This Week's feature

The reason God made February short a few days
was because he knew that by the time people came to the end of it,
they would die if they had to stand one more blasted day.

--Katherine Paterson

Dearest Friends,

I think there’s some mystical meaning in the coincidence that the month set aside for celebrating love—February—is also the most difficult to get through—cold, wet, damp, muddy or blizzard drifts and down power lines coated in icicles.

'February, last milestone of winter on the road to spring, is never quite what we expect or hope. We want to throw off long-winter coats, eat breakfast without a fire, open windows and do something dramatic to welcome lengthening daylight,' English writer Phyllis Nicholson wrote in her diary of rural life, Country Bouquets published in 1947. 'But what we get is influenza. Three days in bed can be delicious luxury, sipping hot drinks, dozing in the sure knowledge that someone else is doing everything. But 'standing-up' flu is no fun at all…'

And how right she is. We’re tired of winter now, and our best defenses are down, so many women do come down with “something” this month, whatever we call it.

So we thought we’d come up with some diversions whether you’ll be enjoying them sitting or lying down. From the February 1937 issue of The Stage, a wonderful look behind the scenes at Clare Booth Luce’s Broadway play The Women and a glimpse of Katherine Hepburn playing Jane Eyre. We’ll be paying an armchair visit to the Museum of Romantic Life in Paris, then back before they know we’ve been gone, comfy on the couch, staying in with our ten favorite romantic films as we savor some delicious chocolate recipes for long nights by the hearth of our heart.

So keep warm, sit back and let us dish up contentment for even the most jaded, fickle, feminine spirit in need of pampering.

Wishing that you and yours will know peace and plenty in our pleasures this month and sending you a prayer for Deep Joy. Thank you for the most wonderful work in the world—planning and plotting your pleasure.

Dearest Love,

Sarah Ban Breathnach

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