Ramblings: Self-told lies

Ramblings: Self-told lies

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Standing on the outside looking in can make it easy to judge, easy to say ‘why didn’t they do it this way?’ or ‘how could they not see it?’. It is easy to see what should happen, when you are far enough away to see the whole picture, to see the threads that bind and twist. To see the whole of the winding path.

It isn’t so easy when you are in the thick of it, when those threads are bound and twisting about you. When all you see is the path at your feet. It isn’t easy to see the problems, when your heart and mind refuse to acknowledge they could ever possibly exist. We blind ourselves to the truth because the every day lies are far less painful and easier to hold on to. It takes someone strong to reach out beyond those lies, to see the truth and take hold of it.

It is easy to say that they should do it, yet not so easy to actually do.

The lies that we tell ourselves are pervasive, insidious, and we don’t even realize that we are doing it most of the time. Or we justify it. Don’t tell a story because you don’t want people to judge, not realizing that maybe you should stop and think about why and what you don’t want judged. That perhaps avoiding the story that might clang alarm bells in the head of a trusted confidante is a flag in and of itself.

We trick ourselves into believing that where we are is always where we need to be, when sometimes it is just a stepping stone. Or a stoplight turned red. Or even both, one after the other. We don’t want to leave the comfortable, the known, so we tell ourselves that we are happy here. Until there comes a time when that lie becomes too big, when it threatens to overwhelm us and instead it smashes into us and falls apart. We fall apart. Our lives fall apart.

But that’s the thing about people. Our lives can, and will, fall apart. Yet we keep on going. We keep on trying to make sense of it all, to move forward to something brighter, to something bigger than ourselves. It pulls us onward even when we dig our heels in and say ‘Stop!’. At least, for most of us. There are, always and sadly, those who dig in too deep, whose shouts are too loud, to be overcome. Whose self-told lies will never be shattered.

For the rest of us, even our darkest moments can be spun into something bright. A lesson, for yourself and for others, if they will care to listen and not judge. A truth that you can hold to tightly, even when the lies begin to creep in again. An understanding, that you are strong and have made it through darkness to light once and can do so again. And again, if need be.

All this to say: pay attention to the little details in your lives, the small clues that will show you the truth if you let them. Tell the untold story. Don’t dismiss the nagging voice that you so often do, the one that asks ‘are we sure this is right?’. The story might be nothing, the voice might be the lie, but if you don’t tell it, if you don’t listen, how can you know for sure?

Storytime: The Midnight Postman

Storytime: The Midnight Postman

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The package sat crookedly on his kitchen table, an ever present reminder of a job yet to be done. He checked the clock – not quite midnight – and peered out the window at the skies for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The clouds were still thick, gentle mounds barely visible in the darkness, and he knew that above that white barrier a whole world awaited him. A world that never ceased to bring wonder and amazement, no matter how many times he made the journey. Tonight. Tonight he would make the delivery.

The clock ticked its solemn, steady way to midnight as he sipped slowly on his tea. Earl Grey, with just a touch of honey and cream. His routine was so practiced and precise that as the clock on the mantle began to chime the late hour, he swallowed the last drops of tea.

Standing, he gently placed the delicate tea cup by the sink and stretched, his back cracking in time with the clock. “Time to get going, then.” he said to no one in particular. Slipping the package carefully into his bag – gentle for he knew not what the contents were but should there be a single wrinkle, a single crack, he would never make the journey again – and plucked his bowler hat from the stand, placing it upon his head and running his fingers along the soft rim.

Opening the door, he took one last look around his cozy kitchen, a small smile tugging at his lips before stepping outside and pulling the door closed as the clock chimed its last note for midnight. As he always did.

He looked again at the cloudy sky as he strode across his yard, as quaint and cozy as the kitchen he had left behind. Carefully, for everything he did was with great care, he moved through the gate, a small thing of white wooden slats and a simple latch. Not tall enough to keep anything out, but no one cared to bother him anyway. Or visit.

He shrugged off that thought quickly, for it was a small price to pay for the wonder that was his life.

Walking quickly now, the Midnight Postman – a name he had adopted for himself, though no one else called him that – made his way across a slender road of hard-packed dirt, not bothering to look for oncoming vehicles. There would be none. There never was this far from civilization. Across the road he went, and up the small hill that he considered his own, personal hill for at its greatest height there was a brazier filled with a special sort of wood. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a match – a special sort of match – and lifted one foot to pull it along the sole of his running shoes – a special pair of shoes.

