#vintage bath and body works lotion

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bath and Body Works Pleasures Red Currant and Thyme Tea Body Lotion

2002-2008

Found on Ebay, user pandora_4

[neednostalgia]

[snobunny03]

90s Bath & Body Works Products

These are from the early, mid, and late 90s.

Check out from the heartland on tumblr!!! They showcase many old bath and body works products

[ardenssolis]

@tenkoseiensei said (inbox):

' but i adore you in red ! ' his maw gapes and shrieks with laughter as a palm wets the other's cheek. blood caresses them; what should have been a demon's drink. if he ran his tongue over their skin, that iron-rust, to lap it up alongside the salt and taste of them, would it be even better than the raw body-bile in the back of his throat? his second palm suddenly clutches the demon's second cheek. he stains them more and more, fresh and drying. even did the demon's temper flare and that tail sever and cut, then that much more red would run and spill over them. what bliss. what ecstasy in a torrent! ' we should find the champagne. vintage, top class! throw it into our bubble bath, love! throw me in, throw yourself in, too! even if you want to be clean, the way this world works, we're always the reason for someone else's murder! why not wear it proudly? you should bite into hearts like fruits! '

     DISGUSTING. MANY A DEMON relished in filth like the lowly creatures many were (not him -- never him; for he was grander than they could ever be), blood most especially. However, why would he want some filthy human's blood all over his pristine flesh? Why would he want his radiance even remotely dimmed by the inferior? By the unworthy? But the Doppelganger relished in blood, in the visceral remains of poor unfortunate souls who just happened to look at him the wrong way during one of his more 'moody' days. Eyes narrowed as fingers caked in red dragged along his cheeks, smearing warm liquid upon him as if the other was brushing lotion on his skin rather than something that reeked of iron. He could kill them for this affront, yet there was no purpose in it. They would just splash more blood all over him, theirs equally as disgusting as everyone else's if not more so due to the nature of what they were. Not only that, but he would just be feeding into the wild bliss he saw in those eyes so aglow with ecstasy.

     ❝Unlike you,❞ he began, ❝I have taste.❞ He lifted his hands, grasping wrists and pulling from the other's touch. Ozymandias liked subtlety whereas the Doppelganger preferred explosions; metaphorical or otherwise. There was beauty in how he approached things, in his meticulousness. Alas, the other never seemed to understand that. A shame, really. Had they been identical in their destruction, then surely this eternal 'matrimony' would be far more pleasant. ❝My ways of doing things is akin to art, and yours...❞ he clicked his tongue, eyes gazing past the other's to what used to be a human being at one time. The body was unrecognizable, even if it wouldn't have mattered. Hornets always wore helmets, and even in death, they were often just faceless bodies that could easily be replaced by someone else who fell into that trap of greed.

     Fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt, he was already walking away from the Doppelganger, the body on the floor instantly forgotten for something far more pleasant. ❝I am going to take a bath to rid myself of all of this.❞ Ozymandias wasn't going to waste champagne in his water when he could sip it with back pressed against porcelain and a scented candle filling the room with the wonderful aroma of lavender like a normal person. Besides, with how bloody the other was, they would just ruin the water and the champagne in general. ❝Have fun with your broken toy. Be sure to clean up afterwards.❞

[morningsunstudio]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Bath & Body Works Candle Pedestal 1999 birds butterfly flowers.

[evenifshefallsonthedancefloor]

[allthingsscented]

these two worked really well together, enhancing the varsity leather jacket vibe of autumn nights with vintage 🏈

[zh0re]

Vintage is one of the best scents in the men’s collection from Bath & Body Works and they’ve only got two products in that scent left which is the candle and foaming hand soap. I should’ve bought the entire line when I had the chance :( I settled with Black Tie in the lotion and body wash and it’s fucking amazing but it doesn’t have the firey/spicy smell that Vintage does. 

[stelly38]

Here’s another Patrick Freyne, taking the piss out of Poldark.  Dated June 16, 2018 in the Irish Times.  Gazebo, LOL.  Hunk culling, LOL.

The Meaning of Poldark Striding Topless Out of the Sea

This week my column is an essay that I have titled The Meaning of Poldark Striding Topless Out of the Sea. The new series of Poldark (Sunday, BBC One) starts underwater off the Cornwall coast with Poldark (Aidan Turner) swimming by the camera like a merman in an ad for smellgood lotion (aftershave) or maybe like a particularly muscular sea-lion cub looking for his mother.

"Finally!" says you. "A season of Poldark set under the sea. It was inevitable."

But, no, then we get a long shot of the hunky aristocrat striding purposefully out of the water. He has no shirt on, and his body is glistening with seawater. His dark hair is tousled. His eyes are soulful. The cliffs of Cornwall seem to call to him. "Sexxxy Poooldaaaark," they seem to say, unaware that this is a form of harassment, because they are cliffs from another time. Just out of shot some anachronistic career women are drinking Diet Coke or, possibly, diet laudanum, it being the 18th century. Then someone says aloud, "Poldark? More like Phwoahdark!"

Full disclosure: it was you. You said that. 

Apart from his skin and hair, Poldark is also wearing tan trousers that are probably meticulously researched vintage bathing trunks but that for the purpose of this article I’m going to call “chinos of the past”. He is breathing heavily, but then so are you. His chest goes up and down 10 times as he stands there. You rewind the player to be sure. Yes, it was definitely 10 times (#journalism).

The camera pans up to the Cornwallian sky, and then it pans back down to Poldark, who is now wearing a big flouncy white shirt with his chinos of the past.

“Aw,” you say.

Being temporarily topless on a beach has made Poldark reflective. He thinks about his flame-haired, free-spirited wife, Gazebo (editor’s note: I think you mean “Demelza”), and her recent affair with the poetic young waif Hugh Armitage, who writes poems and is sickly. Unlike Poldark, who likes slow-motion horse-riding along the cliffs, lifting things sweatily and furrowing his brow. (These are listed as “hobbies” on his Tinder profile.)

He's doing the furrowed-brow thing now, as he moodily hallucinates his wife and her lover into existence on the beach. "What is love? A possession to be hoarded or a blessing to give away?" says hallucinated Armitage, which is a perfectly ordinary thing to say in the world of Poldark, even for a hallucination.

Poldark starts buttoning up his shirt and looks sad, and we are sad too, because he is buttoning up his shirt. Then Gazebo (editor’s note: seriously? “Gazebo” isn’t even remotely like “Demelza”) and his two frolicking children arrive on the beach, because their marriage is apparently still intact despite their ongoing extramarital shenanigans. “Papa!” one of his children cries, which is olden days for “Da” or “Male Progenitor” (as you call your father). Poldark still looks sad – I might be projecting here, but I feel like he really hates having to wear a shirt – and then the opening credits roll.

And that's the first minute of this week's Poldark. Other stuff happens after the credits, but all of these scenes feature shirts and should technically be outside the boundaries of this week's discussion.

But let me just run through it all anyway, lest the hordes of Poldark completists send letters of complaint to the editor. There are food shortages and riots in Cornwall, and Poldark's nemesis George Warleggan is now an MP who works in a CGI version of 18th-century London. He is intent on executing rioters, the smug-faced shit. Warleggan hates Poldark because Warleggan is married to Poldark's sometime lover Elizabeth, and Poldark is a manly man of action while Warleggan is a narky babyman of nefarious scheming.

Oh, there’s something else. Warleggan and Elizabeth have a brooding dark-haired three-year-old son who likes cliff-top horse-riding and tin smelting and might as well be named “the Eponymous Toddler, Poldark “Junior” Poldarkson”. For this and many other reasons Warleggan really hates Poldark.

