I’m feeling down this morning. There’s no reason for it. I’m just having a blue day. I can blame it on Shirley Temple’s death, I suppose. I loooved Shirley Temple almost as much as I loooooved Annette Funicello. It’s sad to know that they’re both gone.
Or I can blame it on the economy or the long winter and the deep snow that never seems to end.
I can blame it on medical issues and having to wait for results, even though I am certain that nothing was found. It’s the stress, you know. What if between now and when the test was done last week, they discovered a new something or other that due to its rarity, they will name after me. That’s worth being blue about because now millions of women will get this odd disease as they age, and that is what I will be remembered for. “She has Benjan Disease, also known as Hip Widening Disease. There’s no known cure, but when she sits around the house, she really sits. Around. The house.” Even an old joke can’t cheer me up right now.
I can’t “Blame It on the Bossa Nova” which I think we played in junior high band. I can’t “Blame It on the Bellboy” which is a Dudley Moore movie from 1992 that I’m probably glad I didn’t see. I can’t even “Blame It on the Boogie” because a smooth Michael Jackson and his brothers told me not to. It’s amazing what you can find on Google with a few key words.
I’m just blue this morning. It happens. Sometimes, I just have to limit my exposure to sadness or it drags me down and wears me out. But today, since I can’t find a cause, I’m allowing myself to wallow until noon.
My “soul doctor” prescribed recharging my battery with dark chocolate. So, when noon arrives, that’s it! I’m popping the dark chocolate, and the blues are done. They’re over with. I will put on the cheeriest Valentine socks that I own and go out into the world with a bright face and a heart full of ups and not downs to buy more dark chocolate.
To me, Valentine’s Day socks are as magical as Christmas socks. How can I not feel better, knowing that my snow boots are overflowing with hearts and cupids? Come on, noon. Mama needs dark chocolate.
And maybe another pair of socks.
Posted in Sockery
Tagged Annette Funicello, Blame It on the Bossa Nova, Blues, chocolate, Cupid, Hearts, humor, Michael Jackson, Shirley Temple, socks, Valentine, Valentine's Day
Sometimes, you just have to take one look at a pair of Valentine’s Day socks and say, “What the heck is up with these socks?” and put them on anyway. Love is one of those things that we often wonder about too. It’s crazy. It’s complicated. When it’s right, it’s sane and simple. My husband and I dated for six months, got married and moved 1000 miles away from family. Crazy, right? Yet, here we are, 35 years later, still together and still crazy in love.
How did we do it? It’s simple: I don’t know. Any sane man would have dumped me years ago. I’ve put him through enough that he could have walked out on me at any time. I’ve often wondered why he didn’t in our earlier days. But for my complicated man, it was simple. He loves me.
Through thick and thin, he has always been there with his silent support. He doesn’t coddle me with words. I’ve had to train him to say “I love you” freely, but he’s more likely to show me his love through his actions. The unexpected touch, the dozen yellow roses that he gives me each year on our anniversary, the unloaded dishwasher. It makes sense.
These crazy socks, however, seem to make no sense at all, but behind the black and silver hearts, behind the big black heart with the arrow through it, behind the checkerboard that has no reason to be there – behind the display – lies the red foundation that pulls the design together.
Deep love doesn’t scream hearts and arrows. It’s a quieter feeling that says, because of the solid foundation that supports it, love can be freely given and freely taken. No matter what socks and love look like from the outside, both are there, through thick or thin, to make us feel warm and protected when we need it the most. Valentine socks can be crazy. Love doesn’t need to be.
This post, while not funny, was inspired by the Weekly Writing Challenge: My Funny Valentine? http://wordpress.com/read/post/id/489937/68832/
It’s Valentine’s week. Some people love it; some don’t, but I think we can all agree that it’s the best time of the year to wear Valentine’s socks. After all, doesn’t everyone? I was amazed at Christmas (was I really?) to discover that not everyone wears special holiday designation socks, but I can assure you that even though I own 58 pairs of Christmas socks, I am by no means a sock nut. Consider, please, that I have only a modest amount of non-Christmas socks. Six pairs for Valentine’s Day, two each for St. Patrick’s Day and Halloween, and one pair for New Year’s Eve. Someone obsessed with holiday socks would not be thinking about weeding out the stockpile, now would they? Some of my Christmas socks have seen better days. Some, due to poor construction, are too tight (It has nothing to do with my cankles, honest.) And let’s face it. If I don’t weed out some of the oldies but goodies, I won’t have room for more, now will I? So after a month and a half of boring socks, I’ve eased into the Valentine Sock Season, which is much shorter than the Christmas Sock Season, with a pair of black socks with an argyle diamond stripe and pink hearts. Plain on the bottom, colorful on top and hidden under my pant leg. As I’ve learned in 35 years with my husband, love is like that, especially the longer it goes on. We get used to our partner. Being together in our everyday routine becomes boring, expected, but under the surface, where no one else is looking, the colors of the heart are always there. Happy Valentine’s Sock Season.