By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

What would you think of a belief system that states that talking or thinking about the past has no value for the present? “The past,” it says, “is a canceled check. You can’t buy anything with it.” The present, it says, “is a check to be cashed to buy the future.”

Lovely words, indeed, but they mask the problem that exists with the acceptance of aphorisms (a terse saying embodying a general truth or astute observation) as dogged pronouncements of absolute truth. By defending the value of recognizing and mining the past, we do not, as those words suggest, diminish the larger importance of the present.

And we can always find an aphorism that abjectly states a contrary case, i.e.:

“A man cannot free himself from the past more easily than he can from his own body.” –André Maurois; “The past is not a package one can layaway.” –Emily Dickinson; “The past lies upon the present like a giant’s dead body.” –Nathaniel Hawthorne; “The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginning.” –Ralph Blum; “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” –Soren Kierkegaard; “Study the past if you would define the future.” – Confucius; “The past can’t hurt you anymore, unless you let it.” –Alan Moore; “If you want the present to be different from the past, study the past.” — Baruch Spinoza. Bless us, Google will show you over a thousand of these – and I picked from them.

The past, to me, represents the foundation of the present. We are who we are as a result of who we were. That is to be acknowledged and respected, and even nit-picked, in order to understand ourselves better. This does not mean we are dwelling upon it, but rather seeing it as one piece of the puzzle that is self.

When thinking or talking about the past, we can still exercise our golden right to choose which of the elements we wish to consider. But if, when considering the past, it continues to inflict pain, then we still have the present to confront it, to learn from it, and to find ways work out the process of diminishing that pain.

Since we eternally dwell in the present, we are currently living in the time of the year when we would do well to continue our thoughts of giving thanks and giving back to our communities, for all the good things we have – the people we love who love us back, the freedoms we have in this country that do not exist globally, and the ability we all have to choose positive thoughts and actions, and to pursue proactive paths of healing. In this way, the past becomes our present.

With holidays on our tail, we can remember the good ones with nostalgia and we can use those memories as a blanket to wrap around our present. The bad ones we can choose to expunge because “life is a river of choices.” I choose to wish you all the best of holidays surrounded by love and thoughts of peace.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

When I was a kid, what I hated to hear most from growns up were sentences that began with, “When I was a kid.” Such beginnings were sure to garner wide yawns, and something akin to, “Yeah yeah, yeah!” and an under-the-breathe, “So what?”

Nonetheless, I’m about to write nostalgically about one of the things I miss most about the time “when I was a kid.” Back in “the day,” believe it or not, we never knew who either political party would nominate for president and vice president until the actual convention. We would sit by the radio, and in latter days, actually watch the proceedings on our black and white TV screens. And the build up time prior to the conventions was only a few months – certainly not years.

Several big-wig politicos would take turns approaching the microphone in a tremendous arena filled with musical bands and balloons, and straw hats and signs, and people mostly wearing some kind of symbolic red, white and blue accessory or garment.

Traditionally, a male homeboy from the state of the nominee, in a sonorous voice, would “nominate” a presidential candidate, followed, by an expanded résume of qualifications – talk about yawns. Then came the “seconders” of the nominee, and more yawns. Often, there were several nominees —yawns to the max.

But the part that I most loved to hear and watch was the state by state roll call that took forever: “A-L-A-B-A-M-A” to ‘W-A-S-H-I-N-G-T-O-N.” The delegates from each state having voted the previous night “in caucus” for its own nominee, would have one “proud” representative announce the winner of that state, accompanied by another yawnie speech. Until it became obvious that one nominee had the majority of the votes, we would sit there in suspense not really knowing who the winner would be. And by “W-A-S-H-I-N-G-T-O-N,” of course, it was all anti-climactic. Also, it was getting late. But the entire procedure was repeated for the nomination of vice president, who was not – in those days – necessarily the selection of the presidential nominee.

Much of the old hoopla has been preserved, except for the suspense part. Delegates still go nuts at conventions and whoop it up with a bit too much booze and attention to other people’s spouses.

