Valentines? No, nachos!

Life is best taken when the highs and lows are bracketed by traditions.  They help us more accurately see  where we are and how far we've come, that the bad times were still okay, and the good times will always be remembered.

So how do nachos fit in there, you might ask?

Well . . .   See . . .  There's a long story here, the quick version being that Guy's and my first Valentines was spent with nachos, and . . . ah . . . the Westminster Dog show.  (Both of us forgot what day it was.)  And for that reason, every year on or around Valentines day, we will take two nights from our busy lives and plunk ourselves in front of the TV and make nachos and watch the dogs.   Bracket this with two decades, and you can see what I mean when I say traditions let the changes, both good and bad, show in the glowy light of love.

So there are chocolates that only go to "waist," cards that end up in a drawer, and flowers that wilt and line the bin three days later.  They are all beautiful expressions of love–and woe be to the guy who fails to deliver when the gal expects them–but I think I'll keep my nachos and dog show.  They have served me well so far.

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