Valentine’s Day means different things to all of us. For most, it’s an opportunity to declare or express one’s love and affection for a significant ‘other’ in your life. For some, that means a romantic dinner by candlelight or a bouquet of roses. And for others it means the gift of a piece of jewelry or a wonderful book. It’s not the cost of the gift, it’s the care and attention to its selection that matters.
A lot more often than many realize, though, is that for many there may not be an ‘other’ with whom to share one’s Valentine’s Day affections. That should never, ever be a reason to eschew the holiday (even if you generally dismiss it as a fiction created by Hallmark Cards). No. It’s my contention that Valentine’s Day can be a day ideally suited to displaying to yourself just how much you’re treasured.
And while it’s true that some have mastered the art of being an elf to yourself, I have a feeling there are a lot more of us who find it weird or selfish. When in fact, what’s weird is how tough it can be to honestly express love to ourselves; don’t you think?
“Give us a kiss” – Photo: L. Weikel
Unlikeliest of Teachers
For some of us, loving ourselves means taking a long hot bath and soaking in our favorite bath salts and essential oils. Then there are those who crave some alone time and set aside an entire day to turning off their phones, reading a book or two, and writing in their journal. Still others indulge in a manicure, pedicure, or perhaps even a facial.
And so it is the most unlikely of teachers, my Princess, enters the picture.
Imagine my surprise when I encountered my sweet little girl on Valentine’s Day, mid-solo-celebration. How did I know she was indulging in a little sanctioned self-love?
The mask of mud and hay gave it away.
Princess in all her ‘masked’ glory – Photo: L. Weikel
Princess’s Inspiration
What an inspired spirit this sweet porcine princess embodies! I’ve never entertained the thought of giving myself an at-home facial. But what a delightful and indulgent way to ‘celebrate’ Valentine’s Day.
I’m going to have to remember this as a possibility next year. Most important to remember? It’s not necessarily an option reserved for swinging singles like my bad-ass Princess.
Today marks the 42nd Valentine’s Day Karl and I have celebrated together.
There’s no question Karl and I have been V-Day challenged since the inception of our relationship. Anyone reading this post can appreciate that Karl did not endear himself to me in that crucial first year Valentine’s Day pressure cooker. And while we did reach a détente by realizing that the very best V-Day gifts were those that were literary in nature, and we succeeded in making that a tradition for quite a while, many have nevertheless missed the mark.
This year, instead of going anywhere or doing anything even remotely related to Karl or our relationship, I had a session with a client. And this session entailed me driving a good distance away. As a result, I didn’t get home until just shy of 9:00 p.m.
Another Bust
Imagine my surprise to find the house empty when I got home.
“Hmmph,” I thought at first, when I pulled up and saw no cars in the driveway. “Maybe he went for pizza and wanted it to be piping hot when I got home.”
Not two minutes went by and Karl’s car pulled into our driveway.
I was standing in the living room, and through one of the windows could see him approaching the kitchen door. No pizza box in hand. The lack of same was striking and devastating.
In fact, from my perspective, it didn’t look as if he had anything in his hands. “Surely he brought home dinner,” I thought in a panic. I’ll admit it; I was pretty hungry at this point – and now expecting the worst. As usual.
Karl pushed open the door from our kitchen into our living room and flourished a small, unmarked paper bag with twine handles. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” Karl grinned, flashing me the smile that won me over all those years ago (and has wheedled its way into my heart far too many times to count over the intervening years).
I still wasn’t comprehending what he’d brought home. Was it even food? That bag sure was small. For some reason, my mind had become fixated on pizza as I drove home – even though I’d actively decided against calling and suggesting it to him. I was still trying to figure out how any of this added up.
Sushi Extravaganza
It wasn’t until I opened the paper bag with its distinctive twine handles and looked inside that I realized: This man knows me. He knows (finally!) after all these years precisely what to bring home to make me feel completely loved and known and indulged.
Every layer I uncovered in the bag elicited a shriek of delight. His choices were particularly significant since I’m the one who places the order for sushi the at most couple of special occasions we order it during the year. Karl isn’t nearly as bowled over by mouthgasms as I am over sushi, so the fact that he took the time to print out Ooka’s menu and figure out which of the offerings were the ones that pave a direct path to my heart was an act of pure love. (And beyond the love credits awarded for making the effort to pick out my favorites he earned triple bonus word score extravaganza points for choosing all my favorites!)
Best of all, I was utterly happy coming home to my love and just planning on spending a quiet evening with him and all our beasts.
The extravagant overload of delectable sushi was a total redemption for any and all prior V-Day transgressions. I’m one happy little fridget* (wink) Love you, Karl.
Yet again, I find myself with little time and even less to say. I guess that’s a good thing, if you think about it. Sounds like I should have plenty of time, then, to get it all said.
