Saint Valentine's Day is almost upon us. It's a day to celebrate love. I often wonder if we stop to think enough about the different aspects of love, beyond the romantic.

Not that there's anything wrong with romance! In fact, I recommend it. Yet, romantic love is just one of many types of love. Then, conversely, when all's said and done, aren't they all the same?

A famous writer, when asked to define love, simply stated, "Love is." Author, Gertrude Stein, was the same woman who wrote, "A rose is a rose, is a rose."

It's possible that some things, such as roses and love, are simply too perfect to describe in mere words. It's even possible this is why we associate the two.

Ask any woman about her memories of roses. She'll tell you stories of love. With our memories of special roses, we can't help but feel special love.

I remember the perfect roses of my first corsage, given to me by my first love. It was also my first high school Homecoming Dance. I was a freshman; he was a senior - an "older man." It was a semi-formal dance, so I was wearing a light gray, soft wool dress. Of course, he had asked me beforehand what color dress I would wear to the dance.

I suppose I must have expected the traditional mum corsage, or something "girlish." But, he stole my heart forever by presenting me with two huge rosebuds, such a dark red color as to be almost black, nestled among silvered leaves and dark red ribbon. Very sophisticated - very grown-up! Roses I would cherish for a lifetime.

I remember the Peace Rose - my favorite rose for all time. My father always had rose bushes in our yard. He planted, and cultivated, and pruned, and babied each one. Their gorgeous blossoms were his outlet for stress and his drive for perfection. They were lovingly tended and thrived under his care.

One day, he went out to his rose beds, then returned to the house excitedly. I was standing in the family room as he came through the door bearing his prize, which he promptly presented to me. A huge, yellow Peace Rose, with every perfect petal outlined in peach, and fully eight inches across! I never, ever, see a Peace Rose without remembering that day and the gift Daddy gave me with such love and pride.

I remember the tiny pink tea roses peeking through jasmine, and tucked among white calla lilies in the bridal bouquet of my youngest daughter. She was, in my opinion, much too young to get married. Yet, I had helped her into her wedding gown, the veil, all the trappings of a bride, and handed her that lovely bouquet. As I stood back for the final inspection, my heart nearly burst.

She stood there, looking like a little bride doll, everything about her perfect. The fragile, very feminine gown, the soft blond hair curling about her face, just as it had when she was a toddler, her dimples flashing as she smiled uncertainly, waiting for Mom's approval ... Those tiny pink tea roses couldn't possibly have described her, or my love for her, any more clearly.

Love, once born, never dies. It is eternal. It can be called upon at any time, and it will always return.

Sometimes, it is wrapped in tissue paper images ... of remembered roses.