L is for


They’re my favorites.  I fell in love with lilacs when I was nine.  We moved into an old house in Hesperia California and out by the fence that divided our back yard into two sections was a HUGE row of lilac bushes.  I mean HUGE.  They probably ran fifteen feet across at the least.  I never lost the wonder of those clusters of tiny little petals with their delightful fragrance and the bees– oh how the bees loved them too.

I have a lot of favorites.  Some I have felt guilty about for most of my life.  Like Geraniums.  I love them.  My mother hates them.  It always felt like I was betraying her somehow by liking them, so I kept my preferences to myself.  Silly, isn’t it?

Purple.  I always loved it.  Mom thought it looked horrible on me.  Funny thing is, if I wear purple, I’m sure to get a compliment.  Otherwise, I almost never do.  Interesting, no?  My mother has excellent taste!   It’s just so silly.

Most of my favorites aren’t guilty pleasures–although some should be.  I love Coke, chocolate, and rib eye steaks.  I love a good mystery, a movie with some kind of heroism, and music that wrings emotion from me– it’s the way I truly feel and express it.

Facebook has redefined “like” in some ways.  It’s kind of a “thumbs up” now, but isn’t that what language does?  Oh, another “L.”  Language.

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