a good word revolution

From our vantage point, one positive word can make all the difference in the world. One positive view possesses the power to transform. It is our forever hope that among the thousands of words we illuminate, one will resonate and shift the vantage point of the receiver to a view of the world that vaporizes for at least a brief moment any and all negative emotion they ever could have visualized. l o V e!

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Friday, September 11, 2015

India.Arie - I Choose (lyrics)

wearing w h i t e with w a y n e

Wow, what uh week!  

I'm going p l a c e s I've never gone, so I'm doing things I've never done. 

One should not wear w h i t e after Labor Day. Okayyyyyyyyyy? Why not? Why is that even a thing? It's c o o l if you're attending a white party mid-winter, or getting b e t r o t h e d. Why not in Texas when it is still over a gazillion degrees?

This is a scary thought for me -- wearing white after LD. Would a giant b l a c k Southern m a m a hand of etiquette reach down and s q u i s h me from the sky? 


When do traditions i n t e r t w i n e with superstitions and then t u m b l e into fear? 

I hear Carrie Bradshaw. 

Not the fire and brimstone kind, nor the black cat passing. The kind of traditions slash superstitions that your mama, grandma and them i c e onto your eating black eyed peas for the New Year finishing. 

I spit on broom straws that b r u s h over my shoes. I edit all over traditions in my forthcoming middle - grade novel, d i r t that is due to my publisher in a couple of weeks. 

Egads!!!! Yes, a couple of weeks. Needing a touch of accountability.

Traditions and superstitions, even in my d r e a d e d op-positional defiance, have become like a guiding principle. Merde!

Sweetness and I listen to India Arie and Matched by Ally Condie. Condie creates this Giver-like post-modern world were the shoulds abound. "Everyone in this house does what he or she is supposed to do." We just finished scenes chronicling Grandpa's 'Final Banquet'. Not to justify a spoiler alert, people live until eighty years of age in this world made p e r f e c t with statistics. 

Something about this concept makes me want to live, and live more free. So, after a few dissolves of Sedalia, I'm still sitting, but I'm still in the place of wanting to live free. 

What if I just did stuff, not all of the stuff I should?

When thinking about such things, I often seek Dyer. W a y n e Dyer one of my long time b e a u t i f u l angels recently left this p l a n e. He has coached me many times through crazylane with his w o r d s


I pull my tattered copy of Dyer's Your Erroneous Zones from the shelf next to my bed. The index has a listing for traditions. 

"The important thing is to determine for yourself which rules work, and are necessary to preserve order in our culture and which can be broken without harm to yourself or others. There is no percentage in rebelling just for the sake of rebelling, but there are great rewards in being your own person and living your life according to your own standards." - Wayne Dyer


On the day that Farmer Guy started his new big time g r o w e r gig, I wore white. 

Yesterday -- after Labor Day. Work!

Carry on... Abbybama, Manchild and Sweetness... split the pole if you c h o o s e. #facingfears #911 #facingfearson911

l o v e

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Chris von Halle on #iwriteYA

Check out the a u t h o r of The Fourth Generation, Chris von Halle over on free cotton

Title: The Fourth Generation
Author: Chris von Halle  /@ChrisvonHalle

In the future, no adults exist. Ever since the plague swept the world 100 years ago, no one has lived past seventeen.
Sixteen-year-old Gorin, a collector of curious artifacts left over from the pre-plague civilization, is on the verge of perishing from that deadly epidemic. And his last wish is to find a way to visit the rulers’ reputedly magnificent, off-limits mansion.
Up against the clock, he and his friend Stausha steal into the mansion and discover a secret more horrifying than they ever could’ve imagined—a secret that holds the key to the survival of the whole human race. 

It's c u r i o u s! You can purchase The Fourth Generation!

Sunday, July 26, 2015

the age of m i r a c l e s

I found it interesting that a b e a t i f u l lady's post prior to her teenaged son's funeral stated that she expected a m i r a c l e. That seemed to be the sort of thing one asked for prior to a death, not prior to a funeral. I guessed Mary could have expected the same.

