Why do I love Valentine’s Day?
Why do I love Valentine’s Day?
Let me count the ways.
Joyously adding to my collection of insanely large teddy bears that sit about our room staring at John and I as we sleep. Along with other creepy things they might be doing like French braiding each other’s fur and clipping each other’s toenails in the shape of diamonds. Snip, snip.
Conversation Hearts. I don’t eat them but my boys (young and old) love them. Their pastel chalkiness in a heart-shaped dish on the kitchen counter warms my heart. This is especially true because they are no temptation to me. Mine is a purely aesthetic love affair.
Definitely a minor holiday, I love that decorations are neither encouraged or dissuaded. No pressure to have a pink and white laser show on the front door every evening. Though I’m sure plenty of Valentine-ophiles search Pinterest day and night for the perfect lamb chop recipe or special sundress pattern to sew for the ginormous teddy bear sitting under her Valentine tree.
That said. I love a little red, white and pink frivolity scattered about the house. And on the porch.
Nostalgia. Great memories of Valentine’s Day at school. You know what’s weird? I loved making the construction paper mailbox we stuck on the front of our desk as much as keeping a stiff upper lip when the cutest boy in second grade said my card flew out of his satchel and under the wheel of the school bus that morning.
Notice I didn’t include chocolate. This is because Valentine’s Day often falls after the start of Lent as it does this year. I don’t belong to the school of you-can-break-your-fast-on-Sunday, because it’s like cheating to me. No judgment of any Sunday break fast observers. It’s just almost impossible for me to get the horse back in the barn once the doors been flung open and he’s out gallivanting in the pasture.
To be completely honest, my most favorite thing about Valentine’s Day is what it represents.
Love?
Nope.
It’s the middle of February, which means we have inched closer to the Great Warm Up. I hate to wish my life away, which I’m not — but of course I totally am.
I choose not to think of it that way.
We’ve pulled the Groundhog out of his lair. Downton Abbey is nearly over for the season (and forever *sob*). The Super Bowl can be checked off. Now the holiday celebrating candy hearts and those we love is in the books for 2016.
What’s that I see on the horizon?
An icy mug of green beer. And green shoots of daffodils appearing outside my kitchen window.
Sooo here’s to the week that was and to the week that will be . . .
The editor reports Ms. Miles averaged 494 words for six days this week on her novel. The poor girl felt sure she had written something on Thursday the 11th but no notations can be found. Alas, that zero dealt the death blow to her average in what felt like a most productive week.