So Warleggan ensures that Poldark’s hunky friend Jago and Poldark’s two hunky brothers-in-law, Samuel and Drake, are caught up in the riotous arrests and are sentenced to be hanged in a probably vindictive but possibly ecologically necessary hunk cull. (I’m not an environmentalist, but there are lots of hunks in ancient Cornwall, and there may be some issues with overbreeding.)

Poldark decides not to tell Gazebo about her brothers’ dire circumstances and leaves her to struggle with her forbidden love for sickly, sweating Armitage, while Poldark rides his horse in slow motion along the cliff top, makes populist man-of-the-people speeches on behalf of his doomed friends (the “gallows-side plea” is this era’s “best man speech”) and performs conspicuous acts of labour while implausibly wearing a shirt. (This is just bad writing, IMO.)

Perhaps, you say, the sea is Europe, Poldark is Britain and the beach is Brexit. Ah now! Poldark is played by an Irishman, so I'd say probably not.

In his charismatic speechifying he derides the globalist merchants who snatch “corn from the mouths of babes” (presumably a reference to himself and his hot chums), and the fake news used to convict the rioters. Ultimately, he convinces the local toff Sir Francis Basset (sadly, not a hound) to spare his brothers-in-law but not Jago. Then he and his wife sit together in grief, wondering about the mysteries of marriage, while external forces plot a political career for the brooding action man.

At programme’s end Poldark’s status is . . . shirted. (Full disclosure: there are only two statuses on the scale I’m using.) So let’s go back to that opening sequence and contemplate, again, Poldark emerging from the waters.

Why is it so compelling? Why have you looped the footage and used it as a screen saver? Why have you printed the image on a card, pasted a cut-out of your own head on top of Poldark’s and typed “Happy Christmas from All the Family” at the top of the card and distributed it to everyone you know even though it’s not Christmas? You think for a moment.

“Perhaps,” you say, “Poldark is ‘man’. The sea is ‘life’ and the beach is ‘death’.”

Maybe. But that seems a bit heavy for BBC One on a Sunday.

“Perhaps,” you say, “this was just a particularly gratuitous attempt to hook a flagging audience with some eye candy on the first beat of a new season?”

Maybe. But Poldark is intriguing enough with its likable, broody costars, life-or-death melodrama and glorious cinematography.

“Perhaps,” you say, “the sea is ‘Europe’, Poldark is ‘Britain’ and the beach is ‘Brexit’.”

Ah now! Poldark is played by an Irishman, so unless this is a comment on the invisibility of the Irish question to the average Brexiteer, I’d say probably not.

“Okay,” you say, “perhaps we are all Poldark and this open-plan office I’m sitting in is the sea?”

That’s more like it. But please keep your shirt on. You’re on a final warning from HR.

link to original:

https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/the-meaning-of-poldark-striding-topless-out-of-the-sea-1.3530577

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bath and Body Works Sugar Plum Body Lotion

1990s

Found on Ebay, user member5677

[alaskancat]

[hauntedwine]

Tag Yourself - Magickal Tools

Tarot Cards - afternoons in the museum, collector, active hands, books in stacks on the floor, blunts and incense, kissable lips, mismatched socks, elaborate messy buns, almost forgets to sort the recycling, notes full of poetry and quotes, fashion-lover, journals every day, can always find your missing keys, returns from walks with random twigs or rocks, “the things not working in your life are holding you back; it’s time to let them go.”

Crystals and Seashells - early mornings in the park or at the beach, twinkle lights, quick laughter, gauzy curtains and natural light, plant babies, messy car, spa-scented candles, color-coded bookshelves, cheap wine and bath rituals, salads, nice jewelry scattered all over the house, will always bring a gift to a house party, “spend time alone, meditating and getting to know yourself”

Anointed Candles - late nights staring at the moon, the perfect jeans, expressive eyebrows, gilded mirrors and soft blankets, effortlessly cool, vintage books with flowers pressed inside, always carries a lighter, combat boots, bourbon and witch books, dried fruit, talks to the walls and the floors and the spirits when no one is around, gives the best advice, at least one decorative skull, “ask the universe for what you need and you’ll be surprised by what you’ll get”

Plants and Herbs - late mornings in the kitchen, folded laundry, mug collections, fresh flowers, edibles and broom magick, secret tattoos, acoustic music, big windows and textured rugs, composting, bowls of fresh fruit on the counter, sings to the flowers, hand lotion and sunscreen, hiking boots, patience, sharp shears, will always listen to your problems without judgment, stress-baking, “give energy and love back to the earth and you’ll never feel depleted”

Runes and Sigils - midday in the library, half-empty sketchbooks, distinctive glasses, memorized lines of literature, knows every neighbor’s name, whiskey and tea spells, paint-stained clothing and charcoal fingers, precise to-do lists, always hungry, at least one weird pet, delicate plants, anxiety, blazers or dirty overalls with no in-between, responsible, will read your resume or paper no matter how busy they already are, podcasts, “intention isn’t enough: you need to put action behind it”

Bells and Gongs - midnight dancing in the forest, mismatched silverware, expensive headphones, interesting piercings, tequila and oracle readings, crumpled receipts, black coffee, an elaborate box next to the bed full of condoms and sex toys, Grimes, but also Taylor Swift, chipped nail polish, barefoot on hardwood floors, thrift store clothes and high-quality surround sound, polaroid camera, sultry eyes, constantly giving away their things to people who need/want them more, lots of hair, “feel before you think: your instincts always know what you need”

Planetary Bodies - twilight on the front porch, water bottles, bullet journals, takes at least an hour to get ready every day, vodka and palm reading, moon phases app, sneakers, never more than 2 feet away from a healthy snack, yoga mat, loud laughter, manicures, perfect hair, textured tile and IKEA furniture, the mom friend, always knows where the best plant or designer clothing sale is, eats at nice restaurants alone, memes, will always plan the perfect party for your birthday, throw pillows, “never forget that you’re a very small part of a much larger universe”

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Title: Secret Santa

Gif credit @that-english-reject

Third Christmas imagine

Hope you all enjoy.

Happy Reading Dollies.

Tag list: @chriscrosscerulli. @ilovetaquitosmmmm. @ryansitkowskiswifey. @musicsexandpizza69. @myanaconda-will-consider1t. @thisplace-ishaunted. @nocturnalherb16. @alilpunkrock. @baylishh

Christmas on tour was wild, the band went crazy. They decorated the tour bus in lights and garland, Ricky even hung a mistletoe above the door for the members who had girlfriends.

This year they decided to do secret Santa, everyone got to pick a name and of course you got Rickys of all people. It wasnt that you didn't like Ricky it was the complete opposite. You had the biggest crush on him and you couldn't believe that you actually got him. So you wondered around with him for awhile before the show started one day to see what he really wanted or really liked to have without giving him the hint that you were his Santa.

"So Rick, have you been a good boy this year"? Your question made Ricky laugh almost spitting his monster out of his mouth.

"Why do you ask"? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well, if you don't tell anyone. I'm an undercover elf for Santa". You giggled. Ricky rolled his eyes with a smile.

"I bet Chris got my name and he sent you to ask me ideas for Christmas, right"?

"I can't say".

"Just tell him I've been a very good boy and I want this vintage camera that I saw at a antique store. It's three hundred bucks and I know he can afford it. He just bought five hundred dollars in shiny pants and makeup".

