As Good As A Hug

Well okay, maybe not as good as a solid, all-encompassing, full body press, but still...

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself yesterday afternoon.  Nothing too serious, just one of those days where being on this mountain in the middle of nowhere dents my head.  I'm a woman who appreciates having a man in her life, though lately that's becoming less and less likely to ever happen again--hence the wee bout of pathetic yesterday.

Is there a quota on love, I wonder?  Have I reached it?  Had too much fun when I was younger and used up the relationships allotted to me in this life?  That would sort of suck, wouldn't it?  Although, if I'm truly done--all the heart cards played--at least there were men I've loved, and men who've loved me.  That has to count for something.

So. What's as good as a hug?

A beautiful loaf of freshly baked Amish bread.  Seriously.  There's something so elemental in the heady scent of yeast, being soothed by the push-and-turn of kneading dough.  The house smelled like a bakery--aromatherapy at its finest: calming, relaxing, productive.

I could use a good man, definitely a good hug, but there's also comfort in something as basic as this...