See, I met this charming lady in a charming b o u t i q u e, during a magnificent Toms sale. Or so I thought. We chatted a bit, then realized that on an occasion we stood next to each other during a yoga Saturday at the Y. I remembered her toes. H a p p e n s t a n c e our same aged children were students when Carver commenced all day every day GT school year. Those p e s k y intelligent six graders.

We talked for about an hour on those couches at Alter'd State about: marriage, e d u c a t i o n, divorce, about being single parents, artists we both knew around town, dating, y o g a and shoes, specifically, Toms.

Of course we became fb f r i e n d s right then and there. Where had she been all of my Midland life?

Sometimes people just get into your spirit. It's a s u b t l e thing.

Our same aged children, I digress. Heavy s i g h...

S w e e t n e s s  rushed from her room during one of the last mornings before the end of school and announced, "Something is wrong with a boy!"

"Dear, what are you talking about?"

Her response reminded me to d e c i p h e r it later since it was chock full of... and on Ig, and then on Snapchat, and then someone texted.

WTH was she talking about?

The day continued.  That night I caught the news that Farmer Guy watched. I intentionally NEVER c a u g h t the news. There it was, and there it was. 

She. She and him. He laid in a hospital bed, while his mother raised praying, praising hands at his side.

The she that I never saw off line again. The she that I thought a couple of weeks earlier to ask if she wanted to blog on pictureless, but didn't.

All of the s u d d e n I felt it. I hadn't even known this person existed in my s p i r i t until that very moment. I don't know when it happened, but in the moment I felt that pain, I knew she was there.

I wanted her m i r a c l e for her. 

Even at the funeral I wanted her miracle for her. I didn't attend the funeral, but I did. With a Harry Potter book in hand and a cup a tea, I sat outside of the services across the street at the GMFL football field on the aluminum b l e a c h e r s top row. Yes, I lovingly stalked a funeral. I waited for the miracle.

White butterflies danced over grasses. The clouds made intricate figurines, none that spelled his name.

Nothing much to see here.  Keep it m o v i n g.

Tires screeched, and I saw two ginormous cutie pie dogs, one a chocolate lab puppy, jaunting around all unsupervised all Homeward Bound like. A young couple out for their mid morning outing  stopped their truck on a rescue mission of pets that clearly did not belong to them. P u p s went one way, and so did the couple. P u p s ran into the field, so did the couple. This went on and on and on. They spent the entirety of the service trying to c o r r a l the playful two into the back of their truck bed. Success.

I watched them calling the numbers on the tags, and utilizing the help of two boys passing through to complete the task. I became m e s m e r i z e d by the unfolding drama, and the lengths average people really will go to save the day.

Well NO miracles happened... I really expected to see, h e a r or feel something. I wanted to report to this beautiful grieving mother that a miracle did happen, but I sent her well wishes from aclose. Started for my car and ran into a lady I see every now and then. We chatted it up about k i s m e t.

Later that day while perusing the obituary for this young teen, it noted that he had a strong affection for saving stray animals. Tickled, I s m i l ed a bit and softened. I can say that the miracle, not grandiose restoring sight in nature, did in fact take place - a fifteen year old's miracle. 


Friday, June 26, 2015

After the Nothing, #LoveWins

'Bout a week ago.

It has been one week since THE collision. We are physically f i n e... we all walked away, but we had to lose some things at the scene. Bruises, aches and scrapes quickly fade.

I don't know what happened, and you can keep asking me. I was asleep in the passenger's seat. I heard Farmer Guy exclaim, "Oh, no!"

While the surround s o u n d air-bags inflate the mix-tape stops in the space of complete s i l e n c e.

And then n o t h i n g.

Nothing about my elation that Minister Robert Muhammad retweeted my t w e e t about seeing him at l o v e airport. Nothing about the Minnesota Pho restaurant not having vegetarian offerings. Nothing about un-social media. Nothing about bills. Nothing about bickering. Nothing about f l a g s (loving Bree Newsome, btw). Nothing about posers. Nothing about terrorists. Nothing about politics. Nothing about work. Nothing about who can m a r r y whom. Nothing about the Meyer's amazing Cress and Lunar Chronicles. Nothing about smoke and mirrors.