"Alright, I'll let Santa know". You said walking away from him. Three hundred dollars was kind of pricey for you, you didn't know if you could afford it or not but if Ricky wanted it then you'll find away to make it happen.

Ricky sent you a picture of the camera and where to find it. Oddly it was in the city that you were in just for a couple days so when the guys went on stage you snuck off and got the camera hiding it in your suitcase surrounded by your underwear and bras. No one would look there. Just say you're not going to be eating fancy anytime soon. Romen noodles for months in your future.

Christmas was around the corner and the guys were all excited, Vinny wanted to scream who he got and it was funny. He couldn't keep a secret at all which was good for you cause you knew who he got and what they got. Ryan would get a shock and probably kill Vinny with it in his sleep.

It was officially Christmas and things were hot. Did you know that cooking a turkey in the oven, that said oven hasn't been used before until now makes a small tour bus feel like death is melting your skin off with a blow torch? Well it does. So Ricky had a great plan to sit outside in the snow and open presents while the turkey cooked.

"Vinny you go first". You suggested with a smirk.

"Sure, here you go Ryan for those lonely nights in the bunk". Vinny said with a laugh.

Ryan opened the box slowly, he didn't know if something was going to jump out at him. He busted out laughing when he pulled out a blow up doll. Everyone laughed, Ryan's face was beet red.

"Thanks man, I'll make sure she comes an visits you during the night". Ryan laughed shaking his head.

"Y/N, you want to go next"? Vinny asked.

"Yeah, here you go Ricky". You handed him a box with a red bow on top. He looked confused.

"I hope you like it". Ricky smiled as he started opening it, then his jaw dropped and a excited squeal came from him.

"I love it thank you. Its just what I wanted". He said with a hug.

"I'm glad you got it. It's a really neat camera". You shyly said.

The secret Santa's kept going, you were next Chris got you and he surprised the shit out of you by getting you front row tickets to a chip and dales show. It was kind of awkward and all but you had no clue why he got you those.

"Um thanks". You shyly laughed.

"If you don't like them you can sell them or whatever".

"No it's cool, just have to find someone to go with me".

After the awkwardness went away you went to check on the turkey leaving the guys to talk.

"Can I ask how much that was Ricky"? Ryan asked as he watched Vinny try blowing up the blow up doll using his mouth.

"I think it was three hundred. Why"?

"Just asking".

"Come on man why"?

"I was playing on Y/Ns phone and her bank sent her a balance check and she's broke this month. That camera took all her money".

"Then why would she get it"? Ricky felt guilty and horrible that you would spent the last of your money on him.

"She wanted you to have it so thats what you got".

"But I didn't want her to be completely broke. We really need to put a limit on how much to spend".

"Why would you suggest a three hundred dollar camera to her"?

"I thought she was asking for Chris".

"Me? I can't afford that much".

"Please, we see who's wearing new pants every show and who spent hundreds on make up from hot topic". The others eyed Chris.

"Fine. What do you want us to do"?

"I don't know, I can't let her spend this much on me".

"Then why not make it up? Like she's going to need things this month make her a gift basket"? Vinny suggested. Vinny had an idea? Wow. The guys were amazed.

"You're surprisingly a genius". Ricky smiled. "I'll go shopping for her tomorrow, gotta do some snooping to make sure I get the right things".

"Hey guys turkeys done". You poked your head out the door.

"Great, we're starving". Vinny rubbed his belly.

"Where do you put it? You just ate a whole solid chocolate reindeer".

"I have a high metabolism, you know being a drummer and all". He winked as he passed you going to sit on the couch.

"Right". You laughed, going to get the plates. Ricky had the turkey and everyone was ready to eat. Christmas dinner was served.

That night Ricky tip toed and sorta went through your stuff but for a good cause he had to make sure to get the right things.

The morning came and he was the first one up and out the door heading to the nearest mall. The first place he stopped was bath and body works. He maybe all in black and very goth but if you wanted to smell like vanilla then he would go in just for you.

He dodged the sales lady and went straight to the lotions grabbing the bottle that looked like the picture he took and ran to the check out.

He went to hot topic and got you a few eyeliners and some eyeshadow. Even a cool neckless that he thought would look great on you.

Then final stop was walmart, he grabbed your kind of deodorant, razzers, shaving cream, shampoo and conditioner. He even went down the aisle that he promised himself that he wouldn't go down until he was married, the feminine aisle. He grabbed two boxes of tampons the right kind he check four times to make sure. He grabbed something called lady wipes, he thought you might like them too. Ricky picked up odds and ends of what he thought you would like, chocolates, snack foods, stuff that none of the guys would eat but you would like. Your favorite cereal, bagels and cookies. He went all out for you.

Not forgetting the basket.

Ricky rode in the cab putting the basket together, making sure everything was going to fit. He may have went over board but he didn't care at all.

Pulling up to the bus he paid the cab driver and headed into the bus. It smelled so good, you had took Christmas leftovers and made a casserole for everyone.

"Y/N"? He called out, the basket in his hands a smile on his face.

"What the heck, Ricky"? You said with a chuckle, your hand covered your mouth in shock.

"I know it doesn't make three hundred dollars but it's a thank you and a start. If you need anything I'll get it just ask".

"Oh, Ricky. You didn't have to do that, I'm good". You said with a shy smile, you didn't know he knew about the money troubles.

"No its no problem. I feel bad that you spent that much on me and you didn't have it. I wish I can take the camera back". He said with a frown.

"Don't you dare, I wanted you to have that. I wouldn't have gotten it if I didn't think that I could manage with what I got in the bank".

"But you worked hard for that money. Putting up with us and dealing with our shit. You deserve more". Ricky sat the basket on the floor next to him and walked to you, grabbing your face smashing his lips on yours.

"God, I've waited a long time to do that". Ricky breathed out. You blinked a couple times to make sure you really saw what happened.

"Why did you kiss me"?

"Because I like you and not because you bought me the camera which I love by the way". He let out a laugh as did you. "But I've never had someone do that for me and takes as good of care of me as you do. You're sweet, caring, good hearted, smart and beautiful. I can't resist you".

"You're a smooth talker Ricky Olsen and extremely kind to do that for me". You kissed his lips this time.

"I want you to never have to worry about money again so I'm upping your pay too". You laughed rolling your eyes.

"You don't have to do that too. The basket is enough".

"How about the next day we're off I take you on a date and we can officially go on a date and say we're dating"?

"I'd like that. Plus I get to try all my new lotions and shampoos".

"Speaking of lotions, never send me to get them. I almost died in there. There's perfume being sprayed everywhere and my nose couldn't take it. I thought I was going to die".

"You're so funny". You kissed him again, he wrapped his arms around your waist keeping you in his embrace.

"Thank you".

"You're welcome, Merry Christmas". He rubbed his nose with yours and kissed you again.

"Merry Christmas". Best Christmas ever!

[these-eyebrows-are-not-even]

Christmas Gift Ideas 2020

All of the gifts below that I thought of can be altered/customized to your budget, personal style and resources. 

Face Mask’s 

If you are handy with a sewing machine then this is a great one for you, using fabric scraps you already own or thrift bedsheets/t-shirts etc you could make your loved ones some custom face masks. Bonus points if you find a silk shirt and flip that into some face masks as silk, is hypo-allergenic, breathable and causes less friction on the skin so is perfect for anyone suffering from maskne (mask-acne). However, if sewing isn’t for you then places like Etsy have a wide range of masks for everyone and purchasing from sellers on their also supports small business.  

