Valentine's Day Sentimentality

So I went looking for a good story to tell for St. Valentine's Day and came up empty-handed. It turns out that the Catholic Church barely remembers who St. Valentine actually was; and it's not even really one of those ripped-off Pagan holidays. Growing up in Chicago in the 1960s we spoke in hushed tones about the gangland "St. Valentine's Day Massacre." I remember a wax-museum tableau that haunted me, and a frightening movie I've finally seen as an adult (that turns out to be uber crappy), but that pales in comparison to today's Mexican mafia killings or random campus shootings by the mentally disturbed. Besides murder is a downer. Blogfriend Annie wrote about the pleasures of passing around Valentine's cards as children, so that's been done. My adorable boyfriend didn't like the picture I took of him this weekend in Atlantic City, so that's not going up here. So here's a picture of my cat, Henry. When my boyfriend is not over he takes up pretty much the same amount of space in the bed. And he's often trying to sleep on my mousehand when I'm at the computer (Henry, that is). So, finally, I'm lucky in love. Thanks Henry. You too Jesse. I'm grateful to both of you. Happy Valentine's Day!