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My Mr BB is my MM

Anyone suffering from single-girl anxiety who reads www.thepioneerwoman.com  , Ree’s blog about her cowboy hubby,  wants her own MM or Marlboro Man.  Now, I have my MM, Motorcycle Man who I also call my BB, Mr Beautiful Biceps, my Beloved Biker and some others  I won’t share now.  As Ree says about her man, my man’s muscles are  a result of hard work and not because of hours in a gym. Mr Beautiful Biceps.

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Mr BB

When I text my man, I sign off with two kisses -xx. He signs off with three -xxx.    That’s the sort of man he is.

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My BB, Mr. Beautiful Biceps.

It is a great feeling when you know your man is watching your back,when you know he cares enough to defend you against the world.   Even though we were only at the counter waiting for our pot of tea for two, I knew that the man standing close behind me with his hand on my waist would defend me if it all got ugly.  In a tea room. Or anywhere else. And that’s a great feeling.

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Oh my! I died and went to heaven when my Beloved Biker smiled at me today. He has that affect on me, you see.

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My mind seems to work better near water. In fact, all of me does . Just now, catching up on the washing up and I realised that, yet again, I had not prepared for the Festive Season and bought presents ahead of time as I plan to every year.  Flu has robbed me of a week of leisurely shopping and now it will all be done in a rush.  Suddenly, it clicked in my mind  that living along with the seasons as a self sufficient woman, which is my dream and why I read wonderful blogs such as www.coldantlerfarm to learn how,  is not going to happen as long as I remain the Queen of procrastination.    Procrastination versus self sufficiency with all the planning and the just doing of it all that it involves.      One cannot survive in the presence of the other.  And of course, real living cannot exist where procrastination rules.

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I have found such joy

I have found such joy in simple things;
A plain, clean room, a nut-brown loaf of bread,
A cup of milk, a kettle as it sings,
The shelter of a roof above my head,
And in a leaf-laced square along the floor,
Where yellow sunlight glimmers through the door.
I have found such joy in things that fill
My quiet days: a curtain’s blowing grace,
A potted plant upon my window sill,
A rose, fresh-cut and placed within a vase;
A table cleared, a lamp beside a chair,
And books I long have loved beside me there.
Oh, I have found such joys I wish I might
Tell every woman who goes seeking far
For some elusive, feverish delight,
That very close to home the great joys are:
The elemental things- old as the race,
Yet never, through the ages, commonplace.

~ Grace Noll Crowell

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Out of the mouth of babes.

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