There was a time in my life when I could go on and on about nothing. Intelligently, even. I remember my mother telling the story of meeting my high school history teacher at parents night one year. He told her I was doing okay in his class, but I’d be doing so much better if I’d quit the bullshit and just study. He said I impressed the hell out of the other students with my ability to go on and on about a subject, but he’d be more impressed if the information I shared was accurate. Ahem.

Now, I got nothin’. I could tell you about the weather, and how cold it is here, but it’s cold most everywhere this week.  You’d be bored.  We don’t even have snow, so what would I complain about? I could tell you that tragedy has befallen dear friends, but that’s their story to tell, not mine. I could tell you about the call I received from my son’s phone, crying because it was lost at Starbucks, and the only thing it knew to do was call “Mom”. But that would embarrass him. I could tell you that I have to work all weekend and clean the house today, on my day “off”, but that would be complaining. Again. I could tell you I’ve been so busy at work this week that I’ve had almost no opportunity to knit. Yet more complaining. So, I got nothin’.

Wait… I can tell you about my Valentine. BJ Bass and I have been married for more than 30 years. We’ve been through thick and thin together. Thick would best describe the current state of our relationship. He is talented, intelligent, good looking and wonderfully goofy. Romantic he is not. This used to bother me, because I was sure that it meant he didn’t really love me. I know better now. He’s good at giving silly cards, like the one that featured a pig wearing cow slippers (moo shoe pork).

So I was unprepared for a card that read:

“You are the one who… finds my stuff, loves my quirks, takes my side, knows my stories, gets my jokes, finishes my sentences, soothes my worries. The one who makes all my days better, and makes me a better me. Love, BJ Bass”

I was wrong. I have plenty.