Candle and match sticks 

Candles are all the rage with thousands of reels and tik tok’s on how to twist candles. If you are brave enough then go for it! You can gift your hand-twisted candles to your friend along with a box of nice matches. Writing empowering messages or mantra’s on the matches (maybe get extra-long ones if you have large handwriting!) will mean that every time your loved one goes to light a candle there is a message from you to brighten their day. There is no need to twist candles, you could support a small business and buy theirs or just get a standard candle. You don’t have to support every trend! Bonus points for matching your loved one’s colour palette to the candles or vice versa. For example, my favourite colour right now is green so a set of candles ranging from emerald to sage would be much appreciated. 

Seasonal Drink

It may be the British in me but Christmas is a time where having something to drink on these long winter nights is the norm. I am speaking of something alcoholic but non-alcoholic also works. I love vintage/second-hand glasses and they can be pretty cheap €1 a glass. You could get a second-hand glass of your choosing and send it to your friend along with a bottle of their favourite drink. If you want to amp it up, you could also include a cocktail/mocktail recipe book and some drink rocks. Drink rocks are reusable and do not dilute your drink. If they aren’t a spirit/liquor drinker then a stainless steel ice cube tray is also an eco-friendly and plastic-free option. I could go on with more items to include in this bundle but metal straws, coasters, fabric napkins and more are all ways you could expand this gift idea. 

Seasonings

If you know a good amateur chef or home cook then getting them some fancy salt, oil and or vinegar may be an interesting idea. You could buy; one, two or all three and either make sure they coordinate e.g. Rosemary salt, garlic oil and lemon vinegar or they could be contrasting e.g. Truffle salt, chilli oil and amaretto vinegar. The endless combinations make this a fun gift and allow for some fun experimentation when cooking. If you’re a big diy’er you could infuse the oil and make custom labels for everything. You could also add in crackers, olives and risotto to turn it into a Mediterranean hamper or harissa, dried apricots and Ras-el-hanout to make it more North-African.  

In the Bag. 

A thrifted bag from a second hand/vintage shop (if open where you are) or one bought of Depop/eBay may make a great gift for a fashion-conscious person you know. Then you could add in a lip balm and/or a lip-gloss, a packet of their favourite sweets, a cute bottle of hand-sanitiser and a travel-size bottle of hand cream. These are all optional, the bag would be more than enough but they are just extras for you to think about. You could also make any of these extras vegan, cruelty-free, plastic fee etc 

Cosy Toe’s 

 I don’t know about you but I get really cold feet in the winter. So thick socks are a must! A great idea could be to give someone a pair of fluffy socks. They could be practical or whimsical. I have been gifted thick, grey woollen pairs and a fun foxed themed pair (I love foxes). You could embroider a message or design on them if that’s your thing or pack them with some foot cream and a pedicure kit. As salons haven’t really been open this year pamper time is even more important. 

 Dried flowers

I do not mean the trendy ones, all over insta interior posts, I mean the Victorian past time. Pressed dried flowers, you could use flowers or leaves you have, buy some and then press them or that sounds too long then you could even buy pre-pressed and dried online. I saw a cute DIY on YouTube where they had been glued on to a small bowl or plate in a pretty pattern. This could be used to display jewellery, makeup etc. Furthermore, you could also arrange pressed flowers and plants into a pattern and place them on a canvas or in a frame to make a minimalistic art piece for someone. 

Body care kit

I often joke, I am secretly an old lady as I have dry skin and so am always re-applying lotion. Now, its wintertime that is an absolute necessity but it’s also an act of self-care and 2020 has been a long year so extra self-care is needed. So gifting someone a kit of body scrub, body wash and lotion is a little bit of luxury we all need right now. You could expand on this and include a dry brush to get that circulation and lymphatic drainage going as well somebody oil or a bath bomb to increase the level of pampering. Making body scrub is quite easy but I recommend sugar and not coffee grounds if you do go the DIY route and you can turn regular liquid soap into fun shapes with jelly moulds and gelatine.  

Homemade bookmark 

Before you laugh, I am not suggesting the ones you made when you were seven unless you were an expert crafter. I am suggesting more sophisticated ones but the end product is up to you so I take no responsibility, I am just the provider of ideas! Those pressed flowers we had earlier? Extra ones could be attached in a pattern and glued onto card. You could go full out an paint one using all your creativity. Or make one out of photos of you and the booklover you’re giving this too. Lastly, it could just be an inspirational quote like: you deserve another glass of wine

Or you could do one of each and give them a medley of bookmarks for all their mood and needs. 

Last but not least a Playlist 

I know this may seem a little 2012 Tumblr but bear with me. You curate a playlist for them on their preferred app; if you don’t have access or its different to your one then give them detailed instructions for how they should assemble it). The playlist could be based upon a memory you have together or something you’re planning to do with them in the future, or anything you want! Then write out an explanation behind why you chose each song, what it reminds you of and why you thought that person would get it. You could burn the playlist onto a CD if you have the tech for that. For all the artsy types you could illustrate the written out reasoning with drawings, attach photos, collage – whatever you like to get the emotion across. 

To everyone reading, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and for those who don’t celebrate then this list may come in handy for another gift-giving occasion. I don’t know about you but I cannot wait to be stuffed full of food on Christmas day, opening presents and sharing laughs. 

Happy Christmas! 

Elsa x 

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

Saying Good-Bye to Yesterday-Chapter 11

So, yes it’s been forever and day. I haven’t dropped off the planet or quit writing for Shandy. It just got difficult for a while.  

You can find the chapter here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13004092/11/Saying-Good-Bye-to-Yesterday and here https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321687/chapters/53083987 and here

****

"Hey, hon." Andy paused in buttoning his shirt at the greeting, his lips curving into a smile when he took in Sharon's disheveled appearance as she entered their bedroom, fresh from a workout, spandex shorts clinging to her long toned thighs, loose tendrils of hair slipping out of her high ponytail.

"How was the Barre class?" He asked.

"It wasn't Barre. It was Spin." Over the past few months, Amy had convinced her to start taking spin classes with her, adding to her usual regimen of Body Barre, Pilates, and Yoga.

"Well, how was Spin?"

"Ugh." She pulled the sweaty racerback tank over her head. "Jelly legs."

"Gorgeous legs," he corrected.

"Yes, well, that takes work, darling." Though she ate healthily, for the most part, was supple, naturally active, and thanks to genetics and a great metabolism, didn't have to fight hard to maintain her slender figure, she exercised to keep toned and fit. In addition to the classes she attended when her schedule allowed, she swam laps almost every day, did some light weights at the PD gym, and also got out to Malibu to a riding stable as often as she could. When she first mentioned her horseback riding to Andy as a full-body workout, he gave her a typical Andy quip, "for the horse, right? " She'd ignored the comment until she could prove her point. One afternoon she'd taken him on what he referred to as a "ball crushing" ride, and he'd sheepishly eaten his words. Later still, when they'd become intimate and he'd felt those "thighs of steel" around his waist, he'd come to an even greater appreciation of that "full-body" exercise.

"Well, I'm pretty gross right now, so I'm going to hop in the shower." She pulled off her sports bra and wiped at the sweat under her breasts before dropping it in the hamper and disappearing into the bathroom. When she emerged 15 minutes later, she had one towel wrapped around her torso, the other turban-style around her head.

"Don't forget, I have book club tonight," she said.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hit a meeting."

She glanced up sharply from her dresser, a pair of rose-colored panties dangling from her fingertips. "Everything okay?"

Though her tone remained neutral, Andy picked up the tiny inflection of worry. It wasn't his usual meeting night. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assured her. "I had to skip last week because of our case, and I haven't gotten the chance to talk to Isaac."

