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Feb 1, 2003 - 4:49:00 PM
LOS ANGELES—Love is defined by our lives, much the way rustling leaves on a tree define the wind passing through it. Or, put another way, as that old blues refrain goes, "I don't know what love is, but I sure got it bad". The way we arrange our lives defines love's purpose, even if we don't understand its concept, and though the word itself reveals little, one need not speak its name to feel its breeze.
Photo by Jessica Griffiths/Canyon News
Like most people, I've always liked Valentine's Day. It allows me to feel romantic unselfconsciously; to ponder the sweeter, softer, warmer things in life. A day (and night) for just the two of us; a bouquet of roses, a Lovers' holiday. So what happens? My wife goes and gives birth to our second son (one week early) on Valentine's Day! The ultimate gift for any man, to be sure. But now my quiet romantic day with my wife entails shrieking children chasing each other around the house, cake, ice cream, birthday presents, blaring music, exploding balloons, exhaustion. It's the Fourth of July in February! Figures. So much for romance. But, again, the arrangement of our lives (though inadvertent) defined the wind as it rippled though the trees, unseen except for the rustle of the leaves, manifesting itself as our little Valentine, one holiday replacing another. The occasion of our son's birth is the stuff of poetry. I hope he doesn't mind. Happy Birthday, Ryan. And to all the rest of you, Happy Valentine's Day...
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