What is love? What does the word mean? Would the meaning change if the word were different? The smile on a teenage girls face when finally asked out by the cutest boy in school; the look on a new mother’s face the first time she nurses her newborn and gazes in the baby’s eyes; the warmth in the new father’s heart when he watches his partner’s and infant’s first real interaction; the grin on the face of an elderly man whose wife of fifty+ years winks at him while sitting on the porch drinking their coffee-are any of these examples less beautiful if referred to as affect or electro chemical resposes or life experiences? The other day, I replaced our hot water tank. I cut the old pipes, attached new hoses, installed a ball valve with compression fittings on both ends and wired everything together. My son went out and turned the water back on and there was a little leak. With pliers in hand, I tried to tighten the compression fittings and it slipped. I had a fountain flowing all over myself and my utility room. I was absolutely soaked! There is a theory in science called Occam’s Razor that states (paraphrased), “The simplest solution is almost always the correct one”. In a panic, not thinking, I simply put the pipes back together and held them until my son turned the water back off, and it pretty much worked. My first reaction was, and most generally is, the best reaction. In other words, when I’m not thinking about it or trying to define the situation, I tend to end up simply doing the next right thing. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to spend the evening with an awesome, awesome friend. We talked until 3:00 this morning. We discussed everything from premonitions to the definition of love. On the drive home, I got a picture in my head of the water gushing from the pipes in my utility room and had an epiphany! Love isn’t something we can define or even name. It is simply like a fountain that sprays all over us, often when we aren’t thinking about it or expecting it. It simply happens. Then I realized that the process of trying to define a thing or person or event distances me from it because in attempting to capture a thing with words, takes it out of it’s own context and puts it in the very limited confines of my mind and perception. When I try to name or define love, I limit something that has no limits. I place MY value on something that is priceless. In other words, it is no longer love. When the hot water tank blew, I didn’t stop to think or define the situation, I acted on the simplest solution. When I have an emotional response to someone, it is simply that-an emotional response. Thinking about it changes it from emotion to intellect and it no longer “feels” the same. So, is love, by any other name, still as sweet? I don’t know. I reckon I could think about it, but then I’m not FEELING it, and that, simply put, is not nearly so sweet. On parting last night, my awesome, awesome friend made the statement, “I don’t know what to think.” The simplest answer, to me it seems is, “Don’t!”

I was a bit grumpy today. My friend, who is going to college this fall for a four year degree, was put down by a state agency employee, whose job it is to help her. My friend is beautiful, smart, funny, kind, generous and deaf. She is so excited about going to school! Support is pouring in from so many friends and her cheering section grows every time someone sees her smile while she tells them about going to college. Isn't it odd how one careless person can undo so much good? Today, let me walk gently, speak softly and let light be my exclamation!

Two house cats were wandering in the woods. Patches was an ordinary feline. Nothing fancy, ordinary looking in appearance, VERY well fed, but obviously a well-loved companion to her humans. Guinivere's appearance was straight from a piece of Egyptian artwork. Sleek, elegant, not thin, but having the grace and carriage that definitely made heads turn, both feline and human. Now, alongside the woods, some human, apparently having just cleaned out their cupboards, had left a small feast of tuna and canned salmon for whatever four-legged may happen to come about. The first cat to find the morsels walked up to them and began to indulge in the lovely find. Shortly, the second cat approached and, upon doing so, the first cat raised her head and began purring, twitched her tail with all sincerity and friendliness and attempted to rub noses with the second cat. There was plenty of food for both, and the first cat was delighted to have company with which to share the feast. The second cat bristled it's fur, glared at the first cat and hissed. Now, does it come as a surprise that the first cat was, indeed, Guinivere? Perhaps, pretty isn't always only on the outside.

I just came in from outside in the pasture where I was visiting with the horse, Alfie, who chose me as her human. Now the one thing Alfie loves most, after eating of course, is having her butt scratched. For most horses, turning their back on a human is a sign of great disrespect, but with Alfie, it's a demonstration of trust, I believe. A token of our love and friendship. Earlier today, I spoke with my cousin who was very upset about a discussion he'd had with his father, my uncle, where he felt terribly disrepected. When my cousin told me about the conversation, my thoughts were about how wonderful it was that my cousin was able to be so self-aware and how my uncle, whom I believe wants nothing more in life than to be connected, refuses any opportunities for intimacy. Now I'm not talking about those times when two people feel close for the moment, rather lifetimes where two souls really KNOW each other. My cousin is becoming more and more capable of this as time goes on. My uncle, on the other hand, seems to avoid it at all costs, even though he appears to desire it so much. When horses turn their backside to me, I turn them around and make them face me, then take a step or two backwards to elicit respect. But, when Alfie turns to me, I scratch her butt. It's different with her. We KNOW each other. When my cousin talks to his father and feels hollow afterward, it hurts him. When I talk to my uncle and get the same reaction, I reckon it hurts me a little bit, too. However, after talking to my cousin and realizing how wonderful it is to really KNOW him, there are no words to express how un-alone it feels. I wonder why some people are like that? Perhaps the horses have the secret--until humans get to that point where they are capable of intimacy, maybe we ought to just turn them around and back them up a few steps. Just a thought.

