Roses Are Red

Oh, Sweetheart, be mine.

It’s hard to argue with that. Each February, in the midst of the desolate, the cold, the long wait for spring, I start thinking about Valentine’s Day. Or, as it used to be known, St. Valentine’s Day.

St. Valentine. What a guy. He was a martyr for love. That’s about the limit for a romantic. Valentine’s Day is celebrated around the world.

One billion cards are sent each year, with all kinds of messages. Some are eloquent, some plainspoken. Many simply say, ‘I love you.’ Or, as we say it in Danish, ‘Jeg elsker dig?’

I also like the way these guys say it:

Hawaiians – “Aloha wau ia oi”
Italians – “Ti amo.”
Portuguese – “Eu amo te.” (Pronounced, eiu amu chee.)
And Zulus – “Mena tanda wena.”

However you say it, the meaning is clear, direct, and simple. As a great philosopher, Wayne Fontana, once told his buddies, The Mindbenders, It started long ago In the Garden of Eden When Adam said to Eve Baby, you’re for me!

For the sake of fairness, I will mention that there exists an anti-Valentine movement. Antivalentinism. That’s harsh. It’s populated by a bunch of curmudgeons who, because of all sorts of misunderstandings, have closed themselves off from love and, in an effort to fend off loneliness (and, perhaps, madness), have banded together and are thoroughly grouchy.

In yesterday’s news, I read that the Saudi’s Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice (CPVPV) had forbidden the color red throughout the country. Those guys don’t get it. A rose in any other color would be as sweet and all they’ve done is to create a black market for red roses.

It’s a measure of our true inclinations that we have a holiday that celebrates love. No matter how many cards there are or how many flowers are sent, it’s impossible to commercialize love.

The beloved poet, Willie Bryant, once said,

Love is beautiful
So gorgeous and divine
Feels like a thousand Mickey Mouses
Running up and down your spine

So, Baby, my Sweetie, my Dear, my One and Only Love, let it be me.