Valentine’s Day has social media chock full of photos of couples- most of them throwback Valentines Day shots. We like to think of romantic love as a moment in time when we were at our best- hopeful, dazzling and young.
But love has a way of getting more interesting over time. Those pretty photographs tell the beginning of a story, which we know is just the set-up for what is to come. You can never tell in those photographs how a couple will handle financial stress, family drama, a reversal in fortune, the loss of a job, or the death of a child. There are no tea leaves at the beginning, no message in the ravioli, just high hopes.
At first, love is the impenetrable thing- the firewall, the castle and moat. It lives inside, guarded by those two people who brought it forth. Love can’t grow in isolation however- it needs space and nurturing and time. It’s only over a swath of years can love prove itself. It’s what is left after the tornado blows through. They say it’s all you need, and maybe that’s why everybody wants it. Love is a necessity when all else fails.
Romantic love is often and usually the spark that leads to the creation of a family. I know folks who have children without a partner, so that particular spark was not the one that led to their decision to have children. Families are formed and made in all sorts of ways- and regardless of their genesis, they are families too- and they make their own houses of love.
I was aware that my parents were in love when I was a little girl. I trusted my parents and not just because that was the deal, but because I could see that they could be trusted. My mother had a way of making the world beautiful with nothing. My father was a dreamer who had big ideas and plans and was swept away in the spirit of them. When you grow up in a home where there is order, beauty and expectations, you see the world in that way too.
I set out to write my first children’s picture book as a celebration. I wanted the reader to understand the grace notes of life in a big family- and how secure it made me feel to have a place in one. There are aspects of character that I admire in my sisters and brothers that inspire me still. There’s talent and courage, hilarity and exasperation and a world view shaped through one window. Ours. We had a view of the glorious Appalachian mountains in a town that was so green, the scent of pine never left the air- languid in the warm months and crisp in the cold seasons.
Amy June Bates, the brilliant illustrator, dedicated The House of Love to houses with souls. I never looked at houses that way, but now that I think about them through Amy’s eyes, she is absolutely right- houses have souls- because they hold them. They also hold our laughter, conversations and arguments. They hold our music, the scents of our mother or father’s cooking, and our things. Our books and instruments and hopes. They ultimately hold our memories.
The great Paul Theroux wrote about the secret language those of us raised in large families invent- and how we know how to wound one another just enough to make it hurt, but not enough to kill one another. He came from a big family too- and understands the fight from birth to the end. Perhaps we had the best preparation for the wider world- that can be dangerous and unwieldy. Perhaps all that drama was building a kind of armor that kept the best of who we are safe, so we might be bold in the face of any challenge that was presented to us.\
This Valentine’s Day, ponder your house of love- and if you are already living in it- a day of gratitude is all that’s required to hold on to it. If you live alone, your house of love is your own creation- and within it, a place to rest and re-dream- and entertain the endless possibilities of your future.
Wherever your house of love is- however you build it, I hope that it gives you everything you want- and is filled with the treasures you have collected. When you love, you know what to hold on to- what to keep. Happy Valentine’s Day.