The match flared to life, burning a brilliant blue, and he dropped it into the brazier and waited. To any other, the wait might have seemed intolerable but the Midnight Postman was a patient man. In his line of work, he had to be. Long minutes passed before the brazier flared to life, first a brilliant blue like the match had been, then a soft, vibrant purple, before slowly fading to a soft white with purple and blue flickering at its tips. The smoke pouring from the brazier lifted upward, a steady stream that rose and rose until it touched the clouds above. He watched in silence as it strove to the heavens.

It was time.

Checking that he had a good grip on his bag – it simply wouldn’t do to drop that on the way – he took a deep breath and placed his right foot upon the billowing smoke. No matter how many times he made this journey, that first step always made his heart thud wildly in his chest.

The smoke held, his foot sinking only slightly into its swirling layers and a smile of triumph crossed his face as he lifted his left foot up and began the slow but steady walk up the smoke and into the clouds.

He took care not to look behind at the slowly vanishing world below. He had made that mistake only once, the vertigo it caused nearly breaking the magic of the smoke, and he had learned that lesson well., unlike his predecessor Now when he climbed the winding column of smoke, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the clouds above and his mind on his destination.

As he reached the cloud line he paused, taking in a deep breath of the clear, crisp air that surrounded him before plunging upward, into the cloud. For the briefest of moments, bitterly cold wisps clung to him, pulling at his arms and threatening to steal away his hat, and then he was through. He stood upon the clouds.

The Midnight Postman took another deep breath, filled with the wonder and delight he always felt when he got to this point in his journey. It was the reason he was so fastidious, for having tasted of this magic he would never willingly let it fall from him.

Stretching before him was a landscape that would never be duplicated on the land below. Soft, white clouds became rolling hills and plunging valleys, lit silver by the light of millions of stars and the larger than life crescent moon. Here and there the land below strove to break into the magic the lived above the clouds – tree covered mountain tops, and snow-shrouded peaks. Always, though, the clouds came in and jealously guarded their domain. This was not a place for earthly hubris, and the Midnight Postman was always careful to leave such pride behind. Humbled and contrite, he moved amidst the magic of the heavens, a tiny figure swallowed by the vast, silver beauty.

Rambling: Writing and More

Rambling: Writing and More

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

 I am going to literally ramble right now. I don’t know what about. I’m very tired, I just woke up from a horrible dream that involved a lot of screaming and crying on my part, and a lot of trying to comfort me on the part of the complete strangers that populate my dreams. To be frank, I’ve been feeling off all week, but not the kind of off where you can stay home from work snuggled up in something warm, trying to rest. No, it’s the kind of off where you don’t feel bad enough to not go in to work, but it does make work incredibly difficult when you are there. Not really fun at all.

However, I do have something rather exciting that has happened, I suppose. Well, it is exciting for me. I’ve finished typing up Book 2 of my Wings of Shattered Shards series. So that is essentially draft 2 done, as I handwrite the first draft, typically. I’ll need to transfer all the words over to find out where I’m sitting at for manuscript total, but I believe I should be hovering just over 100,000. I have at least two more scenes that I will want to include, but I’ll need to add those in during the next round of edits, so that I know exactly what I want and where it will fit in with the story. I know that it will involve the “bad guys” as I want to show more of what they are doing throughout the events of book 2. 

I’m very excited for it. I quite like the ending that I have written so far, although it is, of course, subject to change depending upon my whims. I think the thing that cheers me the most, here, is how much quicker I was writing this book than the first one. There are quite a few factors that went into that, not the least of which being I knew what I was doing a bit better, I knew I would be typing it up, and I had it far more organized in a notebook, rather than on countless scraps of Canadian Tire paper. I still have all those scraps of paper, even though the story has evolved far beyond the scribbles that they hold. It’s quite incredible.

Aside from that, there isn’t much exciting occurring for me. My husband bought me a wonderful Christmas gift – an Oodie, which is the softest and warmest thing I have ever worn and I love it to bits. I’ve been wearing it everyday since I got it, and wish desperately to be able to wear it to work. I think, however, that a hoodie that goes down past my knees, bunches comically around my wrists and that you could literally fit another one of me in, is likely not completely work appropriate. Alas.