"About us?"

"Yes."

Once in her fresh panties, Sharon shimmied on a pair of black leggings that she paired with a long, slouchy v-neck cashmere sweater in a soft shade of blush. To finish off the casual outfit, she slipped on a pair of two-tone quilted Chanel ballet flats, big silver hoop earrings, and a silver cuff bracelet. Andy continued to watch her dress. Watching her shed her professional persona for her personal one was kind of a ritual for him. At work, she was all fitted, classic, sleek lines. Understated and sophisticated. At home, her wardrobe was softer and a little more eclectic. Even her jewelry was different. At work, simple diamond studs in her ears and her watch, no bracelets, no necklaces, no dangling earrings. At home, she often wore pretty bracelets, hoops or dangling earrings, and a variety of necklaces, including the crucifix she never wore to work. Separation of church and state and all. He asked her once why she stopped wearing necklaces when she took over Major Crimes. After expressing surprise that he had actually noticed that, she told him that Brenda had warned her that wearing a necklace when interviewing suspects was dangerous because they could use it to try to strangle her. Given the violent animosity their former Chief seemed to bring out in suspects, he figured she was speaking from experience. Probably a good idea that he wore his sobriety necklace tucked in under his shirt. He was pretty sure there were hundreds of suspects over the years who would have loved nothing more than to strangle him.

A half-hour later, with her hair blown dry and her make up re-applied, Sharon came out of the bedroom to see Andy slipping on his jean jacket as he prepared to head out. Rusty was sitting on the couch on his laptop.

"You boys are on your own for supper tonight," she reminded the two.

"Okay. " Rusty glanced up. "What do you want to do, Andy?"

"I have a meeting, so I thought I could pick something up for us on my way home. Want a pizza from Palermo's?"

"Just make sure my half isn't loaded down with veggies."

Andy rolled his eyes. "No veggies. Got it."

Sharon smiled and started to reach for the Trader Joes bag she'd left on the table.

"I've got that, babe." Andy took the heavy bag and followed her out the door. Not so long ago, she might have bristled at the move and argued that she could carry the bag herself, but Andy knew that. It was simply a gentlemanly act of kindness, and she no longer looked for any sort of underlying misogynistic meaning to his kind gestures.

******

The strong smell of flowers hit Sharon just outside the storefront, and she glanced up at the pretty awning hanging over the doorway. "Lotions and Potions," her friend Summer's bath and body shop in Mar Vista. She opened the door, and the floral and spicy scents grew more pronounced. Taking a few steps in, she scanned the room, looking past the displays of soaps, bath salts, body creams, and lotions to see Summer with a customer over in the incense and essential oil section. The little bell that jangled at her entry drew Summer's attention, and when she glanced over and saw who it was, she gave Sharon a smile and a hand gesture indicating that she would be with her in a minute. Sharon nodded and began browsing, lifting and examining the vintage apothecary jars Summer used to carry her product. The old-fashioned jars and antique-looking sepia labels with their intricate designs and calligraphy lettering harkened back to another era as if she was stepping back in time.

Several years ago, this had been a New Age jewelry and clothing store where Summer worked as a clerk. Summer fit right in with today's millenials, often flitting from job to job, but for as long as Sharon had known her, she grew herbs and made homemade soaps and lotions in her house, selling her creations on the weekends at craft fairs and farmer's markets. Then Anabel, the storeowner, allowed her to put a few samples out for sale at the store, and they were a big hit. Soon she had a whole product line for sale. When Anabel decided to sell the store, the first person she approached was Summer, which had taken Summer completely by surprise. She was an artist, after all, not a businesswoman. I mean sure, she practically managed the store, but what did she know about running a business? At least that's what she said to Sharon when they were talking out the pros and cons. It was a moot point, anyway. Summer didn't have the kind of money needed to start a business.

But Sharon did. When her grandparents died, she was bequeathed quite a large inheritance. Some of the money was in a trust, but she had more than enough to lend Summer for the start-up costs. Summer hadn't seen it that way. It had been a battle royal for Sharon to get her best friend to agree to the loan. The very idea of it terrified Summer. What if she didn't succeed? What if she couldn't pay Sharon back? Sharon had gone through hell digging out of the mess Jack created for her financially, and she didn't want to see her have to deal with anything like that again. And most of all, she didn't want the money coming between them. Their friendship was too important. But Sharon prevailed. They worked it all out, with Sharon as an investor, and then they worked together to make Summer's vision become a reality.

The quirky little store was a reflection of its quirky little owner, and it was a hit. Situated only a few miles from both Venice Beach and Santa Monica, it drew in both the unconventional crowd and the well-to-do. Summer paid Sharon back several years ago, but Sharon still took pride in all that she had helped her friend accomplish here.

Grabbing a bottle of her favorite vanilla/jasmine body cream, Sharon glanced back around to see that Summer was still engrossed in conversation with her customer, her light brown curls bouncing on her shoulders with every enthusiastic nod of her head. Rather than stand around waiting, she decided to make her way to Summer's office in the back of the store. She pushed aside the beads that hung in the doorway, in lieu of an actual door, giving a loud sigh at the chaos. As usual, Summer's desk was filled with clutter: folders, papers, coffee mugs, and a bunch of opened boxes. No way could she ever work surrounded by such a mess. In fact, she could already feel the prickles of anxiety at the very idea. She started to move things around to make a spot to set her bag down when an item in one of the boxes caught her eye. Reaching in, she pulled it out, eyes widening with both surprise and curiosity.

"Find anything you like?"

Sharon jumped, nearly dropping the glass object. "Dammit, Summer! "

Summer's wide grin grew even wider. "Gotcha. Either you're losing your cop instincts, or that object holds more than a little interest for you."

"What is it?"

"If I have to tell you, Andy has a real problem."

Sharon flushed. "I know what it is; I just mean why do you have boxes of this stuff?"

"That stuff, as you call it, is luxury personal care products. "

One elegant brow rose skeptically. "Luxury? They're…"

"Glass dildos."

"And again, you have boxes of these, why?"

"I had a distributor come in for a meeting today. She wants me to try selling her line here."

"You're going to sell sex toys? Here? At Lotions and Potions?" Sharon looked so appalled that Summer had to giggle.

"No, I am possibly going to sell luxury personal care items. I told her I would think about it. It's a big and pretty lucrative business right now. Look at them, Sharon, they're works of art."

Sharon looked again at the item in her hand, eyeing it critically. Blown glass with swirls of color, graceful lines. She had to admit, it really did look like a piece of art.

"Much more attractive than the real thing. Am I right?"

Sharon gave a little snort-laugh. "Oh my God, you're right. It is. Though we better not let the guys hear us say that."

"God, no. Men do love their penises, don't they?"

"Mmm…" Sharon hummed affirmatively.

"Almost as much as they love our boobs."

Sharon shook her head with amused affection and another little snort-laugh. She never quite knew what was going to come out of Summer's mouth. In that respect, and in so many more, they were as different as night and day. Oil and water. Chalk and cheese.

Summer was as outgoing and irreverent as Sharon was private and respectful. As unconventional and flighty as Sharon was traditional and responsible. As loud and boisterous, as Sharon was soft-spoken and reserved.

Summer was thrift store boho gauzy tops, flowing skirts, Birkenstocks, and arms covered in bangle bracelets. Sharon was Neiman Marcus pencil skirts, Armani suits, killer heels, and diamond earrings. Summer lifted her arms in worship to the winter solstice while Sharon knelt in reverent prayer at midnight mass. Summer was homeschooling and a childhood spent on a commune. Sharon was private Catholic schools and summers on Nantucket. Summer was Stevie Nicks to Sharon's Grace Kelly.