As I sit here in the silence, I can feel the front of cold air moving in. We’ve had a ridiculously mild winter so far, which at least has granted a reprieve on heating bills.
But tonight they’re calling for some truly seasonal temperatures to arrive. Into the 20s tonight and down to 12 degrees tomorrow night. Considering it’s been in the 50s lately, that’s a shock to the system!
As I started to say above, though – I can distinctly sense the cold seeping into my house as I sit here. But just as this post is going to be a short one, so is this cold snap. It looks like it’ll only last for a few days, and I don’t think it’s even going to make itself useful by bringing some snow.
Easy For Me
Here I am, half lamenting that it’s not been very cold this winter and walking on the shiny side of whiny about no snow. Ugh. It’s easy for me to wish for colder temperatures: I have ample opportunity for warmth and cuddling. And what good is it to be cold if you can’t tuck yourself into a warm little ball and enjoy the very fact that you’re staring that cold in the face and thwarting its evil intentions?!
Even the four leggeds in our house – they’re looking at me expectantly. I can tell they feel the shift in the temperatures, and even more than that, I get the feeling they know it’s going to get a lot colder before it heats back up.
I’m surrounded by my familiars (if you will). They’re staring at me intently. I think it’s because they’re tired and resolute in their determination to get me to see the light, stop this incessant typing, and allow them under the bedcovers. As soon as possible. (Why they’re not upstairs with Karl yet, I have no idea. Loyalty? Doubtful.)
Time to Cuddle
I guess this being Valentine’s Day eve and everything, it’s only natural that I’d want to hustle myself up to bed. But the truth is, I’ve always loathed Valentine’s Day. But wow – because I’m on Day 459, that means I’ve already regaled you with my single memorable Valentine’s Debacle Story.
We don’t need another one.
In the meantime, I hope you all have a lovely day tomorrow. If nothing else, give yourself a little lovin’. Even if it’s only a couple of seconds’ worth: tell your body how much you love and appreciate it.
It’s important. Love is important. And look at that: I did end up in a familiar place after all.
In spite of the fact that we’ve technically moved on from the ‘I’m a Fridgit’ debacle of 41 years ago, its legacy lives on. As I tried to convey yesterday, regardless of the fact that we’ve experienced a handful that were relatively OK, both Karl and I maintain a leery, if healthy, stance toward Valentine’s Day.
A good motto: Don’t take anything for granted, and keep expectations really low.
To that end, Karl made a play today on his quirky first gift of years gone by. (I suspect being outed in yesterday’s post may have had an impact; although I’m not sure.)
Staying In and Keeping it Simple
We’d already decided we were going to stay in for the evening (going out to dinner being an unappealing option for a plethora of reasons). So to spice things up, and in spite of our surprisingly consistent vegetarian dietary choices, I picked up two pieces of gorgeous fresh tuna from our favorite fishmonger, Buckingham Valley Seafood.
Luckily for me, Karl only the day before yesterday expressed an interest in reading a book I’d read back in my train days, Dreaming the Eagle, by Manda Scott. It was the first in what was supposed to be a trilogy, but apparently became a quartet (the Boudica: Dreaming series). I remember being captivated by it and eagerly looking forward to the next in the series. But then, before I became aware of the Dreaming the Bull being written, I stopped commuting and my book consumption, regrettably, plummeted drastically. (Let’s face it: I just plum forgot.)
In looking up Dreaming the Eagle, I saw that I wouldn’t be able to get it delivered in time for today’s festivities, so I checked to see if it was in our library, and it was! So I put it on hold last night and picked it up this afternoon. SCORE! And just like with the Foundation trilogy I gave to Karl so many years ago, we’ll both benefit. I’ll read this book (again) after he finishes it – and then maybe we’ll savor the rest in the series together, too.
Another Risky Gift
Perhaps reading my mind, or maybe inspired by my blog post last night resurrecting our Fridgit fiasco, Karl came home from a business trip this evening and, upon entering the house, was obviously holding something behind his back. He laughed and said he’d taken another risk…
Revealing a brown paper bag with “Owowcow” printed on it (woohoo!), he carefully took out a pint, covered the writing on the top, and started to explain. Before he got a word out, I blurted, “They have a new flavor! I read about it on Facebook. Oooh! I hope you got it!” (Note: I’d not been back to Owowcow since my indulgence back in December, which you might recall…)
He laughed, but didn’t yet reveal. “I saw there was a flavor I’d never heard of before, and I asked to try it,” he said, squinching up his face in obvious distaste. “Ick. I didn’t like it,” he laughed. “It wasn’t sweet enough.”
My eyes lit up. This sounded promising.
“So I figured, Lis’ll probably love it. So I got it.” And with that, he brandished the pint with a flourish.