Nuhting about Nuhting.

Maybe a lot, not all, but a lot of life is exactly that... Much a d o about nothing.

The only thought that I can sort of remember in the v a c u u m...

So, this is it.

Ase! So it was.

Sound f l o w e d once again into too much.

"Is everyone okay? Is everyone okay?" The level headed Sweetness questioned.

While the Manchild sprung into Power Ranger a c t i o n.

M o m e n t s into smoked fumes and jammed doors, we exited.

After the nothing, love b l e w through, above, and around the entire perimeter. #lovewins


#lovewins #iamexcitedformygrandchildren #lovewins #freebree

Oh, and #freemindsfreepeople (#fmfp2015)!

Sunday, February 22, 2015

what's your d a w n wall?

On this chilly and blustery West Texas day, I happen to be a few degrees of separation from f a b u l o u s.

Soooo a little over a month ago, my mentor and hoop mama, fabulous Jacqui Becker's fabulous s i g n i f i c a n t, Kevin Jorgeson, and his fabulous f r i e n d, Tommy Caldwell, became the first to free-climb Dawn Wall, the world's largest granite monolith.


Committing to d r e a m.
Committing to w o r k.
Committing to s u c c e s s.
Committing to c e l e b r a t i o n.

We s a l u t e you all! Thank you for sharing this journey.

adidas Kevin Jorgeson: Take Today

Monday, December 29, 2014

'Tis the Season

I arrived in Houston (my coming of age city) for the annual fabulous TCSA conference. Big Al retrieved me from my hotel. We met A.J. and Tre for a lovely late meal. After dinner, the n i g h t c a p consisted of me and Big Al wandering River Oaks viewing holiday decoration d e c a d a n c e.

It occurred to me at some point - between identifying a new fad of lighted moss strands swinging free vine (new to me hence the lack of giant trees in my neck of West Texas sans woods), and searching out Aurora Greenway's / Shirley MacLaine's, Terms of E n d e a r m e n t house with its current situation of winter squash still donning the porch - that this was familiar. H a u n t i n g these same streets with the Big Al of another era. The me of another era.

The e r a when Houston housed two dailies and Eddie Taubensee caught for the A s t r o s and I caught Etta James live at Fitzgerald's.

The era of my Rap-A- Lot Records"My Mind is Playin Tricks on Me" 
doot do do do doo doot doot... My mind was. My vision blurred with tears.

I took Interview l i b e r t y to silence radio p e r s o n a l i t y Delilah and asked, "Would they be proud of us?"


"The us of before?"

Quizzically, "I think so. It could have gone many ways."

I knew what he meant. I toyed with the knob for a while and wondered.

I didn't have a hands down unequivocal answer like d a y o n e keynote, Dr. Adolph Brown, seemed to have - from bad boy to good man, or Drake, Started from the Bottom, now we're Here. More like started here an' am still here kind of rise to fabulous marginal.

Or was it?

What would future you tell current you? In an Interstellar way without components of time lapsed travel snaked with s i n g u l a r i t y.

Then theme o' the month happened. {Insert Music}
You know when a theme hits. Like when you get a new (to you) Mercedes C230. Thanks, Farmer Guy.
The universe starts doing the most!
All of the sudden, every third car you see is a C230. In every other parking space adjacent to your now not so unique whip parks a similar variation. If I pay extra close attention by next week there will be a total of 230 of this same car within a thirty mile radius of my job.
There you have it. Theme o' the month! {Insert Music}

This month's apparent recurring theme o' the month:

What would this you say to that you, and what would that you say to this you, and even better what will the next you say to you you? Endless c o n t i n u u m.

I think Baxter of Hoop Path hoped they would all say, "Thank you!"

