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This afternoon, I received a phone call: "Hey, will you be my Valentine?"

Three years ago, Jason was my first romantic Valentine. And he has become quite permanently so. He happens to be quite something and I always wonder why he picked me, but try not to question it too much.

Happy Valentine's Day, my dears (for it is still Valentine's Day for a few more minutes).

From my beginning, the holiday centered on family love.  It was never about pink & red or hearts & flowers or lovey-dovey or kissy-kissy.  It involved dinner and valentines (sometimes handmade, sometimes purchased from the carefully poured-over Current catalog) and, almost always, See's Candy.

During the dark years when I was not well, it was still about family, but it had that overhanging rejection thrown in (for that is the way of Depression).  I must say, looking back, it was never really about romantic love at all.  It was a day that served as a reminder of how precious loved ones are and what treasures we get to hold.

I am thankful for my Valentines: Loves who teach me love.  Thank you for actualizing love and teaching me how to sacrifice and receive it even when life is difficult and cold.  For love makes it less cold and even takes life into the realm of beautiful.  Thank you, my Valentines.