We celebrated Valentine’s Day early this year, two days early, on a Sunday, doing what we often do. The small things.
We slept late, ate goat cheese-parsley-olive omelets, called our parents, took a five mile walk in very cold Central Park, sat on a park bench during a hard ten minute snowfall, came home, old movie clip of a train going through a tunnel, ate roast pork, watched Downton Abbey and called it one of the best days of our lives.
We’re married and middle aged. And all the ambition, singularity of purpose and hubris of youth, though propelling, is nothing compared with spending a perfectly simple day with the one you solidly love.
Happy Valentine’s Day to my husband, Adam. I’m glad you're mine.