It is February. The month to celebrate love. Chocolate hearts, lovingly message printed Sweettarts, Filligreed and "ungapatchkid" as my grand mother used to say, Valentines.
I never liked Valentine's Day. Even though I normally love any excuse to have a party, the idea of Valentine's Day stuck like a poppy seed in my gums.
Now here it is again, in the face of my second divorce, where I find that love can go just as it came. No romantic gesture will revive the Eros in this relationship. Once I was wooed with teddy bears and champagne, chocolates and jewelry, weekend trips and romantic dinners, and the most effective, tender loving care lavished upon my young children. But love goes way deeper than that. It means fighting the good fight to be as healthy as you can be for as long as possible and live as full a life as possible with those who want you around. It means being encouraging, not proving how much better you are at anything than anyone including your mate. It means giving up the last chocolate chip cookie.
There is so much it means to me. Funny, I used to believe in True Love. I used to be a hopeless romantic. I used to think I would find a happily ever after thing. Somebody start singing "Memories." Where's the Kleenex? sniff sniff
ok better now. Who the f@#% needs a Valentine anyhow?
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