Now we are witnessing the most obscene expenditures on presidential campaigns in our entire history, with so much more spending to come. Families are still struggling to keep themselves together, and, next year, we will witness yet another twin obscenity when the two political parties will party hearty, performing acts of shameful theatrical redundancy ostensibly to nominate two (four!) who have already been nominated.

When I was a kid, some folks had to sell apples on the streets. When I was a kid, we had a war to lift us out of our economic gloom. But “having a war” doesn’t work any more, nor does having two or more wars.

But the one sure thing is – while families are starving we’ll still have a bunch of people making whoopee, while giddy, with hope for the future.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

October is leaves falling in the final iteration of their colorful brilliance. It is the promise of holidays to come, the stress of anticipated shopping and planning and enduring the bumps of reunited family. It is orange and black wherever you go, and witches and pumpkins, and candy. It is the home stretch to a waning year and the incubation of round-ups of the recent past.

And October is many-abirthday. It is the time of births conceived in the cold, cuddly anti-climactic month of January. It is the time, for karmic unknowable reasons, that people important in my life have slipped out of womb-protection – on the same 10th day – albeit separated by many years, arriving on a planet of incontrovertible strangeness.

My late sister blew onto earth just two weeks prior to the Great Wall Street Crash of October 1929; her granddaughter Rachel arrived 63 years later on that same 10th day as Bill Clinton was galloping toward a takeover of the electoral college. My longtime friend Renee H., as well as my “significant other,” both defy all actuarial tables and prove, on this upcoming Oct.10, that age is just a number, and that life can still be beautiful even as they will complete nine decades.

Maybe you can find some significant connection among the six U.S. presidents who were born in October: Jimmy Carter (Oct. 1), Rutherford B. Hayes (Oct. 4), Chester Arthur (Oct. 5), Dwight Eisenhower (Oct. 14), Teddy Roosevelt (Oct. 27) and John Adams (Oct. 30).

And one more interesting tidbit – only two first ladies were born in October: Eleanor Roosevelt (Oct. 11) and Hillary Clinton (Oct. 26)

Not many major national historical events took place in October as compared to other months of the year. As noted, there was the Great Wall Street Crash on Oct. 29, 1929. Investors and those in the general business community have been conditioned all these 86 years hence to become skittish around this time of year. We’ve seen some foreshadowing of that. NO predictions.

On the 4th of October in 1957, the historic Soviet satellite Sputnik 1 was launched. Where is our aerospace program now?

Ironically, on Oct. 22, 1968, Congress passed the Gun Control Act of 1968, banning mail order sales of rifles and shotguns, and prohibiting most felons, drug users and people found mentally incompetent from buying guns.

It was on Oct. 17, 1979 that the most excoriated of the president’s cabinet posts was established, the U.S. Department of Education.

On Oct. 9, 1986, the FOX broadcasting channel was founded, this being somewhat historical to a number of viewers.

On Oct. 17, 1989, the Loma Prieta earthquake rocked San Francisco, and was it only three years ago that Hurricane Sandy wreaked havoc in the northeast on Oct. 29.

A final memory — Hurricane Wilma, rampaging through our own local towns on Oct. 24 just 10 years ago, destroying trees, screens and the very foundations of so many homes and lives. Memories linger.

That’s October for you. Before you know it, we’ll be eating turkey. And by next year this time, we’ll be awaiting the inevitable “October Surprise,” some scandalous outrageous revelation meant to turn the polls upside down about one – or both? – presidential candidates just days before the election. Whatta country!

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

I graduated from High School in Brooklyn, NY on the day that American troops stormed the Normandy Beachhead (DDay), the beginning of the end of the “good” war.

There were 500 kids in my graduating class and only two of us – me and my best friend Carol — who were exhorted to keep our mouths shut during the singing of our class song, reconfirming the well-known fact that both of us habitually sang off-key .

Don’t bother with the math. Suffice it to say that many a year and many a lifetime have subsequently passed, but Carol and I have endured as good friends, singing our hearts out in private on the very few occasions when we get eye-to-eye contact, she, a resident of Connecticut, and I, a transplanted Floridian.

So when she called several months ago, insisting that is was time for me to visit in her newly downsized condo digs, I succumbed.