I suppose this is all I really have to say, today. As I said, I’m quite tired right now. My alarm went off and I nearly fell asleep again immediately after shutting it off. I’d love to stay home and sleep, but that is not in the cards today. I’ve been told that I need to go to work, and that earning money is important, or something.

If you ask me, everyone should just buy my book and then I wouldn’t have this issue any more. I could just write forever! Don’t worry, though, I don’t actually expect everyone to buy my book. It would be awesome, but I’d probably need to be more active in advertising to sell more. Something I really should look into, one of these days. Maybe after I publish book 2.

Rambling: Looking Back

Rambling: Looking Back

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

 2020. Man. What a year.

I think that this can be said to be one of the, collectively, worse years that we have experienced. Maybe not as a human race, but each of us as individuals. While it may have started out strong, the number of curve balls we were thrown in the end just went to show us how resilient we can be. How strong we are, when we come together. For that was where the divisiveness was worse, when people refused to let go of something for the greater good, for the health and safety of all.

But I don’t want to reflect back on everything that was bad. We all know what happened, we all know about covidiots and the abandoned spring plans. And summer plans. And fall plans. And winter plans. It doesn’t help anyone to hash this over yet one more time.

I want to reflect back on what was good in 2020. I need to look at a smaller scale, for that, but I still want to do it. This means I’m looking at my life in 2020, and I will be frank, I was a lot better off than many were. I’m not trying to brag, I know exactly how lucky I am that this was the case. A matter of where I was born, rather than any real merit on my part.

At the beginning of 2020, things were full of change. My husband had recently been accepted for disability payments, and I had spent the tail end of 2019 pursuing a new job. In January, I was offered the position, which was incredible. What was more incredible was that the new partner at my firm decided they couldn’t lose me. The other partners thought that was that, I was going to be gone, but he made the effort. He made the offer I wanted, and I got to stay in a job that, while I don’t particularly like working in general, I quite like, all things considered. I haven’t regretted the decision at all, and indeed am really glad I was given the choice. I liked my new coworkers that had been brought on board with the recent merge, and I didn’t want to part with them so soon.

Well, alright, that was all pre-world-wife-pandemic. As we all know, things changed pretty quickly.

At the start of things, which for me was mid-March, I was marched straight into a 2-week lock down as my landlords had just traveled home from Hawaii and my work and I decided caution was the better part of valor. That was actually kind of fun, my husband fed me lunch and kept healthy snacks available for me. Working from home is ultimately quite difficult, though. The struggles with technology are tough, and that lag at some points made me want to tear my hair out. But it wasn’t awful.

For our anniversary, we had more money available to us than we had had for a very long time. For the first time in years, we actually did something for our birthdays (which are a mere two weeks apart, so are often celebrated together). Rather than remain at home playing a video game yet again, we rented a cabin and went to the lake! Nobody was around, just us, our cat, and the baby birds in the birdhouse attached to our cabin. That was incredible, to be perfectly honest. They babies must have been newly born when we got there, but by then end of the week they were chirping up a storm, calling to mama bird to bring them food.

And yes, you read that right. Our cat joined us on the adventure. We have always, since we got him, wanted to take him with us camping or something similar. We knew he would absolutely love the experience, and we were not wrong. He was the best boy. He didn’t wander off, even when we took his leash off. Would just sit there, watching the world, nose to the wind. It was honestly quite wonderful and magical. He is such a good boy.

Things were quiet for awhile after that. Life went on, masks became more common, and washing my hands so often was leaving a dry mark on my wrist (still there, it comes and goes).

Then they weren’t.

We were casually looking at houses. And then we found the perfect one. Perfect. We had to have it.

So after confirming with my most wonderful mother that, if needed, she could assist with the down payment, we went and looked at the house. We made an offer.

And then we were told that there was already an accepted offer and that we should not have been allowed to view the home. Disappointment. Despair. But a sliver of hope, these things do fall through sometimes.

A call on the Monday confirmed – the deal fell through, our offer went in. The drama didn’t end there, it was a whirlwind of anxiety and multiple ups and downs, but in the end, well, I am writing this from my computer room in the new home I own with my husband, in large thanks to the efforts of my mom! Getting the mortgage sorted was a serious bitch, since it is a manufactured home and I have no credit! But we still got it.

