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2 More Days for free eBook Downloads
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Category Archives: personal
Seemingly Endless Self-promotion
Tomorrow is Day 3 of 5 days of free eBooks on the Amazon – click the $0.00 eBook on the right, not the Kindle one. A REVIEW would be righteous! Join my email list at annaikens.com and win a PRIZE. I’ll show you Friday why this unflagging self-promo is interesting. PS Spot the Speedy Spoo!
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Today is Day 1 of Free eBooks
Yepper! Free eBooks now on the Amazon – click the $0.00 eBook on the right, not the Kindle one. A REVIEW would be welcome! Join my email list at annaikens.com and win a PRIZE. Someone will, why not you? Or come to my reading on March 21 in Norwich?
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Don We Now Our Gay Apparel
I remember when there was no VHS, no DVDs, no streaming. It was a very big deal when “The Wizard of Oz” came on TV. If you didn’t catch it, you had to wait another year. There was no way in heck you were going to miss out.
The same went for “Monty Python,” “Benny Hill,” and “Saturday Night Live.” Those shows, aired late at night, forced you to stay up because if a brilliant skit happened at the end and you’d already gone to bed, you were out of the loop at school while absolutely everyone discussed it.
Point is, much as I enjoy the convenience of watching a holiday movie at a convenient time with my peeps, the devils of video, cable, satellite, and streaming have largely thrown a fire blanket over the magic of broadcast television. Which everyone had been enjoying simultaneously, at least with viewers within their time zone. There was something special in knowing that people were out there laughing or crying right as you were.
Sadly, the changes in TV program delivery meant also the death of one of my favorite publications ever, “TV Guide,” with its crossword, vital information, and wry synopses (e.g., “A light romp starring the unlikely romantic duo of…” or “A whimsical if entirely forgettable yarn about…” or “A frisky reporter teams with a hardboiled gumshoe to solve a…”). Such notables as Joyce Carol Oates, John Updike, Margaret Mead, and William F. Buckley, Jr. actually wrote articles for “TV Guide.” It was necessary for us commoners, God knows, but also taken seriously by the literati.
Similarly, home screening rooms, Tivo, then streaming, demolished the beautiful magic of the shared experience at movie theaters. It became harder and harder to find a cinema, where an audience of friends and strangers sit in front of a big ole screen together, riding a rollercoaster of emotions (“Rosemary’s Baby,” “The Exorcist,” “Sophie’s Choice,” “Jaws,” “Gran Torino,” “Milk,” “Memoir of a Geisha”, “Philomena,” “Hidden Figures,” “To Kill a Mockingbird,” “Moonlight,” “Forrest Gump,” “Shawshank,” “Silence of the Lambs,” “Doubt,” “A Man Called Ove”). Let’s not forget our collective gasps at hair-raising visuals (aerial heart-pounders in “Star Wars,” “Top Gun,” “Crouching Tiger,” “Avatar,” “Polar Express”; James Bond’s hilarious evasive skiing antics; creepy trike rides in “The Shining”; and stunning vehicular scenes (“French Connection,” Bourne Identity, “Stuber,” “Christmas Vacation”—the sled). Nothing competes with the shared experience. Nothing, people! Watching a story unfold in a roomful of guffaws and sobbing … there’s nothing like it.
That Rutland’s Flagship Cinemas has become a gym (oof!) breaks my heart. So many theaters have become magicless businesses — or parking lots. Movie enchantment turned by evil sorcerers into a bunch of bench presses or, worse, pavement.
If you’re having a blue Christmas, or your Solstice or Chanukah was lonely or just “entirely forgettable,” you are in good company. One in four adults reports suffering from loneliness in the U.S. I, like many, have endured terrible disappointments and losses in recent years. Those are hard to shake off. The holidays launch a tsunami of memories and feelings that we don’t always welcome, particularly if we are already down to begin with.
It helps to remember that it will soon be over, to wear clothes that make you feel snappy, and to make a list for the new year — not a list of behaviors or qualities that you should change in yourself, but a list of actions that might make you or others happy. Or: nice things you did for others, or that others did for you, like a woman in I met at a holiday craft sale who, unprompted, mailed me sewing instructions for a pillowcase. Or things you accomplished last year. Or things you’d like to accomplish, places you’d like to go, in 2024. Ways you can make a difference in this crazy world. A list just might remind you that last year held more wonder than you recall. A list might give you something to reach for, reinvigorate your good will towards men, and make you realize, “It is a new year. It is new. I ain’t dead yet.”
