Kisses....

I have been thinking about kisses today, sweet, lovely, sensual, delicious kisses. The sort of kiss that takes your breath away.

For the most part, we all get our first kiss within the first minutes of our lives. Mothers, exhausted and spent, still glistening with drops of sweat from labor, lovingly kiss us as soon as we are placed in their arms. We are kissed endlessly throughout our childhood. We're kissed when we are frightened or sick, when we are sad or when we are especially sweet. We're kissed, sometimes, when our mother or father is the one frightened or hurt or saddened by something. We are plastered with kisses.

As we mature and become aware of the opposite sex we think quite a lot about kisses. We wonder when our first kiss will arrive and most importantly from whom. Sometimes it's a complete surprise, a halfhearted effort, a near miss, a good intention gone awry. It's often fumbled, full of nerves, tense and tight. Most first kisses are not the sort one finds on a movie screen. Soft strains of violins are rarely playing in the background. Mine was no exception. I was expecting a kiss similar to the one Burt Lancaster planted on Deborah Kerr's lips on that beach in the film From Here to Eternity. Mine came on a cold winter's night walking from a basketball game to a pizza parlor. It was fast, it was cold and I almost missed it. I will also never forget it.

We all have those sort of kisses we won't ever forget from lost loves, past romances. They remain in our memory as soft and as sweet as they were when we tasted them the first time. The passionate kisses we had once still burn on our lips and make us yearn for another and another.

And then there are those kisses that are yet to come. The ones we dream of, the ones we desire. The ones we know will change us. The ones we know will indelibly mark us, will forever mark us with the exquisite touch of a lover we were destined to have. The lover that is The One. The one we dreamed about when we first dreamed of kisses. The one who visits us in our dreams. The one we visit when daydreaming. The one who will kiss us now if we are very, very lucky.

Lucky indeed.

Love Your Body...

I had a conversation recently with a close friend....about my body. I made an admission, one I had never made before, about my husband's opinion about a part of my body....or lack there of I should say. I had never discussed this before but wanted to that day. Truthfully it didn't matter so much what my husband thought of this particular part of my figure. On that day it only mattered what I thought.

To his credit my husband is proud of me and of the care I have taken with myself over the years. He loves when one of his friends compliments him on his wife, tells him he is lucky to have a young looking wife. It gives him a boost, makes him feel good in some way. Of course it matters not what he thinks...It matters what I think.

I like what I look like, I like to see my reflection in a mirror. I am comfortable with myself. I walk around my room unclothed and never feel like reaching for a bathrobe should someone walk in the room. I can't say this was true back in my twenties and early thirties. In fact I would rarely walk around unclothed, naked. I didn't love my body back then when it really was deserving of a "WOW', worthy of a double take. I love it now however, I do indeed.

I love my body now because I have gotten to know it over the years. I have come to accept certain flaws and characteristics that I once wanted to excise. I know how it works, I know how it responds and I know what it is capable of. I learned that having a weakness does not mean my body will fail me. In fact I learned that despite a weakness my body fought, fought for it's existence. Fought hard and won. It is dependable, vital and strong.

I have worked to be sure my daughter was comfortable with her body, comfortable in her own skin the way I am, happy with her physical form. We talk about body image, about flaws, about being comfortable with who you are physically. I am pleased with her attitude, her acceptance.

So many women can barely look at themselves. They hate what they look like, their form and shape. They shrink from view almost, wishing to be unnoticed, unseen. What a hard road it is to travel...when we don't much care for the vessel we were given to travel it in.

A hard road indeed.