And yet, they clicked. For 26 years, they had been best friends. From the day that Sharon and Jack moved into their new home in Mar Vista and a bossy little child knocked on their door stating, "I'm five. Do you have any little girls my age I can play with?" With baby Ricky on her hip, Sharon smiled at the little ragamuffin with Popsicle lips and a mop of brown curls and then introduced her to a bashful four-year-old Emily. Within seconds, a harried woman in a tank top and an Indian wrap skirt straight out of the 1970s followed. Since she shared the same wild head of curls with the little moppet now dragging Emily along by the hand, Sharon assumed she was her mother. Indeed, the woman said she was looking for her daughter and, like Sharon, she too had a diapered little boy resting against her shoulder. Sharon introduced herself then invited the gypsy looking woman in for a cup of coffee. It was the beginning of three very important friendships: Sharon and Summer, Emily and Jade, and Ricky and Cody.

Despite their differences in background, personality, and temperament, the two young women easily found common ground. Their kids were the same age, they both loved the arts, and they were both in difficult marriages. Their bond was quick and strong. They spent their days off from work building sandcastles with their kids at the beach, pushing swings at the park, or attending children's reading circles at the library. They babysat for each other, swapped books, and on those rare occasions when they had time for themselves, browsed through art galleries, bookstores, and museums together. Most importantly, since neither had extended family in Los Angeles, they created a much-needed support system for each other. And that was something that became increasingly important, because, within a few years, they were both on their own. Single parents.

Summer came across as flaky, but she was everything Sharon needed in a friend: supportive, warm, honest, and a strong shoulder to cry on-one of a very select group of people whom Sharon allowed to see her vulnerability. They had journeyed together through all the difficulties and heartaches life threw at them, helping each other raise their children, bucking each other up when things seemed bleak, and sharing in each other's joy as they each found success in their professions and new love. From breast-feeding to hot flashes, they had seen each other through it all.

"So, " Summer continued. "Go ahead and take whatever you like. I know you're not a prude. Try one out and let me know what you think."

"I'm good." Sharon placed the item back in the box with a little quirk of her lips. "I've got the real thing now."

"Yeah, well what about these? Could be fun." Summer dangled a pair of handcuffs.

"Again, I've got the real thing."

"Pfff… Those things would hurt. These are love cuffs. Nice and soft. See." Sharon admired the plush cuffs Summer thrust in her face, faux fur with little tiny bows, definitely not standard LAPD gear, but shook her head negatively. "I'm all set." She glanced down at her watch. "Come on, Sum. We really have to get going or we're going to be late."

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to be late."

Sharon rolled her eyes, ignoring the sarcasm. Fate had surrounded her with smart asses. "No, we wouldn't. So, let's go."

"Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a wad. Just promise me you'll think about it."

Sharon blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, I'll think about it, now let's go."

*****

Sitting in the back corner of the bookstore, Sharon found herself center stage, surrounded by a group of women gushing with excitement over the diamond on her finger, grabbing her hand to look at it and pumping her for all the details of the proposal.

"It's so beautiful, Sharon. " Aggie's eyes went dreamy, her hands in a prayer triangle under her chin, lost in the fairytale of Sharon's proposal. "And how romantic. I can just picture it…A winter wonderland. A romantic sleigh ride through the woods and Andy down on one knee professing his undying love for you-" She broke off, swiftly coming back to reality when everyone burst into laughter. "What?" She defended herself. "I love romance."

"As if we didn't know," Marina scoffed. Whenever it was Aggie's turn to pick their monthly book, it was invariably a romance of some sort.

"Hey, I thought Russians were supposed to have romantic souls." Aggie's protest was made in the soft New Orleans drawl she hadn't lost despite having lived in LA for the past 20 years.

"I had one of those…Four husbands ago." Marina, a ballerina, had defected to the United States in the late seventies and had later opened a ballet studio in LA after retiring from the stage. Sharon met her when she signed Emily up for lessons at her studio after her young daughter had become more serious about studying dance and outgrown her instructor. It was Marina who had seen the talent and drive in Emily and helped her become the principal ballerina she was today. Marina was also cynical and pragmatic and went through men, mostly younger men, the way Andy used to go through younger women.

"Don't listen to her," Sharon said. "You're right, Aggie, Andy couldn't have picked a more romantic way to propose. Hard to believe I found a man whose sense of occasion can actually rival mine. It's certainly a night I will never forget."

"I still can't believe Andy took Gavin to help pick out your ring and not me," Summer sulked. The room went silent, all the women turning to her with wide eyes before erupting in giggles. "What?" She held her hand's open palms up and shrugged in a "what the hell" gesture.

Rachel, a pretty blonde, responded. "Come on, Sum, when it comes to style, there is nobody, other than maybe Roz here, who is more opposite from Sharon than you."

"I'd take exception to that if it weren't 100% true," was Roz's good-natured response. A writer for a comedy sitcom, Roz was notoriously sloppy in her dress, preferring the sweatpants, t-shirts and Converse sneakers she was wearing right now to any other attire. When she was forced to wear something nice, she chose boxy male suits and would never be caught dead in a "girlie" skirt or dress.

"I don't think we're that opposite." Summer's protest drew more peals of laughter.

"Summer…" Rachel lifted her friend's skirt, smirking when she exposed plastic clogs. "You are wearing Crocs. Need I say more?"

"There's nothing wrong with Crocs. They're comfortable." Summer pushed her skirt back over her shoes.

"No offense, I love you to pieces, but they're fugly and Sharon wouldn't be caught dead out in public in them." With her sleek dark blonde bob and stylish clothes, Rachel Garner had far more in common when shopping with Sharon than Summer. Like Andrea, Rachel was a lawyer, now an advisor to Mayor Garcetti. She and Sharon had become friends back when Sharon was promoted to the LAPD's Women's Coordinator position and they had worked together on numerous cases.

"What I don't understand is why you want to get married in the first place. I mean you just got out of a bad marriage, why jump right back in?" The room went silent, this time with tension, not humor. Roz sat back, arms crossed over her chest, seemingly unconcerned by the group's collective disapproval.

"What the hell are you talking about?" It was Summer who quickly jumped to Sharon's defense. "Just out of a bad marriage? She's been done with that ungrateful, immature, disloyal prick for 23 freaking years! Just because she only formally divorced him a couple of years ago doesn't mean-"

"Summer," Sharon tugged on her friend's arm. "It's okay, calm down."

"It's not okay; she has no right to say that. You," she pointed a finger at Roz, "have no idea what she went through. You've known her for what? Four years? You have no right to question her choices. And just because you hate men doesn't mean she has to feel the same."

"Okay, okay, whoa. I didn't mean to start World War III." Roz held her hands up in defeat. "And for the record, I don't hate men. Well, all men anyway. I'm just saying, she doesn't need a man…a husband."

"Roz is right." Sharon agreed, taking a sip of her wine.

"What?" Summer turned to her with confusion.

"She's right. I don't need a man. But I can want one without needing him. And you know what? That makes this the purest relationship I have ever been in, ever. I don't need Andy's money, I don't need his security, I don't need his protection, I don't need him to provide shelter for me, I'm not looking for a father for my children. I am with Andy for one reason only. I love him. It's as easy and as simple as that. I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And yes, I want the formal commitment of marriage. I know I don't need it, but I want it. And that's my choice." She tapped her fingers on her chest, stressing the point. "I am at a place in my life right now where I can do what I want to do, not what I need to do, and you have no idea how much freedom there is in that for me."