Never a fan of the term “self-care,” I’ve been seeking an alternative. Maybe “self-sanity” or perhaps “making it nice.” This from the Italian proprietor of Caffé Reggio in New York City, who would say, when he saw that you needed it: “Come. Sit down. Have a cappuccino. We’ll make it nice.”
Really, no one’s going to dump a big plate of happiness into our laps if we wallow in nostalgia and loneliness. And decency is not going to be thrust upon us. It’s up to is to gather together, make lists, and do something for someone else, perhaps a total stranger. What I noticed this year about “The Wizard of Oz” is that it is ultimately out of their love for each other that Dorothy’s companions become courageous, smart, and full of heart. Love of any kind brings out the best in us.
Sometimes you have to go a few miles to get with people you feel that kind of love for. Make the trip. Or make a new friend. It may not be your holiday tradition, but: home is where the heart is, and family is whomever you choose it to be. Feeling love for each other makes us better people, and tranquil. Go give, and get for yourself, a big serving of THAT.
So at this overwhelming time of year, make a happy list, don your gayest apparel, express your love for your chosen family, and — even if alone — go to the movies. Go. Sit down. Have the popcorn. Make it nice. Good New Year to you and yours.
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All Aboard the Holiday Express – Feel Good or go Sleeper Car
My Thanksgiving column had to be re-written because it didn’t make it into the paper. This starts differently and has minor improvements IMHO. Posted for posterity!
The Holiday Express pulled out of the station in September (Labor Day, Yom Kippur, International Talk Like a Pirate Day, World Beard Day), then chugged through October (Halloween, Samhain, National Name Your Car Day – I’m not making these up), and has now pulled out of the November station (Veterans Day, National Vinegar Day, Thanksgiving).
While some of us have had low-key Thanksgivings in recent years, some enjoyed wild ones. I envy your big-group noise and merrymaking and even the fighting. It makes me wicked nostalgic. A quiet Christmas I don’t mind, but Thanksgiving is supposed to be full of joyful hoots as people walk through the door, with lots of chaos and exploding casseroles.
A friend lamented when his daughter left for college, “Where did 20 years go?” For me it is, at this time of year: where did those beloved people go, those sacred homes, those raucous laughs of holidays past? Those kids all growed up. We all growed up. Sigh. Do you ever wish you were a kid again? Our elders, so many of them now frail or gone, back in charge?
I looked up “nostalgia” and found the craziest assortment of definitions, ranging from “a sad longing” to, for real, “mental illness.” The latter does make sense. Because if you wallow in a sad longing for the past long enough, you are probably 1. Ignoring the bad things about those times, 2. Experiencing mental anguish, and 3. No longer living your life.
An odd detour in an alleged humor column, I realize. Stay with me.
Alas, many best-loved beings have left the building. Favorite musicians, actors, friends, lovers, pets, family, neighbors. The world seems a giant mess. While nostalgia implies a glossing over of history, I feel that my own generation’s past was, in fact, lovelier – before the major disasters (you know the names) that imperiled our overall sense of safety and trust in humans, no matter where we live. At least in the US, by and large, life was easier back then. We just didn’t know it. The oceans, lands, air, and wildlife now at risk. Homeless tent cities common. And there is so much hate now. Or else we see more hate, due to the devil that is 24-hour news on TV and other screens. I say, some nostalgia is legit.
In our messed-up powder keg of a world, it’s difficult to remain hopeful or sane. Especially as it seems there’s little be done about much of it, by us ordinary people anyway, aside from writing checks and voting. It’s distressing.
But I have discovered this: that making an effort to feel good can actually pay off. It’s not easy sometimes, but worth the attempt. I went to see a magical band at Chandler, helped collect gifts for kids, and baked for a dear friend. I went back to choir. Do you know that singing in groups (even small) increases your oxytocin and other good brain chemicals? Head to a tiled bathroom for some doo-wop harmonizing with your housemate(s).
