The save

 

While waiting at the allergist's office today for my weekly allergy shots, I noticed a curly-haired little boy of about 4 or so staring at me.

His mother was reading a magazine and oblivious. I didn't think much of it, as sometimes kids just zero in on stuff when they're bored, so I continued reading a very important article on People.com on my cell about how grown up the kid from Modern Family has gotten (here it is if you're dying to know). That piece of literature now properly store in my brain, I glanced up to see the little guy still agaze in my direction.

I smiled one of my adorable dimple-laden beauties.

He smiled back.

"You're pretty," he said.

Heart = melted.

"Thank you," I replied, all aw-shucks. "I think you're very handsome."

Blank stare.

Followed by scrunchy-nosed confusion.

A head tilt.

Then a frown.

"I'm a girl."

Oh.

Yep, I was having one of those days.

It's been one of those days for several days now, actually. I am off my game.

My week has included two cancelled school events for my son: one cancelled because of heavy snow and the other cancelled a few days later because of the threat of tornadoes. Welcome to the Midwest. We've gone from super busy on those days to ... well, nothing ... in a blink. Schedule = chucked

I've had a  Bob Costas-level case of pink eye. Because at nearly 45 years old, I have the immune system of a toddler in daycare.

Twice while I was composing a text containing the word slushy - as in, the roads are slushy - my cellphone autocorrected my typo to slutty ... which is way more interesting, but not at all accurate.

I put my bra on inside out yesterday and even managed to close it (don't ask).

In addition to offending the little girl in the doctor's office - whose mother might want to consider tossing a bow in that mess of curls or at least not glare at strangers making an honest mistake - my day also included near theft in the form of nail polish that fell into an outer purse pocket instead of the cart at Target. The misdemeanor was averted when I found it while checking out - though again with the glaring, this time from the cashier.

I blame the season. We're in that in-between time of the year when you can sense spring is coming. It's in the buds on the trees, daytime highs that pop up into the low 60s for a moment, and ever-lingering evening sun. And then like a rubber band to the wrist, winter snaps back and reminds us it ain't over. The senses are unsettled, bouncing about, trying to land in a happy, familiar place.

Or maybe I'm just a middle-aged spaz.

Anyway, I've had some lucky saves this week: messages received in time to reset plans, keeping conjunctivitis limited, catching autocorrect errors, making like Houdini in a straitjacket to fix undergarment errors, and even pulling unpaid merch out of my purse like a rabbit out of a hat.

Except, of course, for the little girl in the waiting room today.

I stammered, realizing my error, and babbled something like, "Did I say handsome? That's not what I meant. I was looking at a picture of my handsome son," gesturing at my phone.

Liar.

"I meant to say beautiful."

Not buying it.

Finally, resolved to the fact there was no excusing me, I sighed, and said in all sincerity, "You know, you really are adorable."

And with that, I got a smile from her.

And the day was saved.

A little love

Love.

It's a thing, ya know. Pop culture is full of it and we let it shape our behavior beyond our own amorous feelings. We sing about it. Delight at its depiction in art and poetry.  Watch dumb comedies about it. Weep at the end of tragic dramas when its all gone horribly wrong. Fill bookshelf after bookshelf with it in paperback form.

And then there's Valentine's Day.

Its roots go way, way back as a fertility rite, then saint day, then general day celebrating love. And by celebrating, I mean submitting couples and singles alike to tortuous commercial-generated pressure to buy this, go here, do that ... all in the name of love.

It's a thing, all right.

It's such a thing that a lot of single people tend to get down about Valentine's Day. Even married or otherwise coupled people feel the pressure to have the perfect V-Day and less-than-stellar efforts come across as hurtful or thoughtless.

I saw this article the other day on HuffingtonPost.com, The 5 Healthiest Ways to Spend a Single Valentine's Day.  Basically, the article's message is to avoid Valentine's Day and stay busy doing other, though certainly positive, things. That is one way to cope - is cope even the right word here? - with a holiday (real or Hallmark) you may not wish to participate in.

May I offer some insight? Even though I have been married forever?

Love's about a lot of things. Yes, there is romantic love ranging from sweet, simple expressions of affection to hot, sweaty passion.

But love is also about how we connect to one another. Take out the romantic aspect and love can be about appreciation, admiration, (non-lusty) affection, attention, friendship, kinship. In that light, I feel a lot of love for a lot of people.

I've told you how I feel about the truest romantic love here. My husband and I have our wedding anniversary to be all swoony about our life together as a couple. I like to treat Valentine's Day, not as a day for lovers, so much as a day for love - all kinds of love.


 

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. - John 13:34.

If Feb. 14 gets you down, don't shun it. Embrace it and make it about being a blessing to others. Whether you are married, single, coupled ... use the holiday to share simple kindnesses - a smile or compliment - to a stranger, a special treat for a friend, lunch with a co-worker, a grocery store-bought bouquet to a neighbor.

God's love: it's right there in how we treat one another.

And you don't have to buy it dinner. Or shave your legs for it.

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us." - Saint Augustine.

Friendship

"If friends were flowers, I'd pick you." - Albert Camus

I've seen that phrase on coffee mugs, embroidered pillows, greeting cards, plaques, paper weights ... the list goes on. It certainly lends itself to the adornment of gift items and it is difficult to fault savvy marketers who capitalize on an upbeat, appreciative, timeless sentiment.

Though I haven't ever purchased an item with this quotation for a bestie, I can say without hesitation that my many friendships over the years have enriched and enlivened my life.

We tend to compartmentalize our friendships: best friends, work friends, childhood friends, neighborhood friends, school friends, guy friends. Doing so in no way diminishes their importance in our lives; it merely enhances our many facets.

My girlfriends, especially my closest circle of friends, are my support group, my therapists, my secret keepers, and companions. They are a truth-banner-waving focus group for hair styles, fashions and home decor. "Um ... no. Just no. That looks terrible on you," one girlfriend said bluntly in the dressing room when I tried on a poorly executed pair of skinny jeans.

[Note to denim designers: You can call them what you want, but if they come in my size, they are not skinny jeans.]

And while my girlfriends might - upon request - judge my fashion choices, they never judge me as a person. They are my audience for rousing tales and rants. My back-up singers. My diet crashers. My cheering section. They are my taste testers for new recipes, which can be a thankless, gag-inducing job.

They make me feel needed and appreciated in their lives - for carpool, opinions, evening walks, lunch dates, shopping, craft projects, perspective, a hug, a laugh. Their needs are not a burden, but an honor. My life is made more purposeful in giving.

Friendship is essential to our happiness, but we must never forget that it is optional. Like any kinship based on love, trust and respect, it requires give and take; a balance. We've all had those life-sucking relationships, so let me give you permission to put a stake in it: vampires quickly move on to other, more willing, givers. Sincerity is the hallmark of the bond, so if you ain't feelin' it, let go.

And sometimes friendships run their course. They fade because of time, distance, changing interests and shifting priorities. Those lost relationships, however melancholy, are part of the ebb and flow of life.

Some complain the meaning of "friend" has diminished in this Facebook age, when all your contacts are labeled "friends." After all, you can now be "friends" with hundreds - thousands - of people, including that guy you haven't seen since elementary school who is apparently still sporting a mullet (and not ironically), and that bitch who bullied you in middle school ... you know, now she can see how awesome your life is via post after post after post.

Social media hasn't taken anything away from my view of friendship. I readily profess my love and admiration to those I call friend. I offer my heart, my attention and my time to them. In return, they get one of the most sacred gifts I have to give: the unfiltered version of me.

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson