Valentines day

February 15, 2009

 

It’s mid February and Paula has now safely returned to her regularly scheduled life after five weeks of cross country hysteria.  She is still out and about somewhere in the country but at least she’s not dangling from a chair lift.  She’s been a courageous companion and I will miss her morning smile and her unwavering optimism.   Ok.  I’ll also miss the laundry, bell hop, chef and house cleaning services, none of which were on her resume.

 

Yesterday I celebrated my first single Valentines day in 18 years.  I wanted to spend the day in the company of people who are in completely dysfunctional relationships to ward off any feelings of euphoric nostalgia but I couldn’t find any in Colorado, so I flew home to my parents.  It worked like a charm. 

 

My mother slaved in the kitchen all day to prepare this fabulous lamb dish, complaining the entire time about how she was certain that my father wouldn’t eat it because he never likes anything she makes.  (For the record, my father is allergic to lamb.)  

 

It’s hard to understand her until you spend some time with him.  He was in the garden, yelling about how we make a big deal about Valentines day so that we can sell chocolates to diabetics and flowers to people who think potatoes grow on trees, pointing out that I would starve if Publix closed for a week because I can’t even grow parsley.  “Valentine’a day shes’a like’a Munday, Toosday, Fryraday.  Is’a no special day.” he exclaimed, ripping out the roots from lasts summers eggplant, insuring a thick and muddy layer of black top soil from his trousers would end up on my mothers newly mopped floor, all the time forgetting that it was also his 54th wedding anniversary. 

 

From the outside looking in, my parents relationship is not something I would sign up for, yet somehow it seems to work for them. 

 

A very good friend recently told me that a relationship “seems” to work when the person we are in relationship with loves us a little bit more than we love ourselves.  The reflection they show us is better than the image we have of ourselves so we stay and keep looking in the mirror.  She then pointed out that a little more than self hatred doesn’t feel like love because its not…  It’s a cry for love.  Our own.  Maybe we should answer it.

 

Wishing you blissed out, mind blowing Self love and the reflection it shows you. 

 

Happy Valentines day…Rosalie