Maybe you’re right: Love ain’t, or ought not to be, about this one designated day that feeds the greeting card-restaurant-chocolate-roses-silk sheets industrial complex. But, for me, it serves a good purpose today: a reminder in an otherwise forgetful time for love. I was rummaging through boxes of memorabilia in the basement when I found a little notebook of hers. She wrote of a day we were camping out in the Grand Canyon. She wrote that at 6:00am that morning, “he bundled me up before leaving our tent and taking our dog for a walk.” She wrote of other things in that journal that recorded those first days of a cross-country trip to our new life back East after meeting in Los Angeles. But that bundled up part reminded me of something about the simple joys and responsibilities of love. Her words, decades old, are keeping me newly warm today — less cynical about buying a heart-shaped chocolate donut, a dozen roses, and writing in a card what I suddenly remembered feeling all over again. So, yeah, thank you, Valentine’s Day. Love you, too.