How do I love thee, let me count the ways. . . .

For as long as there has been an accounting of history, there have been tales of love. Often the stories that have survived are of magnificent proportion. These stories were of kings falling for commoners or prophets working half a lifetime to be granted the hand of their love. The acts associated with the more well known stories are as grand as the tales themselves. “Romeo and Juiliet” comes to mind. Their love was as tragically beautiful as their ending.


Often the criteria of so-called “great love,” is how high the mountain, how outrageous the display of affection or even how deep the poetry spoken.


Just as the world has shifted and changed throughout the ages, expressions and views of love have changed in stride. But despite those changes, the thing, the object we call, hate and adore, love, has remained as constant as a sunrise.


Perhaps in the time of cavemen love was displayed by the size of the mammoth brought home. And during the plague it was shown by how long you waited to throw your contagious loved one out. And today it is shown by the severity of Facebook stalking.


But after all the centuries, all the stories and all the grandeur, love just may better simple, no poison or Twilight-esque drama.


Maybe love is just more meaningful when it comes in the form of poorly written notes, a handmade sandwich or fixing a flat tire. Maybe the willingness to put up with strange friends or quirky in-laws without making a comment is the type of grand gesture that really lasts. And maybe, just maybe, at the end of the day, love is sitting on an old dingy couch, watching that same old dumb movie, eating a bag of microwave popcorn with that one person that you like better than all the others.


When it comes to love, maybe it’s the simple that is really the grand, and it will be all those simple things that will add up the ways we love.


By Andrea Whatcott