A Rose for the Reluctant   You’re right, the whole thing’s ridiculous — it’s a sandwich of baloney and bullshit, a shadow saint in a creed you can’t buy, maybe a Roman padre, or a guy who bought it in Africa, or the vicar of Terni, all that three-in-one shtick, and God knows how this got to be the day of love but not even real love, not babies and caritas, not duty and hearth, but this commercialized crap on the farther shores of hallmark singsong, hearts and flowers, all this wine, all this love sold by the hour. You don’t believe one bit of it is true — for a million good reasons. Tough. I do.     © Michael Fleming Williamsville, Vermont February 2013