For the rest of the year, we have just been living in this strange state of “Is this real?” and “Is this ours?”. It is real, it is ours. It is hard to wrap our heads around the fact that we are in a much better position than we have been in years, despite the state of the world in 2020. It was honestly one of the best years I personally have had. So much change.

I hope that those of you who had a bad year last year, find yourselves with a wonderful one this time around. I know things aren’t going to improve right away for most people, we are still a ways coming to heal from this virus and return to something that might look like normal. I suspect we’ll still be wearing masks and keeping our distance for much of 2021, but maybe this time with an end date in sight, rather than a spurious “we’ll keep our eye on things and update accordingly”.

Rambling: The Fight

Rambling: The Fight

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

So there I was, playing WoW last night, just chilling in those last hours of freedom that we call the weekend, when the sound of a cat fight permeates the air. Initially, I dismiss the noise, likely considering it a sound from the game I played. But in a moment, reality sets in: the fight is in our yard, and our cat is outside. I threw off my blanket and dashed outside, yelling to my husband to turn on the lights as I started to loudly clap my hands. I knew our cat wouldn’t hear it, the deaf angel, but I prayed it would spook the other cat. It was dark. Our cat is black, and so was the other one. A black tornado of fur and claws, darkening the night, was all I could really see, even with the deck light on. (Note to self: Get lights that can light up the yard better).

I was in luck. My approach was heard and the interloper tried to sprint away, with Grim following close behind. He wasn’t about to let another cat in HIS yard go unpunished. This was the ultimate offense.

The strange cat dashed into the dark corner by the shed, scrambling up the fence-a feat that Grim is not spry enough to accomplish anymore-and perching atop it. To rest or to taunt, I did not know nor care. I shouted and clapped my hands again, sending the trespasser over the fence for good. The unknown cat gone, I could tend to my own.

Kneeling down, I cautiously put a hand out, trying to coax Grim out of the pitch black corner he had chased the other cat to. I could hear a rustle in the leaves that blanketed the corner, but my eyes could not penetrate the darkness.

“Is Grim there?” My husband called from the deck, where he stood anxiously in his socks, fly swatter at the ready. So focused on the cats, I hadn’t even really noticed him come outside after my rushed cry for light.

“I think so,” I answered, mostly sure that our cat was huddled in the leaves before me. It hadn’t been him on the fence, after all.

Placing my hand on Grim, I carefully stroked him, letting him know he was OK, and that it was me. I cautiously started to pick him up only to hear a growl emanate from low in his throat. Concerned, worried that I hurt him, I released my grip and pet him once more before he started to slink away, moving into the path where the porch light spilled. Seeing him move with relative ease, I felt assured that any injuries he may have were minor and picked him up again, this time ignoring the low, brief growl in his throat.

“I think that’s enough time outside tonight.” I tell him, cradling the big baby as my husband and I go back inside and place him on the floor, in the light, for a damage inspection.

A small scratch above his eye, but touching his eye. Good.

And one claw, torn completely off. Ouch.

So we cart the poor cat to the bathroom, and I do a quick Google search for what to do (FYI, apparently you should NOT use hydrogen peroxide on a cat. I don’t know why, but this is why you look things up first.) Turns out there isn’t much you can do, other than try to prevent the cat from licking it and otherwise keeping it clean.

It’s gonna be a couple days before he is allowed out again, and I guarantee that will be chafing by the time I return from work today.

Storytime: The Journey

Storytime: The Journey

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Every morning she packed her bag for the trip to work. An extra couple sweaters, her good warm boots and woolen socks, along with a few other warm items. In spite of the clothing she packed, Carrie dressed in shorts and a tank top, sliding sandals onto her feet as she left her front door, backpack slung over her back.

Outside, the day is just beginning. Warm and bright, the sun beams down upon the cobblestone street she traveled. It’s one of the few cobblestone streets left, and to be completely honest, Carrie hated them, especially when the light spring rains fell. Then the uneven stones were slick and she had to leave an ten minutes early just to make the sonic train on time.

Turning off her street, she joined the throng that made its way toward the train, all carrying packs filled with warmer clothing while they walked along in tank tops and t-shirts, shorts and short skirts. Despite the crowd, none of them touched anyone else. A relic of the old days, the days of the pandemic, and a habit that many still cannot break. When someone inadvertently stepped too close to Carrie, she shuddered involuntarily and scooted slightly away, watching her other side carefully to make sure she didn’t encroach on those beside her.

