If you haven’t gotten your fill of Valentine’s Day candy on sale yet, well, that’s nobody’s fault but your own. Lucky for you, Easter’s just around the corner, with a significantly smaller proportion of Red Dye Number Five.
I had a lovely Valentine’s Day, thank you, in no small part because of my father. I don’t remember when the tradition started, but I remember waking up for school on Valentine’s Day and coming downstairs to find a silly little present on the island in the kitchen. It might have been a flower or a card or a bag of candy or a teddy bear stuffed into a coffee mug with a bag full of candy AND a card (with a flower on it), but there was always something and it was always from my daddy.
The best part is that this tradition has continued beyond our formative years into the time when we can tell the world how much we appreciate this small, silly, not-so-insignificant thing. Last year, Dad sent all his girls (there are three of us, plus my mom) a big heart (pictured here) and an original poem for each one of us. This year was a bit of a blast from the past — a little panda teddy bear in a giant red coffee mug with sweet kissy expressions all over it. (Which means IN NO WAY can anyone mistake this one for theirs!) There was a poem enclosed this year too:
Keeps you guessin’
Where she’ll stay?
She finds a way.
What she’ll do?
Thinks she’s beat?
Lands on her feet.
Yes, folks, my father actually took the time to find a rhyme for my name. And if that’s not real love I don’t know what is. For me, Valentine’s Day is far more than just a cheesy Hallmark-created luvfest. For me, Valentine’s Day is Father’s Day.
Coincidentally, where last year’s Valentine’s Day had me on the front page of the Living Well section of the Murfreesboro paper and leading a teen-oriented paranormal romance discussion at the Bleeding Hearts Club, This year’s Valentine’s Day culminated in a FANTASTIC (and exceptionally long) interview with Greg Hall of The Funky Werepig. We had a lovely date, laughed a lot, covered an AMAZING amount of ground (yes, we probably talked about you), and sang.
That’s right, Greg made me sing. And it’s here for all time on the internet, if you want to have a listen. Turn it on and clean out that junk drawer you’ve been meaning to tackle — the interview clocks in at about 2 hours (including the 30-minute afterparty), so it is not for the faint of heart (or the exceptionally busy). And while the Werepig is usually For Mature Audiences Only, I’d rate our date at about a PG-13. As always, listen at your discretion.
In the meantime, I’m going to go make myself some smiley, kissy-face red coffee. Love you, Dad. xox