I like hot bread with a spread of real Butter.

I have an odd sense of humor,

and I’m comfortable with that.

I live with a man who,

as it turns out,

became my friend.

I found myself late in life. I did it wrong.

I love dogs.

I am mystic by nature,

artistic by inclination.

My world is filled with candles and books,

gardens with arbors and wind-chimes,

an old softy of an overstuffed sofa,

photographs and incense.

I am what I surround myself with.

I am content.