Days later confined to my sick bed, Farmer Guy raced into the boudoir to flip on an OWN's, A Primetime Soul - to Soul Event. Oprah created a montage asking guests several questions, o n e of which, "What would you tell your younger self?"


I opened the blogs from Positively P o s i t i v e, and there it was again, What I know at 40 That I'd tell myself at 20.


To stop the processing of mortality at every turn, I decided to answer the q u e s t i o n. What advice would evoke a life in which me questioning me would end an answering of - this is me, in whom I am well pleased?

That night I slept, and dreamt an actual Bible verse speaking to me from a playing card: I Corinthians 3:9.

Okay, we ARE going there.

1 Corinthians 3:9New International Version (NIV)For we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.
1 Corinthians 3:9GOD’S WORD Translation (GW)We are God’s coworkers. You are God’s field.You are God’s building.1 Corinthiens 3:9La Bible du Semeur (BDS)Car nous travaillons ensemble au service de Dieu, et vous, vous êtes le champ qu'il cultive. Ou encore: vous êtes l'édifice qu'il construit.1 Corintios 3:9La Biblia de las Américas (LBLA)Porque nosotros somos colaboradores de Dios, y vosotros sois labranza de Dios, edificio de Dios.1 Wakorintho 3:9Neno: Bibilia Takatifu (SNT)Sisi ni wafanyakazi pamoja na Mungu; ninyi ni shamba la Mungu; ninyi ni jengo la Mungu.

Well, I guessed, I would definitely need her to embody that, but what does God do? How can I be Higher Power's co-worker if I don't know what My Boo does ("God is My Boo" #iyanlavanzant).

Then all it once - g i v e. God gives! What I would want to tell the many me(s) is to give.

Give. Give Love. Give Thanks. forGive. Give touches. Give gifts. Give time. Give service. Give w o r d s. forGive. Give it your All. Give. Give. Give. Give. Give. Give. Give to yourself. forGive yourself. Give. Give. And then give some more.  

New apparent recurring theme o' the month.

At every turn, people are giving me wonderful g i f t s & p r e s e n t s.  A new romance by Melissa Foster, Game of Love. Purple sweet potato pies, notes by posts, facials from Darla @The Domain Origins, organic cookies from Emily @The Domain Whole Foods, Mama - in - Love gift package to The s p a @ Canyon Oaks.


Or is that the holidays? 'Tis the s e a s o n!!!

Heri za Kwanzaa!

l o v e

Thursday, December 18, 2014

p a s s words

Want more +++ words in your life? Change your passwords to #fabu1ous, @1oving, 3n3rgizing* words. 

Then focus.


Saturday, December 6, 2014

affirmation i n t o gratitude

Gratitude v i b r a t e s energy.

Whirlybird crème brulee scorching with caramelized sugar on top old skool hip-hop energy. Figgy bread pudding with f r e s h whipped creme birthday dessert energy. Thank you, Farmer Guy.

I know when I'm there. The sun shines brighter. The zephyr smells sweeter. I d a n c e  in my o w n hula - hoop. I know when I'm not. 

I'm overly committed to thinking about decisions, thoughts and d e e d s of others.

#o b s e s s i o n


I'm even thinking about possible decisions, thoughts and deeds of others.

Really? I'm sooooooooooo NOT in my own hoop. I'm way over there somewhere.

Pondering the real f o o d legacy of Caesar Chavez or wondering about Ray & Janay Rice, or s l e e p l e s s nights grieving the life of Michael Brown, or questioning will the people ever jump into a Russell Brand style rEVOLution, or the effects and causes of triangulation, or really why she always BE trippin'... Bye, Felicia!

Really? Really?


I sip my yerba mate. I exit the judgment business. Stage left.

The global domino effect may happen to be my business. Alerting the youth I get to p l a y with may be my business, but the whys of this divinely intricate and perfectly carved universe are not.

CODA anthem - All together now:

I am powerless over others.
I am powerless over others.
I am powerless over others.

Instead of trying to understand crazy as I have been known to tout. Right, Dr. Glo? 
If one understands crazy then one is also crazy or pretty close to it. 

