Reading Week is ending today. No romance happened in our family, as far as I know. Reading Week has developed a bit of a reputation—Romance Week, I have come to call it.
Last year in Reading Week one child proposed on a cliff in Kawai. Two years ago Reading Week brought a call from Stanley Park announcing the engagement of another child.
Thirty-nine years ago I didn’t get engaged in Reading Week, but I did jump on a plane for a visit to my love who was attending Acadia University in Wolfville Nova Scotia. My mother, having not quite yet come to recognize that she would no longer be the most compelling force in my life, crossed her arms in unspoken disapproval. “It’s quite a lot of money,” she observed. She was correct in that. The round trip ticket was costing over $200! But alas, since she wasn’t paying the bill, her sensible observation fell upon uninfluenced ears. It really wasn’t about the money anyway. She could see, I think, that things were about to change.
So I didn’t cross my arms when my daughter took the plane to Vancouver, and I kept them hanging loosely when my son left for Kauai. Valentine’s Day may be the poster holiday for flower shops and candy stores, but it’s the airlines that rake in the money in Romance Week. When they start buying the plane tickets, you might as well start planning the wedding.
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