I went to a powwow and camped a few weeks ago. The choices of food were limited, so my friend and I went to the local WalMart. 11 miles and about 30 minutes later, we walked in the front door right in the produce section.  Now, I was really wanting some nice, sweet fruit, and right in front of me were some beautiful, purple-red-burgundy gorgeous plums. 

I grew up in California and, let me tell you, there is nothing so wonderful as a fresh-off-the-tree plum.  Sweet on the inside, a little tartness from the skin, juice dripping down my chin to my shirt - it's one of those things anyone is fortunate if they can experience at least once in their lifetime.  Problem was that my plum supply had stopped a little less than a year ago.  I missed those plums so much, and all I wanted was to have a few more.

So, I bought a small bag full of plums along with a few other camping necessities, and headed back to the powwow. 

After arriving back at camp, I unloaded the car, helped my friend with her items and sat down to my wonderful, lovely plums.  I took one out of the bag, wiped it on my shirt and bit in.  YUCK!  It tasted OK, but it wasn't one of MY plums.  My beautiful California, special-all-for-me-perfect plums!  To tell the truth, I was a little miffed.  I WANTED MY PLUMS, not some store bought mockery of my beloved fruit.

I ate the first one, then the second, then the third.  None of them came close to the beautiful memory of my faithful old plums.  I wanted to call WalMart and tell them off.  I wanted to go back and get more.  I wanted to do anything as long as I could have my old plums back. 

Then I stopped.  A friend pointed out how upset I was getting at not having what I wanted.  I took a chill break and thought about how I was reacting.  Pretty silly, eh?  I realized that the problem wasn't in WalMart - they were selling plums they had gotten from who-knows-where, doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing.  It wasn't even the plums.  For WalMart ala West Virginia, they actually were OK plums.  The problem was in my expectations.  I wanted MY plums back. 

After my little tantrum, I talked with a few more friends about the expectation of having my old plums back.  I realized that, in my life, most of my tantrums were caused by my unmet expectations.  I came to realize that the memory of having eaten some of the best plums in the universe and then losing my plum supply was really the cause of my negative feelings and not the plums themselves.  Dang it, I MISSED MY PLUMS!!!

Perhaps, throughout my life, I may be fortunate enough to find a few more plums like the ones I ate before.  Heck, I may even find a different supplier some day from whom I can have all the plums I want.  Maybe they'll never be quite the same.  Afterall, sometimes it isn't the plums, but the memory of the plums that is so amazingly sweet.  I'm not sure exactly what life will bring in the way of plums for the future.  I may occasionally eat a few of the WalMart variety, not-quite-what-I-want-but-they'll-do plums, even.  But, for today, I think I'll try switching to locally grown, lovely in their own right, peaches.

Ever wonder why a sandwich tastes so much better when you have either french fries or potato chips?  I think I know the answer-it's the contrast.  The only question, then, is which one?  Potato chips take virtually no effort.  You reach into a bag, or rip a single serving pack open, grab a few chips and put them on your plate.  The crunchy, salty, almost addictive nature of a potato chip can seem like the perfect balance to a bland, boring sandwich.

Then there's the french fry.  Sure it takes good bit more effort to prepare, but you can dip them in ketchup, smother them in chili and cheese, put any kind of seasoned salt on them, the possibilities are almost as limitless as the people who choose fries.  

So, why then, is there a need for a choice?

Well, I suppose you can do without potatoes all together, but why?  They really can make meals so much better.  

Sometimes the simplicty of potato chips make them hard to resist.  Instant gratification in a bag.  Sure they're a little unfulfilling, but hey, they're easy, right?  Maybe there not quite as warm and versatile as a french fry, but there so doggone easy!  They taste good!  They're generally sold in nice looking packages.  If you don't read the nutritional information, they seem to be the ideal snack.

But, alas,there's the french fry.  Warm, compliments most any meal, not only sandwiches, they can be seasoned with just about anything.  The best part is how fulfilling they can be. Some people even eat fries as a meal in themselves.  Top 'em with a little substance and french fries stand alone, although I'm not quite sure how healthy that is. 

My Grandma made me french fries when I was a little girl.  All that work - peeling potatoes, cutting them up, frying them in that special pan.  Life sure was good when Grandma made french fries, in that special way only Grandmothers can make 'em.

So, is the preference for potato chips or french fries innate?  Do we learn it?  I'm not sure.
Although that "perfect" or at least "just right for me" french fry has been a bit elusive, I still find myself seeking it.  Maybe not just like Grandma's, but at least close.   Perhaps I'll find it someday.  Perhaps not.  However, I reckon I'll continue the search until I find it.  Although, in all honesty I must admit that the occasional potato chip can be pretty good.  Maybe even a whole bunch of them.