Holidays are as real and authentic as celebrity. They aren’t.

Jerry and Elaine are spending a quiet evening on the couch. We know in this season two episode that they are friends who used to be lovers. But when a steamy channel on the television makes Elaine pull the remote away from Jerry they start to entertain how to mesh these two worlds together. They come up with a list of rules so the tricky lines won’t cross, but neither of them can foresee “the birthday” that will test the limits of these new boundaries.

“I’m in a very delicate position,” Jerry tells George. “Whatever I give her, she’s going to be bringing in experts from all over the country to interpret the meaning behind it.”

Oh, the expectation.
Later as Elaine reaches for the floral paper and the big red bow that I know Jerry did not create, things take a turn.

“Just the fact that you remembered me is everything,” Elaine says. (Uh, huh)
“Of course I remembered. You reminded me every day for two months.”

Tissue paper is tossed, she holds her breath in anticipation. And then her teeth bare like an angry wolf.

“Cash? You got me cash?” The “sh” lingers like a hiss. “What are you, my uncle?”

There’s a question I’ve been wrestling to answer. What do I do when my expectations fail? Stop wanting good things? Become the ultimate cynic?

How do you survive this day when “we need to talk” leaves a gaping hole in your Friday night and your heart?
When you have to turn your back to the empty pillow on the other side of the bed because you can’t endure that hollow space.
When you feel like every frog prince is actually just a frog and you are weary of kissing warts.
When infidelity makes you want to burn every piece of lingerie in the photoshopped window of the mall.

Love is not Rad 4 U conversation hearts.
Love is not crimson confetti.
Love is not chocolate with mysterious orange filling (Ooo, is this a typo?)
Love is not fickle about a lost job, no make-up, cellulite, grey hair, or no hair.
Love is not one night.

Love is pulling over to a stranded woman and a blown out tire.
Love is holding your daughter’s hair while she gets sick in a big silver bowl.
Love is asking more than “how are you” but really meaning it with the way we settle in to hear the answer.
Love is putting down the phone and looking into eyes.
Love is shoveling snow beyond our own sidewalk.
Love is squeezing the fingers of a soul that has been invited Home.
Love is nails in the hands and your name on His lips.

Expectations will likely leave me disappointed, especially if I think a bag of Butterfinger cupids will fulfill, though they come close. But I won’t stop hoping for connection and love and friendship, to see and be seen.

I just want to learn how to look beyond wads of money.