When you feel good, you feel somehow … loved. And conversely, when you feel loved, you feel good. If you’ll allow me to wax Cosmic here: feeling good allows great amounts of what some call the Life Force to flow through you. This makes you healthier physically and emotionally. This makes you better able to navigate illness and difficult situations. Energized. Motivated. Resilient. So feel good if it kills you. Hang out with people that make you feel loved and loving. Okay, maybe for now you’d rather lie around feeling like holy hell. Go right ahead, but don’t do it for long. It’ll make you sick.
Like many of you, I always dug Thanksgiving because my mommy put on such a good one and because it’s non-denominational. We’d host people who had nowhere to go, much as my loud family’s antics were no doubt technically embarrassing. The guests didn’t seem to mind. We all laughed and laughed. I miss every single person in those blurry old Instamatic photos, whether they moved away or died or just grew up. In recent years, I’m the person with nowhere to go for holidays. Someone always invites me in.
In an effort to feel good, and in so doing make others feel good, this Thanksgiving I endeavored to focus more on who’s here than on who’s not. I’m carrying that to each remaining stop on the Holiday Express.
What I suggest this holiday season to you and me both is this: really marinate in communal happiness. No matter how small or random your group, no matter how holidays of years past appear happier in your mind, feel the love right where you are. When at the table, honoring the memory of beings we adored who are now gone, really savor those that are here. Right here. Love the one(s) you’re with. And if you just can’t deal at all this year, get into your berth solo in the Sleeper Car. It’ll be over before you know it.
Feel good. Spread love. Bring leftovers to someone left out. Or invite them in? Good day.
Ann Aikens’ darkly comical, uplifting book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, is available at Amazon & Vermont shops. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Find shops at annaikens.com; sign up for her blog at lower right at uppervalleygirl.com.
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Thanksgiving Serving Suggestion – Feel Good
While some of us are having rather low-key Thanksgivings in recent years, some of you are enjoying wild ones. I envy your big-group noise and merrymaking and even the fighting. It makes me wicked nostalgic.
A friend lamented when his daughter left for college, “Where did 20 years go?” For me it is, at this time of year: where did those beloved people go, those sacred homes, those raucous laughs of Thanksgivings past? Those kids all growed up. We all growed up. Sigh. Do you ever wish you were a kid again? Those older people (now frail or gone) still in charge?
I looked up “nostalgia” and found the craziest assortment of definitions, ranging from things along the lines of “a sad longing” to, for real, “mental illness.” Sounds melodramatic, but makes sense. Because if you wallow in a sad longing for the past long enough, you are probably 1. Ignoring the bad things about those times, 2. Experiencing mental anguish, and 3. Not living your life.
This is an odd topic for a holiday column, I realize. Stay with me.
Many best-loved beings have left the building. Favorite musicians, actors, friends, lovers, pets, family, neighbors. The world at large seems a giant mess. While nostalgia implies a glossing over of actual history, I feel that my generation’s past was in fact lovelier – before the major disasters (you know the names) that imperiled our overall sense of safety and trust in humans, no matter where we live. At least in the US, by and large, life was easier back then. The oceans and wildlife and all of the Lands are now at risk. Homeless tent cities everywhere. And there is so much hate now. Or else we see more hate, due to the devil that is 24-hour news on TVs and screens. So don’t feel too bad about feeling nostalgic.
In our messed-up powder keg of a world, it’s difficult to remain hopeful or sane. Especially as it seems there’s little be done about much of it, aside from sending checks and voting. But I discovered this: that making an effort to feel good can actually pay off. It’s not easy sometimes, but worth trying. I went to see a magical and upbeat band at Chandler Center for the Arts, helped collect gifts for Ukrainian kids, and baked for a dear friend in need. I plan to go back to choir. Do you know that singing in groups (even small) increases your oxytocin? And surely other good brain chemicals.
When you feel good, you feel loved. And when you feel loved, you feel good. It works both ways, right? Well, guess what: feeling good allows great amounts of what some call Life Force to flow through you. This makes you healthier physically and emotionally. This makes you better able to navigate illness and difficult situations. Energized. Motivated. Resilient. So go feel good if it kills you. Maybe right now you’d rather lie around feeling like holy hell. Go right ahead, but don’t do it for long. It’ll make you sick.
