Be my Valentine

There's our perfect little year-round Christmas tree, which I didn't even know was there until they cut down the much larger Honey Locust tree that used to be fill our window. I cannot look out at that little tree without imagining lights encircling it and a gold star on top, and that was even more true this weekend in the snow. Two friends came over to watch the Super Bowl with us. None of us tested beforehand, as no one was exhibiting any symptoms, and we didn't wear masks in the apartment. I think this is where we are now in the age of Covid. Our friends, who have been in and out of our home for three decades, were oohing and aahhing over my mom's coffee table as if it they'd never seen it before. "That table has been sitting right there since we moved into this apartment twenty years ago," I told them. They could hardly believe they'd never really noticed how beautiful it is, which I take to mean that its recent restoration was an unqualified success.

I hear it's Valentine's Day.  This was my excuse for giving my man a triple-tier box of artisan chocolates, in which each piece looks like a tiny exquisite work of art, with flavors like five spice praline, blueberry lime, pineapple fennel caramel, guava tamarind, and passion fruit. It came in a gold mesh drawstring pouch with a golden ribbon securing the top, and I was entirely seduced by the outer packaging, as well as by how pretty and unique each crafted piece was. I guess I'll wait till tomorrow to once again cut out sugar, much like the smoker who declared, "I know how to quit. I've done it a hundred times before." Happy Monday, dear friends. Let's all be each other's Valentines.