YES. He’d bought his Little Fridgit a pint of ice cream:
Perfection. Right down to the name! (And as you can see, I couldn’t eat a bite.)
Oooh, Valentine’s Day. It’s never been a favorite holiday of mine, I have to admit. If I could forget it, I probably would.
From the very first ‘celebrations’ in elementary school, I could take it or leave it. (If you can even call the mass card swapping event, with givers’ names usually haphazardly scrawled without any personalization, words of affection, or even friendship, designed to keep everyone feeling good and no one left out, a ‘celebration’.) I never received a valentine that even vaguely resembled the hype we were taught or made me think there might be some classmate secretly hoping I would be their special sweetie.
And there was definitely the sense of impending doom given off by those who, in retrospect, probably never received a heartfelt expression of love or curiosity from a classmate, especially at that age. In fact, some were almost certainly living in environments that didn’t include being told they were loved by anyone, much less a secret someone their own age. There are a few kids I remember from those days, whom I wish I could go back and be kinder to. I had no idea some of my classmates had to endure cruelty and abuse every day. It was inconceivable to me that anyone’s parent could be mean and horrible to a little kid.
The Pressure Builds
In junior and senior high school the pressure only became greater; the hype more intense. In junior high school (7thand 8thgrade), a valentine could be monumental. It could indicate a willingness to maybe be ‘liked’ by somebody. <<shivers>>
But by senior high school, if you were in a relationship, the pressure was on.
To be honest? I cannot remember one single Valentine’s Day card or gift I received in my youth or young adulthood. Which is kind of sad when you think about how pressure-filled the days leading up to it often felt.
All of which leads me to the debacle that was my first Valentine’s Day with Karl. We’d met in September, right after I’d arrived on campus at Penn State, fresh from my year as an exchange student in Sweden. Karl was a ‘night receptionist’ in my dorm. Yeah, back then we needed knights waiting patiently in our lobbies, checking residents’ keys, making sure no males were walking around ‘unescorted,’ essentially acting as Guardians of our Virtue.
Anyone who knows us can just imagine the grief I gave him when the elevator doors opened and I first laid eyes on him sitting facing those doors – and noticed that his eyes were closed. And noticed his breathing was decidedly rhythmic.
“Hey!” I called out, startling him awake. “We’re all going to get raped and it’s going to be your fault.” Yes, those were the first words I lobbed at the man who would end up fathering my children years later.
The Stirrings of a Life-long Love
It took a while, I’ll admit. It’s not as though we swept each other off our feet immediately. (Although I fell way faster than I wanted – and expected – having sworn off long-term relationships after being dumped long distance while I was in Sweden.) But that night receptionist’s job of his gave us a lot of opportunity to sit and talk. And talk. And argue. And talk. And…really get to know each other.
Suffice it to say, by February, we were well on our way to having more than an inkling that our mutual future might hold great promise.
Cue Valentine’s Day.
Oh yeah. I felt pressure. What to get this handsome, sensitive, intelligent guy that would let him know I was really falling for him, but wouldn’t scare him away?
Well, one of the things that we could talk about for hours and hours and hours, indeed well into the wee hours of the morning, was our love of books. And this was before the advent of the big box bookstores such as Borders or Barnes & Noble. Or (obviously) Amazon. Back then people were much less likely to own a lot of books. Rather, they went to the library. So owning books was a treat.
Somehow or another, I’m sure as a result of our long and luxurious conversations (I could with some snark say, “…from listening to him…”), I knew he would love the Foundationtrilogy by Isaac Asimov.
Beginning an ‘Illustrious’ Tradition
When the day arrived, he came up to my room and we shyly exchanged our gifts. My heart soared. I could tell from the shape and size of what he handed me that he, too, had thought to give the gift of a book. “Mmm,” I thought. “We’re on the same page. We love the same things.”
Imagine my surprise, then, when I opened my gift.
Yes. This is the very first gift Karl ever gave me for Valentine’s Day. And not only was this his actual gift to me (I thought he was kidding – he had to be kidding, right?), he was not kidding; he thought it was cute.
Somehow, we managed to survive that debacle. (I have to admit; it floored me – for many reasons, as you might imagine.) And we began a tradition of giving each other books that has lasted many years.
Receipt of “I’m a Fridgit,” however, did begin a reign of terror that has haunted our personal enjoyment of the 14thof February. I say that, and it’s true to a degree; but honestly? It’s a great story. And for that, I love him. That and his quirky sense of romance.
Quirky. Yeah. That’s the ticket.
Tomorrow will be our 41stValentine’s Day together. I’m waiting with baited breath. (Not.) But maybe we’ll take a ride to the bookstore in Peddler’s Village, or Farley’s, or Doylestown Book Shoppe. At least we’re lucky to have small, independent, wonderful book shops near us!
May you celebrate your love with a sense of humor and a deliciously good book.