Like many of you, I always dug Thanksgiving because my mommy put on such good ones and because it’s non-denominational. We would host people who had nowhere to go, much as our family’s loud antics were no doubt technically embarrassing. The guests didn’t seem to mind. We laughed and laughed. So did the guests. I miss every single person in those blurry old Instamatic photos, whether they moved away or died or just grew up.
But in an effort to feel good, and in so doing make others feel good, this year I endeavor to focus far more on who’s here than on who’s not.
What I suggest this holiday to you and to me both is this: really marinate in communal happiness. No matter how small your group, no matter how past holidays appear happier in your mind, feel the love right where you are. When, at the table, verbally honoring the memory of our global and familial stars now gone, really savor the people that are here. Right here. Love the one(s) you’re with.
Feel good. Spread love. Bring leftovers to someone left out. Good Thanksgiving Day.
Ann Aikens’ darkly comical, uplifting book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, is available at Amazon & Vermont shops. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Find shops at annaikens.com; more of her writing at uppervalleygirl.com.
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How To Be Funny
Years ago, after a heartbreak (the first of many), I decided to stretch myself. I learned then that, of all things, fear can boost you out of the hole. Fear trumps all other emotions – logically I guess, as a survival mechanism.
I had worked at and frequented comedy clubs for years, so I went that route of fear: performing (not, say, cliff diving.) After said heartbreak, I took a comedy class (lame), attempted standup (terrifying; developed periscope-like tunnel vision of audience), and somehow got into an improv group (practice sessions riotous, even though I never got to “play,” as improvers call it, on show nights, my motorcycle constantly croaking in sketchy NYC neighborhoods after shows).
Anyway, here goes: How To Be Funny
Hang Out with Funny People
Imagine if you ate breakfast every day with Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner. That was Rob Reiner’s youth. No way he (the director of the fake “rockumentary” This Is Spinal Tap) was not going to grow up to be funny.
Callbacks
This is when you refer to something mentioned earlier in your “set” – or conversation – that made people laugh the first time. Everyone loves callbacks. They’re like, “Oh, I remember that funny thing; that was funny, even funnier now, HAW, how clever!” This is not your classic callback, but close enough, and funny as hell.
Footnotes and Parenthetical Insertions
Use for unexpected laffs. The weirder the better, I find.
Sarcasm
Growing up, our parents used sarcasm to great comedic effect, especially while driving. “Yo Einstein, find a parking spot already, it’s not that complicated.” “Hey Quicksilver, the pedal on the right is for the GAS.” I later learned that my favorite aged kid is eight, because they’ve learned sarcasm but still respect authority. This doesn’t last. Well, the sarcasm does.
And my personal favorite…
The Absurd
Example: Rodentologist and author of “Raising Hamsters Right” urges owners to guide their rodents with a firm hand from the get-go. “Establishing dominance is the name of the game. Letting your hamster think it’s in charge can have disastrous effects.” (Point being: Who can train a hamster?)
Be Like My Dad
He recently had a flu shot and his shoulder hurt. I said,”You should probably be drinking a lot of water.” His reply: “I’ll probably be drinking a lot of gin.”
See Live Comedy and Improvisational Comedy
Best viewed with a group, IMHO. Get a posse and go. GREAT standup show coming up at Randolph’s Chandler in October called the Ivy League of Comedy. Go! Saw them twice and they so rocked. Anyone who knows where to find good improv locally, I’m all ears. My contact info below. Nothing is funnier than improv. You’ll LERV it.
Create a Flash Mob
While working banquet at a stranger’s wedding? Bar mitzvah?
Or, If Unmotivated…
Watch flash mobs on YouTube. The bystanders’ reactions are priceless.
Tell Disgusting True Stories
Like how when I lived in a tiny walk-up in SoHo, New York, I subsisted on take-out pizza, sushi, and bagels. Never cooked. One day after 2 years I opened my oven and an absolute waterfall of cockroaches cascaded out. (They call that The Nest.) My neighbors thought I was being murdered, from the screaming. Imagine if you passed out, and they’d scrambled all over you? This story always gets a laugh and amusing faces of disgust. Note parenthetical insertion.