"And we're thrilled for you." Summer's narrowed eyes shot daggers at Roz, causing Sharon to suppress a smile. Summer was about as laid back a person as she knew, however, one thing they did have in common was that you didn't mess with the people they love.

"Yes, we are." Patrice set a gentle hand on Sharon's knee. "Andy is a great guy, and he loves you to the moon and back." As Andy's caregiver while he was recovering from his surgery, Patrice had gotten to know the man and the way he felt about Sharon better than any of them.

Andrea nodded in agreement. "You all know how I feel about marriage, but hell, if I had a guy who looked at me the way Flynn looks at Sharon, who knows?"

Aggie, who had gone off to pilfer through the shelves, returned and flopped down in an oversized chair. She opened the small book she'd been looking for and began reading. "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

"That's C.S Lewis, isn't it? " Sharon recognized the passage from having read a lot of Lewis's work.

Aggie nodded. "From The Four Loves."

"Well, he sums it up rather nicely, doesn't he? " Sharon poured a little more wine in her glass, then sat back. "Loving someone is a risk, no doubt about it, but I will always believe that it is a risk worth taking." She was well aware of how easy it would have been to encase her heart in one of those caskets after Jack, to allow herself to become unreachable. But that just wasn't in her DNA. Barriers, yes, she had certainly erected some of those, but closed off completely? No. She simply had too much love inside her to shut down like that. She knew people often thought she was cold, aloof, unemotional. They never knew it was all a façade, a shield meant to hide the fact that she actually felt things very deeply. She'd had to learn how to contain those emotions, to hide her feelings, but they were there, they were always there. And, had she entombed her heart, she never would have been able to let Rusty in, nor been able to embrace the man who had become the love of her life. Vulnerable? Yes, love made you vulnerable, but the rewards far outweighed any risk.

"I agree, we all need to remain open to love. Now, who's hungry?" Helen, the owner of the bookstore, set to restore order to their opinionated little group. "We'll eat, then dive into the book."

Sharon shot the older woman a grateful look. They might all be friends, but she had never really been comfortable with people dissecting her life.

The food was potluck. Each member of the club took a turn hosting the meeting, but it was always potluck so no one was stuck having to feed the whole group. At the end of each meeting, they drew out of a hat to see if they would be bringing the beverages, an appetizer, or an entrée to the next meeting. Though it wasn't a rule, they often tried to base whatever food they brought on the setting of their book. The only part of the meal they did not draw for was dessert. Mary Agnes Boudreaux McCormack, Aggie, always brought dessert. Twenty years ago, Aggie had moved to Los Angeles after Craig McCormack walked into her bakery in New Orleans and swept the 37-year-old widow off her feet, taking her home with him to California. Aggie opened a pretty little bed and breakfast near Venice Beach and brought with her the French and Creole delicacies of her former home, including the to-die-for beignets she brought to each meeting, regardless of the setting. No one was willing to forgo those beignets.

This month's book was set in Mexico, so there were cheesy nachos with garlic guacamole, sweet potato and black bean taquitos, a creamy taco soup, Mexican chicken and rice, and fish tacos. Sharon had drawn beverages at their last meeting, so, along with a case of seltzer water, she'd brought a few bottles of a Baja Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend along with the makings for Mojitos.

"And these," she drew out two large bottles of champagne. "Because we can't celebrate 10 years without a little bubbly. I still can't believe we've been doing this for 10 years." She poured the champagne and passed the glasses around to the ten incredible women sprawled over the sitting area. Ranging in age from their late forties to early sixties, with most in their fifties like Sharon, black, white, and mixed heritage, native Californians and transplants, gay and straight, single and married, they were a diverse group who had come together to bond over a shared love of books. And somewhere along the way, they had become friends. Friends that had seen each other through infidelity, divorce, infertility, empty nests, cancer, adoptions, menopause, job losses, promotions, and new loves gained and lost.

The book club had come about rather organically not long after Helen and her business partner, Jenny, opened "The Book Nook", a combination bookstore/café a little over 10 years ago. Helen's husband, Christopher, had accepted the position of visiting professor at USC, and the British couple fell in love with the climate and laid back lifestyle of Southern California. So, when a permanent position became available, they decided to leave the gray skies and rain of England behind and settle in the land of sunshine and surfers. At the time, Jenny was a stay at home mom whose marriage had fallen apart after her battle with breast cancer. Divorced, her children in college, and cancer-free, she was ready to embrace a new life when Helen became a patron of the coffeehouse where she was working as a barista. Soon they were discussing a joint venture. A few years later, their bookstore/cafe became reality, and Sharon, Summer, and Rachel became some of their first customers. Recommendations of authors and long chats over coffee regarding the books they read or were interested in reading had Jenny suggesting the idea of starting a book club.

For Sharon, it was perfect timing. Ricky had just gone off to Stanford, and with Emily across the country at NYU, she was reeling from the effects of her empty nest. For 21 years, her life had revolved around her children and their needs, car-pooling, cooking, laundry, helping with homework, getting them to practices, cheering them on at games and recitals, and most recently visiting college campuses in preparation for their futures. And then suddenly they were just…gone. The house was too quiet, too empty, too filled with memories. And, with her children gone, the fact that she did not have a love life only became more pronounced, her bed suddenly emptier, colder to the touch. And it didn't help that she was starting to feel like she was in a rut at the PSB. Melancholy enveloped her in its insidious web, eating away at her, telling her that her best days were now in the past.

Later, she would find that she actually enjoyed the peace and solitude of being on her own, the freedom of not having to organize anyone but herself. But in the beginning, the loneliness was crushing. Both Rachel and Summer commiserated with her because they were going through the same thing. It was Marina who encouraged her to use that time to focus on herself and do some of the things she'd wanted to do but hadn't had time for in the past.

For many years, Sharon had helped out a few nights a month at St. Joseph's soup kitchen, bringing Emily and Ricky along with her, which was how she'd gotten to know Aggie. Now, she began volunteering at the church's domestic violence shelter, counseling the women on their rights, teaching them how to defend themselves, and helping them to find jobs. She coached them through the interview process and helped them select outfits from donated clothes-including her own-that would help them look professional. Eventually, she ended up on the board of directors. She also became the LAPD's liaison with "The Sunshine Kids Foundation" helping kids with cancer, worked with Rachel to raise money for "Emily's List", sold her house and bought the condo, and then she joined the book club.

It was the perfect hobby and helped her to expand her group of friends. Other than Gavin, Summer, and Rachel, she didn't really have any close friends, confidantes. It wasn't that she was anti-social, she had many friendly acquaintances: Marina, Aggie, a few women and men at work. But, the truth was, she had never had the time to cultivate deep friendships. As a single mom, she was usually either working or taking care of her kids. And where most people made friends on the job, her work within the PSB made that impossible. Barriers were essential in her position, and that had not been easy, especially in the beginning. Even though she'd always been a bit reserved, she was not a naturally unfriendly person, so having to close off that side of her had taken time and effort. But she'd become good at it. Maybe too good. Once her walls were built, it was hard to let people back in.

