Love is a many-splendored thing.

There is something funny about being the youngest person in a room full of people talking about love, but that's exactly how I spent yesterday morning. In honor of Valentine's Day (really, will Hallmark just go ahead and trademark the stupid thing?) Neena brought exercises involving that great, ever-moving target called Love.

We looked at the underbelly of Love with Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath (poor Miss Plath lived quite squarely in the underbelly...I mean, she put her head in an oven for crying out loud) but also the quirky, sweet, irresistible side with Love Poem by John Frederick Nims (incidentally, Mister Nims never put his head in an oven).

After reading and discussing the poem, Carl said, "if it's normal, I don't want it!" We asked him to elaborate:

"One of the things I love most about my wife is that she's wack-o. She is colorful and unusual. Never boring. That makes her more beautiful."

I learned many things that morning, encouragement and caution alike: I learned to never marry someone whom you want to change, you have to just marry the person as they are. I learned you do -contrary to popular opinion- have to say you're sorry a lot. I learned that after the initial infatuation, reality will set in, but from that you can create an exciting, fulfilling grown-up sort of love. I learned that sometimes, your partner can be a real pain. Sometimes, they might drive you crazy. But after I listened to Carl and then watched as Vic's wife slowly made her way over and gently put in his hearing aid (which he refuses to turn up, for the record) and he sent her off with a kiss and genuine "thank you, my darling" I also learned that sometimes -if we're willing- we can't live without each other.

Love Poem
John Frederick Nims

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars-
Misfit in an space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.

Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses-
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.