A few weeks ago was my birthday—there was a near-typhoon in Southern Ontario and my birthday picnic was rained out, though me and a few friends still managed to have a nice day. A number of other nice things happened, including be taken out for nice meals, being hugged, and being given a number of nice gifts including candy, a homemade training kit on how to use a drill, and a second chance at this very beloved book my brother gave me when I was a kid and like a fool I loaned to someone a couple years ago and never got back. Mark bought it used for me at an undisclosed price because he is very kind—it is a book about children misbehaving to such an extent that it hasn’t been reprinted in decades and probably never will be so I will cherish this 40-year-old treat. As an additional indulgence, Mark is letting me read it aloud to him.

As a gift to myself, I have been writing this post (I also bought myself a new bathing suit—it is gingham). I think I will write the post in numbered parts. Yes, this is how (some) writers give ourselves treats. Also bathing suits.

1) Once, years ago, I had the afternoon off from work but had promised to be available by phone if anyone from the office needed anything. So I had my phone on the table at a busy and loud restaurant and when it rang, I answered even though I didn’t recognize the number and then, not being able to hear through all the ambient noise, scrambled through the crowd and out into the street.
“Ok, ok, I can hear you now. What do you need?”
“Well, ma’am, I am calling today with an excellent offer for duct cleaning for your house.”
“I don’t have a house.”
“Oh dear, nevermind then. I love you. Goodbye.”
I was annoyed, obviously, at being so inconveniently spammed, but the moment was saved by accidental and charming automatic “I love you”—obviously meant for someone else in a different sort of conversation. I hope your family appreciates you, duct-cleaning telemarketer!

2) The night before we got married, I stayed at my parents’ house in my childhood bedroom and Mark stayed downtown in the hotel room that would become our bridal suite the next night. This facilitated our getting-ready routines the next morning and the somewhat old-fashioned tradition of not seeing each other before the wedding, but was mainly just fun, as most of Mark’s friends and family were at the hotel, and my family lived in their house. At bedtime, I called to say goodnight but Mark didn’t really have much to say, and eventually just devolved into saying “I love you” over and over again. I thought he was overwhelmed by the gravitas of the moment but of course later realized that he had been out with his pals and was drunk. Odd that I didn’t know this initially, as we’d been together three years already and I’d known that drunk Mark goes down to his core attributes, which are a) loving and b) sleepy. I think most drunk people are their core selves, which is perfectly pleasant if you know only good people.

3) Mark introduced me to the word “phatic.” Phatic conversation builds social bonds rather than conveys information, which is the sort of concept that frazzles me. I absolutely DO talk to people to create social connections—it’s my favourite thing—I am almost always unable to distinguish between conversations that are meaningless but for the effort to convey friendless and other, more meaningful conversations. If I mention the weather, I absolutely mean to convey information about the weather, and gather your thoughts on the weather (eg., whether you think my picnic will be rained out, to comfort you if your picnic was rained out, to express hope for future picnics). Every word is important to me—which somewhat fails certain social conventions, which I learned when I worked in an office and people would sometimes say, “How are you?” while walking past me and not stop for an answer. Anyway, the “I love you” phone sign-off is somehow a little bit part of that: no one says “Kayloveyoubye!” while hanging up a call to convey information, but that is not the same as not needing to think about it. Certain well known information needs to be repeated at regular intervals, I’m told, like prayers and the national anthem. And, possibly, in some relationships, endearment.

4) I do not come from a family of origin that leans heavily on “I love you.” We say it, but not very often—usually there would be an occasion, either very good or very bad, to do so. It’s a rare and special word for us, which I am comfortable with. When I got out in the world and started meeting other types of families (and eavesdropping) I definitely noticed that a lot of people used the word “love” differently than I was used to. Many, it turned out, ended every conversation on the phone—at least those in my hearing—like the fellow from the duct-cleaning company, with, “I love you.” Hearing this, and having no one in my life at the time that I spoke this way with, I thought that might be too many "I love you”s? I thought making the phrase phatic (though I did not know the word at the time) might make it less special? I thought perhaps, were I to become enmeshed in a permanent romantic relationship, that would not be how I would talk to my partner.

5) Though I don’t think I was necessarily wrong to think that way—I don’t think others who think that way are wrong—I was wrong for me, because that is not at all how it turned out. I definitely mumble “I love you” when I hang up the phone with Mark more often than not. I also say it when he hands me a sandwich, say it when he’s going to the gym or the office, scream it when I’m running out the door trying to catch a bus and I don’t know where he is in the apartment. And whisper it when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. And text it a fair share too. However. I do not to say it when I am absolutely furious at him, although I know that anger or irritation or even rage doesn’t mean we are not in love anymore—but I love you is not a phatic phrase for me. I think about it every time. No, really. I just don’t get phatic phrases very well. I have to think about words. And I just can’t think lovingly when I am mad.

6) It has been a long time since I have said “I love you” and truly conveyed new information to another person—but I have conveyed new information to myself a few times. Those times, I was trying to convey to a good friend deep care and affection, and what popped out was “I love you.” I don’t think they were surprised—these are longstanding, important friendships and I guess we all knew that—I just never put it into those exact words before.

7) I was very excited, briefly, because I thought I had fit the word phatic into emphatic—the same only more so? Saying more/strongly/again for the sake of compounding the effect, not information?? It made sense, but I was wrong—it was a faux amie, as my French teacher says. The Greek root of “phatic” is phatos, to speak, and the root of emphatic, also Greek, is emphaínein, to show. The dumb dictionary says the fact that they sound alike is a coincidence, which sounds wrong to me. I think saying phatic (or other) phrases very loudly or repeatedly or both emphasizes them without adding meaning SO???

8) Look, I wrote book called So Much Love and I have thought about love from a lot of angles but there are always more. It is a very multifaceted emotion. At the end of the day, I don’t know think love can be diminished if it is made too everyday, nor do I think it can be forgotten if it is not everyday enough—it is not shirt you can ruin nor forget you own. I am not worried about that type of thing. I am just thinking about how I, Rebecca, individual person, prefers to live. And it is by arguing furiously with people who who define “lemonade” differently than I do, and by talking about the weather and what my cats are up to longer than anyone cares to, and standing in my doorway shrieking I love you when the bus is three minutes away and scaring the neighbours. Every word has meaning and I mean them all.