Tell Flagrant Lies to Amuse Self and Friends
At a boring party? Spice it up. Haul your friend over to someone you both don’t know. Ask the person what they do for a living (very American). Acknowledge their work. Then say, “Sheila here is a rodentologist studying the rat population of minor cities. She started out as a trapeze artist, didn’t you, Sheila? It will be Sheila’s job to keep a straight face and elaborate. (Note: This is a callback in two ways: the hamster reference, plus this game is straight out of improvisational comedy.)
Watch Funny Shows/Movies
I know a cosmic person who says his secret to inner peace is meditation and watching funny movies. With his mom.
I’ve been thinking, since recent flicks “Barbie” and “Theater Camp” had me howling, that what the world needs now (besides love*) is funny, yes, funny. Come on writers and directors, crank out those comedies — highbrow, lowbrow, we don’t care. Bring it awn. Go see comedies in the theater. The shared experience crushes home viewing.
Suggested Movies: A Short and Largely Obscure List of Comedic Brilliance
Not necessarily entirely comedies, but mega-comical moments:
Bridesmaids, Go (clever ensemble piece; the Amway scene!), Wonder Boys, Mother (Albert Brooks and Debbie Reynolds GEM), After Hours (Linda Fiorentino hottt!). Barbie is worth it for the dance numbers with Ryan Gosling, a former New Mickey Mouse Club alum who can DANCE.
Mel Brooks: Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, and High Anxiety.
Forget Paris: the pigeon scene with Debra Winger
Stuber: So, so good. You won’t regret. Kumail Nanjiani and Dave Bautista!
The Spy Who Dumped Me: the chase scene alone…Milla Kunis and Kate McKinnon
Three Woody Allen movies you may not have seen that kill: Small Time Crooks (Tracy Ullman), Hollywood Ending (absurd plot, luminescent Tea Leoni), Manhattan Murder Mystery (Diane Keaton)
Cricket On The Hearth: old-school animated Christmas movie my nieces love.
Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion (when they ask for a Business Woman’s lunch)
Pink Panther flicks (“It’s not my phaone.”)
Bill Murray: Scrooged and Caddyshack
Groundhog Day: romantic to boot!
The Royal Tenenbaums
Overboard: I’ve seen it 10 times and I do not re-watch movies.
Anchorman (I’ve never seen)
Christopher Guest: Best in Show
Napoleon Dynamite: The dance sequence, you’ll be afire
Alan Arkin (total god): Glen Gary Glenross, Little Miss Sunshine, The Russians Are Coming The Russians are Coming
It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World: another old nugget
Meet the Fockers (I’ll tell you a funny story if you ask at contact info below)
Shows: Maybe another column, with Dear Reader’s input? Your call. Good day.
*Nod to Burt Bacharach
Ann Aikens has released a darkly comical yet uplifting book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, available on Amazon and local Vermont shops. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Information at annaikens.com.
Cutie pie Ginger! At top is Marshmallow; RIP our classic darling. You brought only joy.
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A Happy Father
Nothing made my father happier this year, I think, than when I unexpectedly handed him a hardcover of my book.
I told him I had a surprise for him. He said, “It’s a book.” I said, “Yes, I wrote it.”
He watched with me as my numbers rose on Amazon, and was my total champion. He has always been and wanted me to be a writer since he gave me a copy of “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn” as a child, likening me to Francie.
A fiction writer I’m not, but when he said, “Your mother thought this would have happened 30 years ago,” I felt good, not bad. It’s never too late to please your parents. Dead or alive, in my opinion.
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The Winds of Change: Something’s Coming, Something Good?
When I left Vermont for Massachusetts six years ago, it seemed that I’d relocated to a wicked windy state. The winds would positively howl at night in my Boston-adjacent neighborhood, a kinetic metal sculpture outside gonging like a buoy.
But when I moved back to Vermont two years ago, I realized the entire northeast had in fact gotten windier. As has much of our country in the last 10 years. New England has something called a “jet streak” nearby, a part of the jet stream where winds are stronger, but the west has been getting clobbered, too. The whole planet has become mysteriously windier.
While of great benefit to wind farms, our newly windy climate has less favorable consequences in our area. In winter, power outages are terribly unfun when trees or limbs fall on power lines. In summer, people are fond of burning stuff outside, often unmonitored. With all of our old wooden structures in Vermont, and a recent trend to long weeks without rain, that’s just not a good idea.