The first thing she did was get tickets for the Emmy multi-awarded “The Curious Incident of the Dog,” etc., the price of which was “curiously” close to a Porsche. But I didn’t want a Porsche.

And thus began “Emily’s Life Review” tour.

Once “up there,” I could not “not visit” the remains of my other life – people who contributed to what became the richness of my life, people with whom I shared important milestones and giggles. Carol’s house was my final and longest stop.

Planning the trip had some similarity to the planning of an army invasion, minus the big map and pointer and 4-star generals. Many of my personal 4-star generals, however, were quick to offer me updated intelligence. It went like this: “You’re crazy to attempt so many places.” “Renting a car? You don’t know how bad the traffic is. You will be stuck on throughways forever.” “One wrong turn and you’ll be lost. And you know how bad you are with the GPS.” “You’re too old to be traipsing alone all over the tri-state area.”

The bile rose in my stomach – and I am known to live and advocate in loud decibels for a stress-free life — but I soldiered on … and a glorious “Nyeah Nyeah” to all of them. My plan worked seamlessly – from the cousin family wrap-up, to the nursery-school car pool reminiscences, to the years of exotic world travel in out-of-the-way destinations with Billie, my best of all times travel friend (a former next door neighbor), and to Carol and our high school war-time days and young motherhood.

Beaches and parks, and community activities, were all part of the deal. Manhattan streets and traffic, subways and frenzy, the cacophony of sounds and smells, the body shapes and misshapes, the whirring of unrelenting movement and fl ow of energy – the numbing experience of the 9/11 memorial and museum brought it all, in the midst of building cranes rising to the sky, to a meditative halt, a reality check, a somber reflection on humanity and the eternal struggle between good and evil, and a human artistic achievement worthy of its purpose.

I came home on an emotional high. Now, I am breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. I let go of my stress and fulfilled my mission.

So it’s Back-To-School August and for many Florida full-timers, vacation is over, and the countdown to next June begins. But, now, it’s time to knuckle down and get the work done.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Many have said it … God (or whatever higher power you ascribe to) works in strange ways.

And each time that power is wielded within plain sight, it adds weight to the proof that “balance” is the core of all existence. Take that incredible day of June 26, 2015 — and it doesn’t at all matter what your political preference is. This is universal.

The confluence of the Supreme Court’s Gay (etc.) Marriage decision coming in time-collision with Obama’s long sought opportunity to really hammer his position on “race” without having to cow-tow to political expediency (in his eulogy for Rev. Clemente Pinkney) signals to me some nonrefutable absolute truths: Evil and tragedy eventually bring good people out of their lethargy and comfort zone, propelling them to rise to heights often inconceivable. The Charleston Massacres, intended as they were to incite racial divide, did just the opposite, escalating universal consciousness to the inherent rights of human dignity and equality. The Supreme Court decision, defying a long-standing social code that has been slowly eroded over time, has done the same thing.

These two happenings are elevating in their own right. That they appeared on the “stage” of human events simultaneously, even as ISIS was perpetrating its heinous mission in other parts of the world (France, Algiers and Kuwait) cements the axiom of “balance” as a planetary existential fact, keeping us ever on the alert.

Good and evil work in tandem and it seems that as long as the known world has existed ‘twas ever thus. And yet good people continue to strive to overturn that balance in their favor, even as those evil forces seem to be invincible.

And so, with all of the above still lingering in our consciousness, there is that other phenomenon of the strange ways of the All Powerful. That is the miraculous way we, as a species, manage to keep our own personal balance. The parades, the fireworks, the speeches, the dancing in the streets, the gayety and celebratory essence of our nature can never be quelled even as we are being overwhelmed with external threats of extinction.

In my own personal lexicon, I call that “jumping tracks” – the ability to recognize, internalize and deal with the negative extremes that course through our lives, while still managing to revel in the positives that exist in perpetuity.

No one person is immune from the negatives – nor is any state. And it says so much for the general stability of our population that, for the most part, we are able to jump tracks — and joyously celebrate the good while cautiously seeking ways to cope with and eliminate bad.