I breathe and affirm. 

I am powerless over others.

I sip my yerba mate. I'm into the gratitude business. Shingle hung.


#g r a t i t u d e


Gratitude. It's what's real.

In my gratitude shop, there are w o r d s,  hula hoops and tasty #farmtotable food. All for sell!

The Manchild posts mama's photo on his Ig for #wcw, and invites me to tea after a local reading by Levi the Poet. Miss Sweetness rottens me with cadeaus of bricks of patchouli bars with books. We watch hours of reality shows sprinkled over Dr. Who and AHS after Sunday s t e a m s in the sauna. Sweet at home Abbybama k i s s e s me on my cheek before her trek. 

In my gratitude shop our bills are nearly p a i dThe mamas give much. 

Real p a t friends split Korean pancakes after d u s k. We mourn together. My fabulous fb family showers p e a r l s of bd w i s h e s that clog the farmlife internet ethers into the night. Bob's mom texts tales of Phookas that protect the harvest under ginormous a u t u m n moons. 

I am thankful that I have so many vibrant sensational personalities in my life, and I love knowing that I am p o w e r l e s s over them all.

I relish our s t o r i e s crossing. How awesome!

In my gratitude shop I can,

Stop giving a sh*t and appreciate love. 

The stop giving a sh*t, "They're coming, Katniss!" Mockingjay kind of appreciative love.

in g r a t i t u d e & 


Sunday, November 30, 2014

the f word!

f u n

No book, no blog entry, no tweet, no card, t-shirt or speech is created at p i c t u r e l e s s books that isn’t fun and our fullest pleasure. When we have fun, we create fun. We love to take on fiery subjects and make them fun. Life’s biggest, toughest subjects deserve a little feisty fun. So, when things get funky, and make us feel like we’re falling over a big cliff, we first find the fun, then play from there.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

FREE Cotton: Cotton Tools Around the Home

FREE Cotton: Cotton Tools Around the Home: When considering a Scholastic Parent and Child Magazine question, I asked my children now eighteen and thirteen what items did they love ...

e l paso cc l o v e

My how time f l i e s! On Nov. 22, EPCC will host the sixth annual Literary Fiesta to celebrate writers from El Paso and nearby areas. Love to Love

Courtesy Lisa Elliot
Writing workshop featuring Teffanie White at last year's Literary Fiesta.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

s q u e e z e your b r e a s t love

Each year I repost this blog for remembrance. A couple of weeks ago my dear friend had a double mastectomy. Thanks to Angelina Jolie, we can all feel more hopeful about reconstruction and selfies.


It's all pink again!

Last October, I don't remember.

This year, each ribbon follows me and leaves pink traces behind my eyelids.  This year- the year of biopsies, the year of lumpectomy, the year my mother had a mastectomy.

Adrea is in the habit of sending by post (that in itself is fabulous).  Sometimes the treats from my partner breathe through their packaging, forcing my children to rattle the contents.  That time they were pictureless word cards.  Each card presented one of the words we claim on post sized cards, business sized cards, or itty bitty cards.  They were gorgeous.  I traveled with them half across the state to share with my mother during the post chemo / pre-surgery / pre-radiation hospital moments.

Mom twisted them around and palmed them.  I saw fear vanishing from her.  When the anesthesiologist entered, he began to share the process.  First, we will do this, then that, the important thing is to clear your mind.

"We have words for that, Mom, from the 'nothing' series."

The doctor was intrigued.  I shared p i c t u r e l e s s with him- Clear Clouds, Memory Music, Invisible Icicles.  He deemed them appropriate and darling.  He modified my mother's instructions to a p i c t u r e l e s s place.

In a childlike voice my mother asked for surgical tape.  When he returned she began praying and taping positive word cards on her body.  Then, my fear vanished.  This is l i f e and life is b e a u t i f u l.

Each hospital employee, visitor, and friend that witnessed that moment became instantly radiant.  The words connected us, protected us, and let us breathe through those moments one moment at a time.

