Love means never having to say you're sorry.
May I repeat, O February, how I love thee!
Let me count the ways.
+ A lot of amazing people were born in February: Third, Fourth, and Youngest Brothers and my darling, beautiful First Granddaughter.
+ Every now and then (such as THIS year), an extra day shows up.
+ And especially because it brings romantic stories (including oldies) to the fore.
Like the three-handkerchief 1970 Oscar-winning drama film Love Story. (Aside: I had loved its leading female star so much that I nicknamed First Daughter after her).
One of the most romantic movies ever made, it has also remained enduringly popular. Why? Where do I begin, as the song line from the movie sound track affirms.
How about at the very beginning?
Wealthy Harvard University law student Oliver Barrett IV meets Jenny Cavilleri, a middle-class girl who is studying music at Radcliffe College. It's love at first sight.
Their story is sweet. Despite the protests of Oliver's father, the young couple marry. But their happy life comes crashing down when it's discovered that Jenny has terminal illness.
It kind of happens all on its own.
Everything goes wrong.
From her death bed, Jenny tells Oliver to avoid blaming himself and asks him to embrace her tightly before she dies. Even now, I can still hear Jenny's words, Love means never having to say you're sorry.
Really?
In another context, I think that love is all about saying you're sorry. But this obverse discussion is for another blog. For now, I'm taking the statement with a grain of salt and allowing myself to feel the swell of a bottomless sadness.
Sometimes, mushy and sappy are OK.
It's February, after all.
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