It’s Valentine’s Day, when Hallmark makes off like Jeff Bezos, candy stores work as hard as Lucy and Ethel on that chocolate company assembly line, florists scramble to supply the demand and you panic wondering, despite counting incessantly, if you sent the right amount of Valentine’s day cupcakes to your kid’s class (and of course there is your genuine hope that your child might not have inadvertently forgotten to write one of his classmates a card–ohthehorrorandembarrassment).
I love love. There is nothing better (except maybe gratitude, and well, maybe pasta). And I love a day devoted to celebrating it. But although I enjoy flowers and jewelry and cute handmade cards and heart-shapeed gifts, it’s the way love regenerates that I appreciate the most.
In 30 years of marriage, you have a cornucopia of moments. There are periods of extreme happiness, where rainbows and unicorns dance around your bedroom. There is doubt, misery and pain. You can be mad for your spouse one month and mad at him the next. There are Empire State Building highs and middle earth lows (This is true of long friendships, also).
But just when you think, gah, I am done, a small gesture can reignite the thing and the next thing you know, you are back on the right path. Together. Love is like this. It stands in the background when you put it on hold, ignoring you like a toddler at bedtime when you try to reject it, just holding down the fort until you are ready to inhabit it again.
Happy Valentine’s Day to everybody, but the president.
Especially to my family and friends, and very especially to my kids, and my husband, who is traveling for work, making this our first VD apart since we met. I love you. And I am grateful, so grateful you love me.