The book club started out small, and though it had not been intentional, they were all women: Helen, Sharon, Summer, Rachel, Jenny, Marina, and Aggie. Roz, Patrice, and Andrea were later additions. Once the only women thing was established, they decided to keep it that way, which pleased Sharon. She was surrounded by men all day long, worked in a profession dominated by men, and she didn't have a problem with that. For the most part, she liked working with men, liked their direct ways, and had always felt that the best teams had a combination of women and men. On the other hand, it was nice to spend time with her women friends and immerse herself in the female perspective. It was also easier to be herself and let her hair down without the male/female dynamic, without feeling like she had to prove that she was tough enough, strong enough, smart enough, the way she did at work, every… single… day. Around these women, she could express her emotions, and frankly, her sexuality, without being embarrassed or viewed as weak.

"To ten years!" Helen raised her glass of champagne.

"To ten years!" The group chorused.

TBC

[indomitablemegnolia]

A bright and beautiful, soft and gorgeous day the breeze was warm from the west, a mild and pleasant day. A walk in the garden kind of day, there was something about that simple, beautiful, innocent feeling that left me feeling absolutely lovely. The air itself was soft and sweet; the sweet whisper of spring was working its way up to a full choir. Tiny pink flowers exploding on every branch, the sight infecting my every sense, I felt winter melt from my soul. I became soft and giddy and more than just a little sensual. A day like this always puts me in mind for a long and lovely bath. I sigh as I watch the sun finally set, the dark sky sparkling with bright stars. Walking inside switching on the stereo, the blues croons over the speakers, drowning my senses in the sheer sound of it, my hips and feet taking a mind of their own to that skip cadenced rhythm.

I want a little sugar in my bowl 

Gathering my supplies for a magnificent bath, oh, there is pageantry to running a proper bath. In place of my usual warm socks, t-shirt, panties, and my favourite fuzzy black robe, I walked passed my dresser, opting for something special. I open the box that holds my special nighties. I pull out the perfect colored pale blush nightie. The soft blush satin with soft gauzy golden lace makes even my pale skin glow. Little flower cutouts and applique edged in gold thread showed peekaboo patches of skin at my tender sides, showing glimpses of my tawdry self. The matching gauzy lace robe to top off the perfect vintage look, to the perfect music, Nina Simone, after a perfect day. I lay the set artfully across the chair as I turn the volume to a usurping level as I start the water, first, straight hot, pouring a liberal amount of bubbles in to get it nice and foamy.

 I want a little sweetness down in my soul 

Oh, god yes, I need some delicious sweetness down in my soul. My head swaying to the throaty voice singing, I pour my soul into the lyrics. I take the delicious bottle of Red Muscat wine from the refrigerator, the bottle instantly glosses over with condensation. I sway, rocking to the 2/4 beat, the two glasses clinking from my fingers as I pull them from the cabinet. Singing as I thread the corkscrew into the cork, pulling it gently free. The graceful liquid pours smoothly from the mouth of the bottle into the bottom of my favorite goblets, tall and bulbous, with a thin carved stem. Sloshing in a gentle spiral as it fills.

 I could stand some lovin’ 

The crystal gathers condensation nearly the instant that the wine makes contact with the surface. I pour a second smooth glass, hoping beyond hope you would pull you usual appear then disappear act, it had been an eternity since you showed your face around here my dear Life, himself, my sweet Lee. In this luscious, almost needy mood, oh yes, I could stand some lovin’. I slowly grasp the goblet around its bulbous bottom and swirl the delicious nectar of the gods making a beautiful pattern with the vivid deep scarlet liquid. It had been so long since I have had any lovin’ that I almost doubted I knew the feeling until today. When the tub is about a quarter full add some cold so that it’s a bath, not a low country boil. Just as the bubbles reach the three-quarter mark, off with the tap.

Now, it’s like the scene from the bugs bunny cartoons, sinking into the hot water when the body is a frosty temp it tingles as I step in. Slowly one toe at a time I sink into the water, little sighs escape my lips as I finally settle into the water, bubbles gather around my face and neck, making me look like a floating head. Relaxation inundates my body and every ache and pain slowly ebbs, the water infusing me with a beautiful feeling, the scent of the bubbles relaxing the only part of me the water never touches, long luscious soak, my skin becoming delicate and dewy. All scrubbed and polished, scented from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, I felt utterly delighted, girly, and most of all romantic. 

Oh so bad, I feel so funny and I feel so sad

Swallowing I let the wine slowly trickle down my throat, feeling the cool of the wine itself and the warm of the alcohol, sweet and sultry. My head lulls in reaction to the beautiful feeling of my muscles loosening, my limbs becoming light, moving more fervidly to the music. Skin reacting to the slightest breeze. I sing along, a song of keening want…no, need. The feeling of freedom the truth of the words, the tone of the song pulling more truth from my soul that I would regularly let loose. Oh, I did feel delightfully sensual, maybe even a little naughty at the moment, but tinged with the stinging lonely sad. 

My lips loosely caress, like a lazy kiss, the words that formed perfectly on my tongue. Feeling flutters of hope and moments of broken truth pour from me. This was the definition of delicious, the very idea that sounds, in its origination, the thought so simple, but is actually as impossible as describing a moment of hope, delineated into a simple soak. Something formed not from something, but from nothing, from an absence, like delicate lace, a feeling powerful in its fragility. A celebration of something that in a moment survived, a moment lived, a sense of being. I want a little steam on my rolls Delicious, something desired for, like you life… Lee, usurping every sense, taste, touch, smell, and sound, all ringing with a euphonious resonation along the nerves. It would be as miraculous as to tell the feeling of dark chocolate and the flavor of a caress. To feel the tumescence of that lace, remembered sighs that exist between the silken tines. I can still feel your steamy breath along the side of my neck, your kisses damp on my flesh. I haunt the memory, closing my eyes letting my limbs float. You, Life, Lee… god, the width and breadth of you. Your eyes communicating every thought. Your hands, soft and tender, trailing reverently over my skin. Your lips always delicious perfection. 

Maybe I can fix things up so they’ll go…

Chilled wine on a spring evening, this is delicious, oh, to feel someone again sitting across that crystal lip of the glass. Your deliciously deep laughter dances along my skin, the flavor savory and lush. Words round and succulent like ambrosia on my tongue, are bandied and savoured. 

Whatsa matter Daddy Come on, save my soul 

I have known my soul was totally forfeited the moment you first appeared in front of me. Your eyes so full of emotion. I never felt as alive as I did sitting next to you. God, the air crackled with electricity, a charged field practically vibrated from you, my every cell was on fire. It was always for you to save my soul, my heart, as I offer it greedily to you. All I could ever think of was leaning over and placing my already tingling lips to the deliciously long column of you neck, half biting half kissing your gorgeously salty skin. Lord, I wanted to kiss you wildly like you’ve never been kissed before. I want to breathe life back into your solemn soul again or perhaps take some for myself, watch that earnestness enter your eyes until your only desire at this moment was to make this second ours. You are to me, a beauty undefined, inside and out, that glorious silver lining to the seemingly never ending storm. 

I need some sugar in my bowl, I ain’t foolin’.  I want some sugar in my bowl 

Polished and pampered I dry off and dress, the soft gauzy lace and satin seemingly float into place. I lotion and primp, I comb my hair and smooth on my favorite lipstick, my pearls, and treasured silver bracelet. I take the time to paint my toenails while they dry, I pour a second glass. Pulled from my seat by the music I stand holding the bottle as I would a dance partner… a lover. I dance while I sing along. The feeling of freedom and words of the song pulling more truth from my soul that I would regularly let loose. My lips loosely caressing the words that formed perfectly on my tongue. Feeling flutters of hope and moments of broken truth pour from me as I savor that dance with the sweet memory of you. Spinning there I see you, standing watching, eyes wide and earnest.

@pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose