.vaille que vaille. : Saint Valentin

I find it amusingly hilarious that the alleged "honored" saints behind the commercialized American holiday, "Valentine's Day" were old holy people who were martyred for their faith and righteousness. Way to go. How could you have known that now, centuries later, thousands of pagans and frat boys use the memory of you as an excuse to get their bodacious babes in bed. Okay, okay, you romantics, forgive my cynicism. There are some redeeming qualities about this curse-ed day. I'll let you know when I think of them. Generally I can get through the 24 hours of agony and writhing (the expectation and disappointment of before & after not included) knowing that I'll be distracted and encouraged by gracious brothers of Amaranthine with Sister's Appreciation, however, this year, there was no such distraction, so I had to resort to self-distraction. Which works just as well, if not better. This year, more than years past, I find that I'm doing okay. I find that I'm exactly where I want to be: wrapped in the love of my true love, and satisfied in His care.

Roses for my mama & sister.
While I was purchasing them at Trader Joe's, I was stopped by a distraught boy (around 16-17 years old.) He stared in bafflement at the vast array of bouquets offered for a good 10 minutes. Finally he gathered a bouquet in his arms and approached me meekly. "Excuse me. . . miss. . . these are, daisies, right?" He said the word daisies as though he had never before uttered it in his life. "day......sees?" I smiled and looked at the batch he had chosen. A bouquet of daisies and daffodils. "Yes." I assured him. He grinned and skedaddled away pleased at himself. Oh, youth.