So, Happy BBQing and here’s to lots of gratitude for what’s good in our lives.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Emily Post – we need you now! For those of you to whom this allusion brings blank stares, let me fill you in: Madame Post was the guru of etiquette and manners for what is now the geriatric generation. She died in 1960, leaving a legacy of written material — books and columns – stating with no equivocation the rules of proper behavior. As far as I can tell, no one questioned her credentials in this regard, and most everyone who was anyone willingly acceded to her stipulations.

Fast forward to the world of today when concern for manners and etiquette are either at the very bottom of one’s “list of social reforms which I endorse” or they are the butt of parlor game jokes and Bill Mahr monologues.

In the world of body tattoos, nose and tongue rings, and cleavages by the acre, little attention is paid to personal image, common courtesies, table manners or offensive behaviors. A long time coming, but table manners is somewhat my theme for today.

Okay – so I acknowledge that table manners evoke images of dining as opposed merely to “eating,” which is often done from a standing position and/or from a takeout cardboard container reminiscent of pretty nearly every sitcom where the protagonists sit on a couch in front of a TV, mostly with chopsticks, slurping down intermittent swigs of whichever “cola” the networks get paid for doing “product placements.”

Dining, however, occurs when real people actually come together for social reasons in addition to gustatory reasons.

So my question concerns the “social reasons:” Can “texting” (or phone fiddling) at a dinner table be categorized as anything other than bad manners? And indeed, why is it so universally acceptable? Answer? Because it is so universal an activity — as in: everybody does it.

Well, I don’t! And I find it extremely offensive when others do it. Half the time, they are responding as if the person on the other end of the call is holding his or her breath and, that response-time were factored into their emotional well-being. The other time they are scrolling — unsolicited-ly — for pictures in anticipation of a few faux appreciative expletives in praise of appearance.

And it is so all-pervasive, this intense concentration on a small hand-held inanimate object that is close to containing all that matters to us in our lives. How scary is that? And how scary is it that this is fast becoming part of our DNA?

It is also fast becoming an “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” game. And this is what has thrown us so off kilter.

The other day, I was one of four people dining in a restaurant. The other three, during a break in service between ordering and receiving our meals, whipped out their smartphones. One was answering a call that was anything but an emergency and was engaged in a “regular” conversation. The other two were scrolling for a reference to some subject we had been discussing. These were not “dumb” people, nor were they in any other way oblivious of social mores, nor were they thoughtless, inconsiderate people. They were dear people and good friends who had totally succumbed to the cult of join-the-crowd behavior. Is it like climbing the mountain because it is “there?”

Where will it end? Emily Post, I’m afraid you are toast.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

l’ll bet you have seen one or more of the hundreds of movies that address issues concerning mental illness. To name just a few: Psycho, A Streetcar Named Desire, Ordinary People, Rainman, Gilbert Grape, American Beauty, Black Swan, The Soloist, We Need To Talk About Kevin, Silver Lining Playbook.

Each addresses a different diagnostic malfunction of the many that attack our population, just as physical diseases are the scurge of mankind.

I’ll bet you never heard of NAMI – (National Alliance on Mental Illness). Each year, millions of Americans face the reality of living with a mental health condition. During the month of May, NAMI, in conjunction with other mental health advocates, is bringing awareness to mental illness.

Each year, their supporters fight stigma, provide support, educate the public and advocate for equal care.

Who doesn’t know someone with any of the following conditions: bi-polar, clinical depression, schizophrenia, autism, ADHD, mental retardation, dementia, OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), Agoraphobia, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), anxiety and panic attacks, insomnia, and too many more to list.

These are not conditions that are treatable with a simple toss of a “Get over it” approach that belies any understanding of the pain and suffering experienced by victims and families. And, yet, the added burden of social stigma has not been eradicated, despite every effort to educate the public to the practical need for parity in funding, research and treatment for both mental and physical anomalies, as well as the compassionate need for the same kind of empathy for mental patients as we give to cancer patients.

Here are some facts: 1 in 5 adults experiences a mental health condition every year. 1 in 20 lives with a serious mental illness, such as schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. In addition to the person directly experiencing a mental illness, family, friends and communities are also affected.

