What is Love?

I didn't know, I wasn't sure, so I googled it and found 3 million pages, I suppose love is a big thing worth thinking about.
Here are my thoughts...Ummm
And I can't think of one. Give me a few moments.

I'm back.
I could come out with the old chestnut that love means never having to say you're sorry. Absolute nonsense.
When you love someone so very much you sometimes can't say anything, let alone the hardest word.

When I'm with mum and dad, I can't say 'sorry' for not always being there or 'sorry' for moving to Essex what I can do however is show how much I love them.
Love doesn't always need a flapping tongue.



Cats and other general things.

I love Monty not because he was in a home for cats but for reasons of utter selfishness. I can play at being a mum. He gets a bungalow to play in and five meals a day, I get to hold in him in my arms saying ooozy wooozy coochy woochy and hand feed him chops.
Who's getting the best deal?

I love certain items in the bungalow, items like my wooden cat collection, books, a cockerel weather thermometer, jugs, dvd players and handbags. All inanimate, but friends worthy of a polishing kind of love. My love goes outside too, Buddha under the Japanese Maple tree, he gets the nod aswell as the verbal.. Nam myo ho renge kyo
Spring flowers, summer dresses, food fit for the gods and parents. All lovely.



People.
I like people.
Some a bit, some a lot and some bordering on love. This teetering on the edge of love is interesting, some might say impossible, you can't nearly love someone can you?
Yes I think you can.

Love is tasty and dangerous and should be taken with care. A real drug.

Liking people is what I do best, that way they don't impinge on my existence, leaving me as free as a wild bird to party with the laundry. I love making cashiers laugh. Men and women, but mostly men.
In fact I'll be bold enough to say I'm capable of loving all working men.


Unrequited Love.
Now there's a traumatic subject.
Out out out.
Get out and away.
Unless you are old and wise and believe it's better to give than receive. Nothing sadder than straining for love. I was told.


I sometimes go too far though allowing people to take up residence in my heart. My body is small and so I'm short on available space. What space I do have is given over to the big loves, namely Mr H. and the London Lovelies there's rarely room for any more.

But love is a beast and will claw for residence and no matter how much you want the beast to go, the beast will stay.. So then what? Take rent?

No, you agree with your saner self that although he/she is a dish, you will, on no account, allow the lodger to disrupt, they can stay until I, the landlady, tires of the company.
Love at its most sensible and agreeable.


I love mum and dad, it's when I'm with them that black is made paler, awful becomes not so bad, pain becomes bearable. A cup of tea and biscuit becomes a party.

There's an invisible unbreakable connection with them, blood I think it's called, but flowing in that blood is the stuff of a phantastic tale, a love story about three people who are joined not only by rings, cakes and genes but by a bond borne of shared horrors, shared chips and unquestionable love.

And Mr H?
Poor darling.
We once had such a spat that he violently smashed a mug against the wall and so ferocious was his silly outburst, that it ended up with me wrapping his bleeding, almost severed hand, in a pink bath towel then roaring to the hospital just so he could have stitches. (Right hand I think) (Parking was a nightmare)

He's forgave me immediately, and I him...

Love between husband and wife can be fraught, it can also be wonderful.
It is an impossible relationship, it is a revelation, it comes in many forms and survives many shocks. In one word love and marriage with or without a carriage is odd. To take on a stranger and their habits, even though he/she is gorgeous bright or rich, is madness. Better to buy a pet.

So Love...A list.

Love is being unwashed together for 48hours.
sharing a fork
withholding some truths
giving what you don't have
putting on a brave face
letting it all out
wanting 4 day weekends
being grand
being a twat
feeling 'right' with him/her
talking a lot
being speechless
looking
not looking

Love makes us drop our guard.

So there you have it.
My whimsical take on what the stuff of good blogs is made of.
:)