Bless 2010!

Secret confession: I used to read Ann Landers and Dear Abby every day.

Today as I cleaned out my desk here at my parents', I found an Ann Landers column I cut out years ago. This is what Ann wrote:

"Infatuation is instant desire - one set of glands calling to another. Love is friendship that has caught fire. It takes root and grows, one day at a time.

Infatuation is marked by a feeling of insecurity. You are excited and eager but not genuinely happy. There are nagging doubts, unanswered questions, little bits and pieces about your beloved that you would just as soon not examine too closely. It might spoil the dream.

Love is the quiet understanding and mature acceptance of imperfection. It is real. It gives you strength and grows beyond you - to bolster your beloved. You are warmed by his presence, even when he is away. Miles do not separate you. You have so many wonderful little films in your head that you keep replaying. But near or far, you know he is yours and you can wait.

Infatuation says, "We must get married right away. I can't risk losing him." Love says, "Be patient. Don't panic. Plan your future with confidence."

Infatuation has an element of sexual excitement. Whenever you are together you hope it will end in intimacy. Love is not based on sex. It is the maturation of friendship that makes sex so much sweeter. You must be friends before you can be lovers.

Infatuation lacks confidence. When he's away, you wonder if he is cheating. Sometimes you check.

Love means trust. You are calm, secure and unthreatened. He feels your trust, and it makes him even more trustworthy.

Infatuation might lead you to do things you will regret, but love never steers you in the wrong direction.

Love is elevating. It lifts you up. It makes you look up. It makes you think up. It makes you a better person than you were before."

I have only experienced this kind of love once. Or maybe not ever. But I think Ann hit the nail on the head with this one.

Also, my sister left a 1-pound box of See's Candies on the floor of our bedroom. Phoebe, the rabblerouser mini dachshund my mom applies all her affection to, tore open the box with her ferocious jaws and consumed 1/3 of the contents. She just got back from her ipecac feast at the vet. Phoebe's only ten pounds, but she recently chased down a rat in our backyard, gave it a teeth sandwich and snapped its neck. Yet she masquerades as a helpless, innocent, un-potty-trainable, perpetual puppy. What's more, I get to pay half her vet bill. I'm still not sure why, seeing as how I rescued her from certain death as I found her feasting on the chocolates this morning.

May your 2010 be everything you deserve.