When we think about cancer, heart disease or diabetes, we don’t wait years to treat them. We start before Stage 4. We begin with prevention. We don’t ignore them. So why don’t we do the same for individuals who are dealing with potentially serious mental illness?

Perhaps because people may not realize that their symptoms are being caused by a mental health condition or they feel ashamed to pursue help because of the stigma associated with mental illness. It’s up to all of us to know the signs and to take action so that mental illnesses can be caught early and treated. People can and do recover and reclaim their lives.

One way to see if you or a loved one may be experiencing symptoms of a mental health condition is to take a screening. Visit www.mhascreening.org to take a quick, confidential screening for a variety of mental health conditions including anxiety, depression, mood disorders or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

There are many treatment options, ranging from talk therapy to medication to peer support, and, although it may take time for a person to find the right treatment or combination of treatments that work best for them, the results can be life-changing.

For more information about what you should know and what you can do at each stage, visit www.mentalhealthamerica.net/may. And get information from local low cost facilities, like www.faulkcenterforcounseling.org.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Remember that nursery rhyme with the really dumb lyrics?

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells,

And pretty maids all in a row

Well I propose a 21st Century change to :

People, People, quite acquisitive

How do your entitlements grow?

Give you a finger – you want a hand

You expect to reap more than you sow

—Mea culpa

It was Saturday morning and I handed the bank teller my deposit slip attached to my few measly checks.

As I did so, I noticed a flyer on the cage announcing a change in banking hours, alerting customers to the fact that the bank would no longer have Saturday hours.

Understand, dear readers, that I have clear memories of the days when banks closed at 3 p.m. – never to open at 3:01—and surely never on any part of a weekend. Nor did they open on a day when any human might dain to proclaim it a holiday.

But in true 21st Century “soft”-entitlement mode, “Hmmmph” went through my mind. “That’s not good.” I said to me, “I might just change banks. That’s easy enough to do.” And then, as she handed me my receipt, I tried to remember the last time I banked on a Saturday. “Not the point,” I rejoindered to my loquacious self, “It’s the principle. Other banks are open on Saturdays and I want it to be MY choice to come here or not — on a Saturday.” Such was my mindset, before I had a serious conversation with me, as in: “Really? You lived a pretty contented life when you had no choice regarding banking days. Available to you now, it has become a ‘soft’ entitlelement … ‘soft,’ as opposed to lifestyle enhancements such as Medicare and Disability entitlements … those for another column. I lingered with that thought until…

I received a call of desperation from a friend — “Emily! I need your help to print out my boarding pass for tomorrow’s flight.” Okay, okay — happy to help a friend, but the desperation in her voice made it sound dire. What if … think of it — what if, indeed, she were to arrive at the airport without her boarding pass – requiring another 5 minutes to acquire it at the terminal kiosk? How “dire” can that be? Another “soft entitlement!”

And then there’s the current most significant entitlement: the ability to learn the name of the guy who played opposite Joan Crawford in that picture — When was it? In the 1940s? What was its name? Nevermind, I’ll call Siri. I’m entitled to get that information – RIGHT NOW. But Siri doesn’t understand the question – ever! Well – hardly ever. Bummer.

All this while the world is galloping towards Armageddon.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Don’t you just want to throw a shoe at the cable news programs on TV these days? Regardless of your political preferences, the bulk of what we get is killing, savagery, partisan ravings, nit picking at insignificant nonsense, and how long can we prolong a “gaff” story. I know, I know, there’s still no law preventing us from clicking the power-off button, and I find myself doing that more and more often. But it’s the killing and savagery part that continues to haunt me – on screen, in print or dining discussions. And I’m thinking that so much of the casual killing that is in current trend began with the Big Bang of 1945, which is surely not to say that killing hasn’t existed since the dawn of time.

I just finished reading the intriguing, “The Wives of Los Alamos,” by Tarashea Nesbit. The title tells all and the ending was no surprise. The original small group of scientists and their wives, and families, were holed up for two years basically incognito, as the atom bomb was a-birthing. And then it was dropped — not once, but twice — causing incalculable horror, and producing a seismic change in the way foreign policy is conducted. Oh yes, it ended World War II and saved many lives, we were told. But hordes of people were haunted by the apocalyptic event and questioned the morality of this monstrous creation.

