. "Where did you get that?", I asked.  Apparently, it had been left on top of the toothbrush holder in the bathroom.  She balked loudly when I asked her to place it in my hand and when she finally did, I couldn't help but notice how lovely and unusual it was.  I gave it to the mother later that day and was told that it had belonged to the deceased Edwardian lady whose son the house was purchased from.   He didn't care to have the ring and so somehow, little hands pilfered it and then set it to rest on the holder in the upstairs bath.  During the year I cared for the girls, the ring would periodically show up on various small fingers only to be handed back to Mother again.

As a new fall approached, our days together became numbered - the eldest was to begin school and the work on the house was finished which meant Dad was free to take over the girls' care.  The timing was perfect because my house had finally sold and I was ready to move with my daughter to a distant place so I could work in the city.

On my last day, the girls and their mother had a party for me.  They made Wacky Cake in a flower pot from one of their favorite stories and gave me a small present wrapped fussily with bright yarn and covered with stickers of shiny blue stars. Inside was the onyx and rose gold ring.  But you knew that.

What you may not know is that I don't have to wear the ring to think of them.  In my heart's eye, where time forever stops, I see them playing in the blinding sunshine that comes only with fall's most splendid days.

They are with me still...

The Fourth of July .... and Carol

Summer brings many joys like ice cream and the Fourth of July.  This year more than ever, it seems that American women dressed very patriotically. The political and social reasons can be explored at more intellectual blogs than this one (although it could just be J. Crew) - I only know I was charmed by the stars and stripes and the red, white and blue in shorts, tops, and espadrilles.  And most of it was worn tastefully with touches of whimsy.

My pretty and chic friend Carol, a Deborah Kerr lookalike, reminds me of our model above.  Today she had on an attractive short-sleeved sweater, thickly striped in red and white that didn't hide the fact that it was our nation's birth (it also didn't hide her tiny waist).  I'm always interested to see what Carol is wearing because of all my friends, Carol's taste in clothing most closely aligns with mine.  

I love my sweet and soft-spoken friend very much.  She appears delicate but is strong...and I am in awe of her.  She recently obtained her college degree after eight grueling years of part-time school while holding down a full-time job.  She raised a son alone.  And she is a breast cancer survivor.  She is also the friend that does my taxes, makes me go to yoga class on Saturday morning when I'ld rather stay in bed, and visits any family members who happen to be in the hospital.  And two days ago, she told me she is moving.  To Florida.

Carol is leaving New England for a great new job and to be close to her now-grown son.  I understand (really, I do!) and I am happy for her because she is finally getting that fresh start she has been ripe for since losing her job.  But behind my smile, I am crying.  I will miss her terribly.  Beside the Fourth of July, Carol has long graced my Christmas tree, shown up for coffee and dessert every Easter, attended my daughter's graduations and wedding.  And it is Carol to whom I turn when I need a co-pilot to drive to the mall with to return something on a weeknight, need a friend to have a bite to eat with...or need a friend to just chat with about lipstick and eyebrow pencils.  She is a wonderful, wonderful caring pal.

So just for tonight, I beg you not to tell me the world is small...and that there is email, texting, and Skype. Pray don't say I will have a warm place to vacation in winter and please have a care and don't remind me that she will come home from time to time.  Saturday yoga won't be the same and neither will Christmas Eve around the tree or Easter Sunday for that matter.

And somehow, I just know that next Fourth of July will have a little less sis-boom-bah too.

~

(Carol...all my love and good wishes go with you dear friend!)

Vesper's Handbag

I did something I have never done before - I watched a Bond film.  I caught Casino Royale on a recent rainy Sunday.  Violent, bloody and for me, hard to completely follow, I was still able to enjoy the luxurious locations, gorgeous sets and wardrobes.  I was especially taken with Bond Girl Vesper Lynd, played by Eva Green.  And as I read after watching the movie, this was the only film where James Bond (Daniel Craig) actually falls in love with his leading lady.

I was struck by a poignant scene when Bond's large masculine hand plucked a tiny seashell among a tumble of belongings from Vesper's handbag.  By this time, Vesper had been killed and Bond had been unable to save her.  The items in her purse formed a lovely and wistful composition on top of her black embroidered purse. The shell represented the untroubled but fleeting days of their love affair when they tarried on sandy Italian beaches embracing and kissing.  Along with the shell was Vesper's sleek camera and chic white cell phone, a linen handkerchief, a book of poetry, a fine black wallet, and a rather large bottle of scent.  A quick internet search netted the name of Vesper's perfume:   Santa Maria Novella's Melograno, which by all accounts is a worldly fragrance with a trailing feminine heart - much like the way I would describe her strong yet fragile nature which was endlessly fascinating.  It's no wonder that she stole and then softened the heart of the cruel and callous Bond.

I am certain the contents of Vesper's handbag were selected very carefully by filmmakers to represent her unique personality and to trigger Bond's grief -  his sad face as he examines the lone shell says it all.  The scene is very brief but Vesper's belongings are a delightful allegory into her psyche and a clever visual haiku for romantic types like me.

The innards of a female handbag remain a secret garden - it's quite rare to be privy to what women carry, even the handbags of close friends.  Certainly most men seem immune or at the least, confused by what's in them.  A hungry boyfriend once asked me hopefully, "Do you have any food in there?"  But to see what a woman carries is to gain a most private perspective.  I remember how I felt when I saw a strange man holding my open handbag and rifling through it looking for my ID after he found it in the parking lot of a hotel. I had foolishly left it on top of my car after I loaded my suitcase and blithely drove away.  When I returned a few minutes later, the kind man was holding it with one hand while his other hand groped inside for my license.  I remember noticing how small my bag seemed in his possession.  And it was strangely intimate.

French artist Nathalie LeCroc has made a career creating watercolors of the items found in women's handbags.  She prefers an un-edited handbag - no removing gum wrappers or baby pacifiers in the taxi on the way to her studio.  Her works of art will one day be a book of 1,001 handbags and their secrets.  The prints are as charming and varied as the women they belong too.

I have a friend who stores her deceased mother's handbag wrapped in layers of plastic.  She says that when opened, it still retains the smell of her mother and she wants to preserve that sacred imprint as long as she can.  Could it not be said that a piece of our very souls are found within the jumble of our handbags?

Below, is mine.  Unedited.  Like Vesper, I too, carry a large bottle of scent.

And Vesper's:

If you carry a talisman that is special or want to disclose what your handbag holds, I'ld love to hear.