Sight – You kissed somebody you liked. – We walked down the dirt road by a lake that shimmered in the light of the setting sun. A small breeze blew threw the trees and skipped across the top of the field grasses. Our fingers brushed as we leaned into one another. At a quiet bend, out of sight of our friends, I stood on tip-toe and kissed him.

Smell – You laughed at a joke. – I burned the popcorn again at work. I laughed every time someone brought up the lingering stench and my inability to focus on this simple taste. I was the joke of the day.

Touch – You received money. – Glitter sprinkled over the top of the card. Sharp edges like mini shards of broken glass tingled along my fingertips as I ran them over the surface. When I opened my Birthday card, fifty dollars fluttered to the floor.

Color – You felt young. – Apple green leaves sprouted from brown twigs. A breeze ruffled my corn blonde hair. The sky and river mirrored each other in cornflower and baby blues. Golden sunlight bounced across the tops of trees, wavelets and birds wings. Butterflies joined me as I skipped to my car.

Taste – You liked life. – Hot raspberry sauce poured in the bottom of a tall parfait dish. Creamy vanilla ice cream scooped in next followed by more warm red liquid and topped with whipped cream and a sugar wafer. Sitting in the ice cream shop with my Oma, she watching with a lovely little smile as I slowly devoured heaven.

Movement – You played a game. – I slammed my palm on the edge of the table as I rolled my dice. I needed a six to move out from home and then roll again. Six showed its happy face and I hit the table surface, bouncing board, marbles and dice. One dark globette rolled off of its spot and across the floor.

Emotion – You bested something dangerous. – I have very violent urges. I have always known that there is a point where I could go over the edge. Patience, patience, patience, explodes. This worried me when I had my daughter because besides this internal time bomb, my mother was a wooden spoon disciplinarian. So, there were times when I thought I could be a child abuser. I was relieved and overjoyed each time I didn’t follow through on my impulse to beat my daughter.

Loudness – You acquired an animal. – My daughter wanted a dog. I am not normally a dog person. I told her we could only get one if it came from a pound and it had to be a certain kind (hairless, barkless, poopless) and she had to do the leg work. I figured these restrictions would keep her busy for a while and then she’d lose interest. The next day, she called me at work to say she had met all of my pet criteria. That night we went to the local shelter where dogs and cats spilled out of nooks and crannies. Barking and meowing rose and faltered as we passed cages containing animals I could not save. Finally, in the back, we saw the pupples that would become our Coddles. He sat nice and quiet. Once he found his voice six months later, we discovered no other dog could reach his level of volume.

Temperature – Somebody thought you were important. – The air in the cabin felt like the sudden gush of an open freezer. As I poked my nose and mouth out from under the blankets, puffs of white breath floated above my face. Despite the utter cold, my husband jump out of bed to remake the fire so that an hour later I could emerge into lush warmth.

Sound – You chased something bad. – All of the dogs in the neighborhood barked to each other, passing the news that I had stopped a lose dog in its tracks with my voice, adamant and forceful. I looked it in the eye and bellowed, “Go.” It ran home.

Texture – You were enthusiastic. – I ran my hands over the smooth surface of my boss’ desk as I listed one idea after another that could help him organize his day so he could concentrate on the tasks at hand. I talked about different learning styles and how you should play to your strengths and use what works for you. I went on for an hour caressing the desk top and convincing him that he could get the important things done.

Internal dialogue – You owned something. – I have two houses. I can’t handle two houses. Please, Lord, help me sell the old house so I don’t have a nervous breakdown. Ok, I know this is not the worst thing in the world. Yes, I will try to calm down. I do appreciate that things could be a whole lot worse and I’m just being a whiner. I do appreciate that house. It was my first house and helped me get where I am now, Please don’t punish me because I’m a worry wart bitch. I promise I’ll stop complaining. I know I’m an idiot, but you know I can’t help what I’m thinking. I’m always talking to myself to change the negative thoughts. Thank you very much for listening.