A Marine Corps officer wrote in Sunday’s New York Times about giving an order to kill a young boy who was seen at a distance in a battlefield to be digging into the ground, while holding an unknown object in his hand. Was he planting a grenade? Could he give the kid the benefit of a doubt? Did he have time to weigh the pros and cons? No. He gave the order to kill. But he was haunted by his action and questioned the morality of his deed.

And of course, The American Sniper had bouts of haunting misgivings despite the demands of survival, as he expertly plied his “trade.”

As I see it, the good people on this earth are living through a collective unconscious state regarding “killing.” Collective unconscious is a term of analytical psychology, coined by Carl Jung. It is proposed to be a part of the unconscious mind, expressed in humanity … and describes how the structure of the psyche autonomously organizes experience. Jung distinguished the collective unconscious from the personal unconscious, in that the personal unconscious is a personal reservoir of experience unique to each individual, while the collective unconscious collects and organizes those personal experiences in a similar way with each member of a particular species.

Slowly, and with each killing that we rationalize as being in self defense, the reluctance to take another life eases, becomes more acceptable, less immoral. We defer to Darwin, in the name of survival.

Is this as disturbing you as it is to me? We are fighting a true enemy of the mind and for a set of what we consider to be moral values — but when do WE feel forced, in essence, to become THEM?

I’m going back to Turner Classic Movies — the musicals!

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Yep! It happens every year. Hallmark reigns! Candy, flowers, jewelry, Victoria’s Secret(s) – and for those who can actually stick it out for many a decade, like I did, a beautiful brand new shiny — juicer!

The men get cards, kisses and — if they’re lucky, they get to use their Viagra. And all of this is predicated on the existence of “love.”

OK. I’m talking about what is sometimes referred to as “romantic” love, not parental, or filial, love (that’s for another column) , not love for a pet or a football team, or a bauble, or ice cream.

These many years, I have been seeking a universal definition of that word. And in response to my many queries, no two have been identical. It seems there is no real consensus when it comes to a definition of the word. Some people experience love with longevity and manage to sustain “it” despite some of “its” most ruthless challenges. Others experience love as a temporary high, and do not look for sustainability, but satisfy themselves with one day at a time. And still others live out “its” fantasy and find themselves devastated by “its” mercurial nature. They accept the ups of “it” and “give up” at the first sign of “down.” And then there are those who slog along on the tail of disappointment and live in a constant state of hurt, anger and resentment. Woe be to them.

And so, in the interest of serious research, I went to the dictionary.com website for the “scholarly” ( not so ) definition of the word love. Here is the ho-hum result: “a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.” That’s it? No! It proceeds to give 27 repetitions of the same concept, neglecting, I note, to indicate anything about the waxing and waning complexities, and changing characteristics that exist within a very volatile timeline. In other words, it doesn’t tell you how the very nature of love mutates and grows and changes, or diminishes, with time. THAT is the discovery of “everyman” (generic for “humankind”).

In my further research into the commonalities of a sustainable “love,” I found this most illuminating book which I highly recommend to anyone about to embark on a new “love journey,” as well as to people who are already ensconced in one. It’s called, “Conscious Loving” by Gay Hendricks and Kathlyn Hendricks, married family therapists.

From the Amazon review: … Through their own marriage and through 20 years’ experience counseling more than 1,000 couples, therapists Gay and Kathlyn Hendricks have developed precise strategies to help you create a vital partnership and enhance the energy, creativity and happiness of each individual. You will learn how to: Let go of power struggles and need for control; balance needs for closeness and separateness; increase intimacy; communicate in a positive way that stops arguments; make agreements you can keep; allow more pleasure into your life. Addressed to individuals as well as to couples, Conscious Loving will heal old hurts and deepen your capacity for enjoyment, security and enduring love …

Go to the library or order it on Amazon (their used books are cheaper). Let me know how it works for you.

Meanwhile, have a Happy Valentine’s Day and give it all your “lovingness.”