It's all pink again!

BTW, MaRose is doing f a b u l o u s l y!

Thursday, March 27, 2014

nefeterius & the gift of the m a g i c h!

"Faction before blood." Hmmmmmm...Rather - faction and b l o o d

We do all, we are Divergent:

a b n e g a t i o n
e r u d i t e 
d a u n t l e s s 
a m i t y 
c a n d o r

Kudos to Veronica Roth for these f a b u l o u s words! Haven't seen the movie yet, but just finished the book. s m a r t world building!

Here's another faction...the m a g i c h! My brand new word for a sect that I don't see referenced often.


noun, plural ma-gich-es

f. la magich
m. le magich

1. your MAma's GIrlfriend's CHildren.
2. magical serendipitous fantasy parallel universe subliminal bond.
3. the offspring(s) of your play aunt.

Treesia, my older magich, attended UNT.

When you were young, you played with these m a g i c h e s , while your mothers shared "tea".

I assume the mamas talked shop, traded recipes, reviewed articles and books. They probably chatted about their loves and passions. Maybe they debated education, politics, religion, diets and parenting styles. Surely, they consulted and advised on fashions, fads and all issues personal. 

I know they talked about us.

I know because I am a mother, and I have girlfriend tea. And we talk.

"What's the t e a, Girl?"

Our tea is not always as traditional as an old school version. 

If I see a f a n t a s t i c blog on "how to talk to your daughter about her body", I immediately text it to all of my mama girlfriends. We discuss and v o w to affirm our children like the article suggests. We begin to talk with our girls differently creating a similar experience for our children. 

This c o l l e c t i v e parenting consciousness can even be a side comment in tea conversation. 

"Martial Arts had such a positive impact on Is." 

Weeks after this tea comment, I enrolled my son into a martial arts program. 

This co-creation comes in a m y r i a d of forms.

There are many influences outside of your family of origin that deeply affect your upbringing. I will boldly say that we are possibly more alike in experience with our magiches than many other people on the planet. The same b o o k s lined our shelves, the same television programs were watched, the same foods plated our dinner tables, we may have even shared a holiday or a day trip or two - because our mamas were friends.

For some reason this relationship escaped my heart's magnitude until a few days ago. I couldn't define who I lost to onlookers. My speech shattered. I couldn't quite explain my connection to this love. 

Now I have the word, the words.

I lost a s u b l i m e and fabulous magich. This world lost Nefeterius Akeli McPherson.

You see, I'm the older magich, the Big Tee, at least that is what Ms. Martha, our nanny called me. 

She was Little Tee.

Then along came a Baby Tee. I love you, Tamara.

I'm not quite sure how it all m a g i c h a l l y worked with me being eldest, but Little Tee has always been in my periphery - a validation across the aisle.

If you have magiches...

You don't even know why you know all about these people's lives. It would make much more sense if they were actually a limb on your genealogical t r e e, or if you had chosen the relationship on your own.When we talked as adults we didn't have to 'catch up' on on-goings and recent events - not because of social media or gossip, but because our mamas already told us. 

We participated in a lot of the same experiences, probably at the orchestration of our dear mothers. They all get to take j o y and ownership of 'their' childrens' successes, the mama group also share pain together with 'their' childrens' losses.

They become theirs, we become theirs. Sarabis holding down Pride Rock.

J'aime mes magiches

My mom called last week to tell me, Little Tee only had hours to live. A quake shocked my soul. I don't know a world without her. We arranged for the Fabulous Mo Creole to escort Mama Rose three hours away to quickly be at her l o n g time friend's side. Thank you, Mo Creole

I wanted to play it super somber, and super cool. I wanted to hold a supportive s l a s h comforting role. Then I heard my anthem for the week...

Turn Down! For What?

I listened, prayed, kicked, screamed, cried and laughed a bit. I questioned the fairness of all things g o o d. Then my pen hit the paper and I drafted the w o r d list that I rattled off at her wake of all the things we were able to share by having mamas that were d e a r friends.

