Let Your Love Flow

And not in a gross, moist way.

That was for you Amy #1.

Tonight we spent the evening with our good friends; they fed us a fabulous meal. Who doesn't love king crab legs? As we sat around, Pauly D played the guitar, Amy #1 and I sang, and KP, well, he zoned out on his decongestants. I thought aloud, "I hope we remember these days."

I really do. I know the immediate future is up in the air and that it has the potential to change drastically. I know that little ones will want to crawl into the D's fire and that when they finally reach an age where we can trust that they wont want to lick burning flames, they will hate us. No really, they will think our singing is the worst they have ever heard, including American Idol 2019.

I hope we don't forget our carefree ways. I hope we remember the simple things. Friends. Family. Wine. Singing. Good Food. Dancing. Laughter.

I cannot think of an enjoyable time in my recent past that includes anything but the above.

That takes me to my title. KP bought me several bunches of flowers for my 29th birthday, 6 weeks ago. One single flower has survived all six weeks. And by survived, I mean I have not tossed it out. It has not disintegrated, nor has it flown out of my favorite Nambe vase and into the trash or an imaginary compost pile. It remains.



I would like to dedicate this song to my lone daisy. I tried to let my love flow.


Oh, and the word moist is dedicated to Amy #1. If you know her, please repeat it to her several times every time you see her.