Then there’s sports. I was planning on working on my tennis serve this summer, but it’s hard to get any consistency going when 1.) your baseball cap is giving you lift like the Flying Nun, and 2.) you have to guess as you toss your ball high into the air for the serve: (a.) Will there be wind? (b.) How strong will it be? (c.) From which direction will it come? That goes for your lobs in tennis and, frankly, any ball of any kind coming at you or leaving you in any sport. The winds are not only gusting, they’re swirling. Is this affecting pitching? Batting? Basketball? It’s got to be affecting golf. Surely volleyball. Fake sports like pickleball and badminton must now be more like gambling than sports.
Wait what? Did I just denigrate pickle ball? Yes, I did. Badminton never pretended to be a real sport; it knew its place as a charming folly in the wide world of athleticism: a dusty boxed set that lives in the attic for years at a time, trotted out gamely at family reunions, if and when the shuttlecock can be found and its rubber nub hasn’t crackled apart, rendering it useless.
Really, bully for all who dig pickleball, but I gave it several tries and here’s my assessment: a noisy “sport” named after a dog, invented by restless wealthy people, with inscrutable scoring that takes so long to learn that players mostly announce the score in the interrogative, that feels like a fanciful game your little nephew makes up and keeps changing the rules on so that you can’t beat him. Mainly, it screws up my tennis courts, man, with distracting court tapings and heinous net-lowerings that pickleballers don’t bother to fix when they’re done. Tennis is a sensible and courteous game, for civilized people. Play tennis. Before a swirling windy vortex sucks your pickleball, more whiffle than ball, up into the heavens forever (“Hate mail can be addressed to author@annaikens.com”).
But I digress. Back to the wind. The “winds of change” is an expression signifying a sense that change is in the air. Has Dear Reader ever gotten this? At times I have felt that the wind did in fact portend change, or I at least interpreted it thusly and used it as a catalyst to make my own change. Some of us take unusual winds as a very real sign. And given current world events – and news channels relentlessly covering not only existing problems, but also imagined terrors that may never even come to pass – we can easily panic about what changes may be headed our way.
I’ve said it before, but it never gets old: catastrophizing about an unknown future and all forms of hand-wringing in general serve only to rattle us. It does not serve us to fret over things out of our control. It’s up to us to rein in our worrying — including all who live alone and are unfortunately free to ruminate endlessly, sleeplessly, with no one to talk to or offer comfort. It’s up to each of us to do our best to remain grounded, not like a pickleball sailing off to Mars. It’s up to us to think pleasant thoughts for our selves, each other, and the planet. Otherwise, we won’t feel well, or safe, or loved. What good could come from that?
Truly, it’s entirely possible that what is coming is something very good indeed. Some bad things in the mix, no doubt, but maybe something major and lovely is en route. Consider interpreting the winds this way: that people who think or act upon others with harmful intent in this time and place might soon find themselves powerless, blown far, far away like so many cracked and useless shuttlecocks in strong winds. Then those of us who think and act with love will finally understand the power of love – our love, and that of the entire world.
Okay, I’m not kidding, the wind is howling as we speak. All cosmic musings aside, this should be an interesting summer between tent pitching and anchoring umbrellas at beaches. Beware projectiles. Think positively. Good day.
Ann Aikens has published a darkly comical book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, available in Vermont shops listed at annaikens.com, and on Amazon. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996.
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Good News Patrol: Now in 4 Vermont Bookstores!
BUY LOCAL is big in Vermont. Booksellers are All In to promote local authors, way more than other places. Huge thanks to:
• Royal Towne Gifts (Randolph)
• Yankee Bookshop (Woodstock)
• Bear Pond Books (Montpelier)
• Barnes & Noble (Burlington)
Today’s high point: goddess Teresa at B&N putting my very orange book on both the Graduation and Local shelves. 🥰 Highest point: seeing “Signed Edition” stickers being applied by Goddess to humble tome.
Then my nephew’s last-place baseball team beat the first-place team. Can it be?!
But enough about us. Do comment with your own Good News. So needed! ❤️
uppervalleygirl 