Thank you, Farmer Guy, Manchild, Daughter and Puppy G i n g e r for escorting me across Texas for this magichal trip.

Thank you, Enterprise for surprisingly renting me a car with a n g e l West Virginia plates.

These 'honest' gifts that we received as w o r d s

Because of our mama's friendship, we do...

Friends, Girlfriends, Grace and Graceful. 
Lipstick and Smiles. 
Positivity and Kindness. 
Education and Degrees. More Education and Degrees. 
Children and Community. 
Social and Activism.
Flowers, Beauty and Travel.
Parties and Celebrations
Sweets and Food. 
Volunteer and Intern. 
Cheer and Mascots (Cardinals, Mustangs and Eagles). 
Piano Lessons and Fashion. 
Justice and Integrity. 
Thank yous and Gratitude. 
Life, Death.
and Tea.

And so it is.

See Tee's b e a u t i f u l inspirational story and fund Cancer Sucks.

Click here: http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/cancer-sucks-a-cheer-up-story 

l o v e   


Tuesday, March 11, 2014

u n i t e d

United under one principle: to positively play with our ABCs in as many fun ways as we can come up with! It is simple, clean and keeps us on the edge of the unknown, exactly where we want to be!

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Love Fete

The l o v e f e s t has officially ended. 

s e r v i c e & g i f t s 

Valentine's Day can be such a holiday of decadence, my daughter believes us to have crossed through decadence into p u r e gluttony. I remind her that we don't do seven deadlies. 

However, there were Edible Arrangements with chocolate covered strawberries and heart shaped pineapple slices, Italian cuisine carry-out from Luigis, movies galore. One being Charlie Countryman. I'm kinda obsessing over Shia Lebeouf at present. "I am not famous anymore." #iamsorry

There were dozens not thousands like Kimye, but dozens of r o s e s- pink, white and red. Frank Sinatra satellite serenaded us. 

Victoria's Secret made her d e b u t. TMI, I know. Skip paragraph if not interested. I really n e e d to publicly announce that by joining one of their clubs either PINK nation or the official store, you can randomly receive coupons in the mail for free unmentionables. 

Farmer Guy delivered chess pie, plain and chocolate! Can you hear points tally like at the end of an e x c e l l e n t round of Ms. PacMan? 

There were desserts! Boxed chocolate, tiramisu, chocolate cake, cheese cake and fried rice.  Don't judge, fried rice IS a dessert.

L. D. Eagle posted today that food was her love language... I totally get that. Hear, hear & Eagulls, Eagulls...Eagulls, Eagulls!!!

What's a love fest without l o v e  languages? We executed each one, and we could taste love wafting on farm cloud air.

Dr. Gary Chapman devised the love languages for us all to better understand and communicate love. I remember the analogy about the people speaking different languages, like when building the Tower of B a b e l. They may have been saying the same thing but they weren’t hearing the same thing.  It's not so easy to connect when we are communicating differently.

What's your love language? Find out now: http://www.5lovelanguages.com/ 

As with our online audience, we have to give love so they can hear it. 

These are the love languages:
  • Words of Affirmation 
  • Quality Time 
  • Receiving Gifts 
  • Acts of Service 
  • Physical Touch 

Here's where we left off...

Receiving Gifts 

Remember that the way a person receives love is also how they give it.

  • Crowdsourcing is critical here.  Contribute, or run a campaign.
  • Give away. Online give aways. Swag in person give aways. Give stuff away.
  • Give away really good tips on your blogs and posts. Content is king.
  • Other nice gifts include memes, photos and videos.
Acts of Service
This is a fun one!
  • Donate a part of your platform income to an organization that supports your vision or a really good fan.
  • Participate in a blog tour and share other people's work. If someone you know has something wonderful going on share about it with your readers.
Physical Touch
Reach out touch them!
  • Give shout outs.
  • Go to events and meet folks. Online and offline - from google hang outs to meet ups.
  •  Go off line and into the streets. Try to attend an event each season.

How else can we show love online? Drop me a line and let me know.

l o v e