Finally, her feet touched the first step up to the train platform and she trudged up them, shifting the pack on her back to a more comfortable position. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the sun continued to rise and cast its rays down upon the residential city.

With the invention of the sonic trains, trains that could cross miles in the blink of an eye, the make up of the world had shifted. No longer did anyone want to live in the cold regions, where snow blanketed the ground as much as grass did. So residential cities had been established in the balmy, warm regions and work cities in the colder areas where snow dominated. It made for a very strange commute. Inside the sonic trains, instead of rows of seating, there were a multitude of individual rooms, pod rooms, only large enough for a single person and their bag.

Carrie made her way to the first available pod room and dropped her bag on the short bench. Right now, the air was a comfortable temperature, not as hot as outside, but warm enough that she didn’t feel a chill in her shorts and tank top. That would change soon enough. She kicked off her sandals and leaned against the wall to wait. After ten minutes, boarding was done and the train lurched into motion, moving slow until it cleared the outskirts of the residential city. Another 5 minutes passed with the train ramping up speed until Carrie’s ears popped.

As soon as that happened, she opened her bag and began to dig out the clothing she had brought. Pulling on thermal leggings before a pair of heavy pants, she then tucked her pant legs carefully into thick socks and pulled on her warm boots, stamping her feet to settle them.

The air was getting colder. Goosebumps appeared on Carrie’s arms as she pulled her long-sleeve shirt and sweater from her bag, tugging them both on and rubbing her arms briskly. Fully dressed with a warm hat over her ears, Carrie shoved her other clothes and sandals into her bag and pulled it shut.

The train would continue to cool as they moved, until it was only slightly warmer than the work city they would be stepping out into. It hadn’t always been this way, but over the years the designers had learned that this way helped curb sickness and ensured everyone was dressed appropriately before the train arrived at its destination.

When it finally rolled to a stop, Carrie stepped out with all the other workers and made her way down the snow-covered street to the office building she worked. Inside, it would be just warm enough that exposed skin was safe, your fingers wouldn’t freeze. Inside, all her coworkers would be dreaming of home, if only it wasn’t so cold as to cut all dreams short before they began.

Adjusting her bag once more, Carrie walked into the building, nodding a greeting to the bundled security guard, and making for the stairs. Her workspace was on the 5th floor, but to take the elevator for anything lower than the 10th was considered bad practice and earned you a black mark on your permanent record. It made things too crowded, and management hadn’t liked crowds for years.

Rambling – Update Time

Rambling – Update Time

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I’ve been silent, but with good reason. I have been focusing my creative energy and time toward working on Wings of Shattered Shards, Book 2. Alas, it still lacks a proper name. What it doesn’t lack, however, is a fully handwritten, completed draft 1!

Yes, that’s right. I got to write “the end” for Book 2. Not the end of the series, of course, there is much more that Amy and her friends must do, but the end of this portion of their saga, at any rate. It is quite exciting, there is nothing quite like it. Except, perhaps, putting “the end” at the end of the final draft!

What does this mean, moving forward? What sort of timeframe are we looking at? Well, I know many of you are probably eager for Book 2. I don’t blame you – I’m eager to find out what all happens in it, too. I’m tentatively hoping that I will be able to complete all the edits and polishing for a publication date next year. Will this absolutely happen? I don’t know. I could have more difficulty than I anticipate, or I could breeze through it like nothing.

Draft 2 is well on its way. I have somewhere around half of it typed up, a good 55k words. I’ve reached a scene that needed a complete rewrite, which I typically do handwritten, so I’ve stalled a little there as I write out the scene again. If I’m diligent, this draft may be finished in a couple of months. I do have some potential upheaval occurring in my life in the near future, however, so that may affect this hope.

I’m really excited about Book 2. There are some exciting things happening in it, some tragic moments, and a few tender ones mixed in. The quest to save the shards continues, and Amy experiences some serious growth within.

Well, I just wanted to provide a bit of an update as to where things were. I will probably continue to focus on Book 2, but I’m going to try and make an effort to start being more active in writing on here.

I hope everyone has a wonderful day, take care, and I hope to see you reading my books one day!

