Valentine’s Day – with 1890s Victorian cards sporting chubby cherubs awash in hearts, clutching bows n’ arrows, sporting disconcertingly toothy grins — is an ancient holiday.
I looked up the guy. Turns out the Roman Emperor, Claudius II, arrested Mr. Valentine for professing Christianity, but while personally interrogating him the Supreme Ruler was struck by his prisoner’s intelligence and wit. Here was a really interesting fellow, willing to argue with his Royal Self without being obsequious. This was huge. Claudius must have been starved for someone to just chew the fat with. (Folks close to the emperor would always agree with whatever Claudius thought or decided- about anything. Fear of his unlimited power made for boringly agreeable colleagues.)
Valentine refused to renounce his faith, but tried instead to convert Claudius to Christianity. The nerve! His chutzpah fascinated the emperor. After a vigorous discussion and debate lasting some hours neither man would be moved, so, annoyed and frustrated, and mainly for political reasons, Claudius reluctantly had him ‘arrowed.’ Before he was executed, though, Valentine fell in love with the jailer’s daughter, whom he’d supposedly healed from some ailment during his imprisonment. He wrote her a love note, signing it ‘your Valentine.’ Therein were sewn the seeds of a massive hearts n’ flowers industry that took root eighteen centuries later in Victorian England. Perennially popular, it’s blooming still, everywhere.
Mulling all this over, I thought I’d review what I love to love.
Just over a decade ago I was nearly killed by a three-quarter ton pickup truck. I’d been flattened in a blink, and then, incredibly, I was back. Many months later, when I’d mostly reassembled myself, I fell in love all over again with life and all its delights, and yes, even its disasters.
Each day is Valentine’s Day for me. I love big trees, small gardens, silky, dangle-y fringe, and Pittsburgh-style steaks. Weeds delight me, and chipmunks, and hot water bottles, and bag balm and bees, and Joe and Bryn-dog and my children, and my home, and my sister and brother, and Mom’s nicely seasoned black iron skillet, and fresh, aromatic coffee strong enough to trot a mouse on, and spider webs’ intricate designs. I love books, doors, a pillar’s curves, a rich turn of musical phrase, griffin toenails, the soft riffle of fabric, and oh, so much more. Truth to tell, I loved it all before, but my own personal Big Bang has certainly rebooted my appreciation for embracing now. This minute.
It’s all we have, really.
Life is good. When bad times intrude they have the peculiar knack of making good times even more appreciated.
Oh- and I love the letters I get from you, readers. I love that you enjoyed my first book and laughed lots, reading it. (Book two is in the wings.)
I love to add pony poop to my flowerbeds, and then see plants take heart from its peculiar power to elevate them. (I know; my truck-adjusted brain frequently bounces around like this. Resistance is futile...)
I guess I’ll offer this valentine column to life, with all its valuable, awful, lovely, eerie, nonsensical, titillating, interesting, naughty, exciting turns.
Indulge in a chocolate-covered cherry and join me in a lusty cheer –because we’re here!