Rambling: The State of Things

Rambling: The State of Things

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Its been hard to find that creativity lately. Difficult enough to find the words for my story, even more so to write a blog post that doesn’t perpetuate the doom and gloom that is our world lately. The last blog post I tried to write was just before all this started to effect my country and, therefore, my life. It was a post speculating on the comfort of finally having “enough” and not worrying about spending money on more frivolous things. Can’t say that feels altogether appropriate say this point in time.

There are still silver linings, despite the state of the world today. You might need to look a little harder, but they are there. Personally, I find myself hoping that this pandemic will upset the current order of the world, so that when we return to a normal it is a different flavor of normal them we’ve had before now. Something better, more sustainable. Maybe I’m just dreaming, but it is a pleasant enough dream.

Amidst all the dark, there is still light. There are those working tirelessly to help others, even just by making face masks for those who work in the health sector. They are doing this without asking for anything back, because it is the right thing to do. The good thing. There is a lot to be proud of, right now. And, of course, there are all our health workers, the nurses, the doctors and their support staff, putting their health and lives on the line to help those in their community.

But there never seems to be good without bad. Two sides of the same coin. Ever intertwined. I know you’ve seen it, the videos and pictures of protests, people sick and tired of the social isolation. Tired of not working. They gather together and protest, perhaps not even fully realizing how dangerous their actions are right now. Maybe just not caring. I can’t pretend to know their thoughts in this time.

But I don’t want to focus on those people. They are the loud ones. The we are going to hear about the most. The small stories of kindness go overlooked amongst the noise. So I urge you to take a moment, seek out the stories of those who are doing what they are able to help those that they can. Along with our health professionals, these people are the heroes. Giving what they can when there is not a lot to give.

As ride the bus into work, I can see numerous windows filled with hearts and messages of love and support. Outside the hospital there is even more. The other day, as I sat dejected on the bus, the automated voice spoke up. “We’re all in this together,” it droned. I nearly cried. I needed to hear that, even if it was just from a robotic voice.

So, I want to take this time to say it to you. We are in this together. We will get through this, because humans are wondrous creatures. We adapt. We change. And we carry on. We will make it through.

Rambling: When the Characters Decide

Rambling: When the Characters Decide

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

There are many ways to write a story. Some writers plan every little detail before they really start writing the meat of the story. Other writers get an idea and just run with it. And, of course, there is everywhere in between.

I’m a pantser. It means I don’t write an outline, though I do have an idea where the story needs to go. When I’ve tried to start with an outline in the past, I tend to just start writing the story. I’m too eager to dive into the world I’ve created, I think. Despite not planning all the details out, I still feel I have a good handle on where my story is going.

And then the characters make their thoughts heard. This usually means that, as I get deep into writing a scene, my characters do something completely unexpected though still in tune with who they are. It can be as simple as one using a nickname well before I thought they would be familiar enough with another character to do so. But it just feels right.

It can also end up being something as game changing as an unplanned death or a major rift in a relationship. Those sorts of things can completely change the intended direction of the story, but they are often something good, something the story needed that you only subconsciously recognised.

That is how I like to write my stories. Knowing the direction, but constantly guessing and surprised at the smaller details that reveal themselves to me.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.Please let me know what you think!

FFF Cover Second Design test

(Kindle Version / Paperback Version)
CA: https://amzn.to/2PmPSmn / https://amzn.to/2MOtosK
US: https://amzn.to/31JTwcw / https://amzn.to/2JskmQ9
UK: https://amzn.to/2pUrTAk / https://amzn.to/2MRHx8w

Rambling: Valentine

Rambling: Valentine

by Heather ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Today is a day to celebrate love, or something. I mean, in my mind this day has become a very manufactured holiday with an emphasis on the material things – chocolates, flowers, diamond rings. That has never sat well with me. Of course, I also believe that you should be honoring your love every day, not just on this one specific day.

But the day remains and couples some the world buy into it. Literally.

I personally only give the holiday a token nod or, more appropriately, a token kiss.

So, to those who celebrate, I hope you enjoy the time you are spending with your loved one(s). To those that aren’t, I hope you simply have a great Friday and a lovely weekend afterward.

Oh, and to the kids whose parents don’t tell them to give a Valentine card to every kid in their class… You really should. I was always left out, and it made grade school me a very sad little girl when I emptied out my decorated box to find only a small handful of cards, probably from my two close friends and the teacher.