I think Valentine’s Day peaked for me personally in middle school. Our student council sold carnations to raise funds for things I never really was involved with. (I was on the student council.) The week before, students would sit in the cafeteria and sell carnations for a dollar; and boys would buy them for girls. It was Northern Michigan and the 90s, we didn’t operate outside the prescribed box. When I was in seventh grade, I received three flowers. This is by no means a bragging right; I’m sure the popular girls in my class received more. It was embarrassing; I had a ‘boyfriend’. He gave me one of the three flowers. The other two came from boys who just had a thing for me… If you can have a thing when you’re twelve.
Looking back on it at 32, I don’t think you can. But thank you, Justin and Paul. I actually still have the flowers in a scrapbook. I might not know exactly where the scrapbook is (and my father might’ve thrown it out), but I can recall a note in my seventh grade scrawl about who the flowers were from. Oddly, I didn’t save the one from my boyfriend. Apparently, I knew Jesse and I were never meant to be.
Now I’m trying to write this blog post as Ryan’s cousin fills out valentines for his fourth grade class. It’s two decades later, and really my Valentine’s Day appears like it is going to be a low key affair. Which I like. Last night, Ryan tossed four short ribs into our sous vide machine (his Christmas present), and tomorrow, we’ll eat them. Just a home cooked meal, but we will still observe Dan Savage’s rule. Though for the menu we don’t have much more than the short ribs. I found a great recipe for sweet potatoes on Food52 that I crave constantly. So delicious, so simple.
This is tainted by the fact that I’ve thrown my back out. It’s been a hoot this week, walking like I’m eighty or very very pregnant. Is there much difference?
So while Ryan constructs our meal, I’ll likely lay on the couch and read to him. (I’ve made quite the nest today.) We’re reading the third book in Steven Erikson’s series. And by we, I mean me… At least the reading bit… Because I’m reading it aloud to Ryan while he drives, while he cooks, while he showers, while he pretty much does anything I can’t directly help with so that I feel like I might still be interacting him. Ryan does read, but my attention is so much harder to keep than his; I just want to fall asleep when he reads, it lulls me into a nice place. Which doesn’t really help my retention of the story.
Our Valentine’s Day might sound a little lame. A home cooked meal, and just time together. When did this day become less about competing between admirers and more about celebrating a night home with my love? I’ve never gone a February 14th without a significant other… (That hurts my ego a wee bit to say… But it’s true.) There hasn’t always been flowers. Or dinner. And for quite a few years, intimacy was never on the table. And some years, someone or something might’ve been taken for granted. But the forced day to be a happy couple never sat well with me. I think of the Dining Dead so eloquently immortalized in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind; and I fear that it might happen to us… Even in this happiest of happy and healthy relationships. Packing in shoulder to shoulder at a restaurant on Valentine’s Day, listening to other conversations or non-conversations doesn’t appeal to me.
I don’t believe it’s likely to happen tonight, though. The Dining Dead, I mean. We’ve the Olympics to watch, a book to read, work and weather to discuss, as well as talk about where we are in our wedding planning. Maybe Valentine’s Day hasn’t peaked, but matured. Slowed down. Become less competitive about who has the most extravagant story to tell on February 15th, but the best story instead. Quality over quantity.
Huh… I’m at a loss on how to end this. Ryan started reading my post a few days ago when all I had was the bit about Valentine’s Day peaking at the ripe old age of 12. That was a fun conversation. I told him to wait until I brought it all around–which I might’ve done now, but it’s not likely. I feel like this blog post is about to become a C.D. Wright poem. Toss in an odd reference to an obscure mythological being (clurichaun) and a pair of glasses and I believe I’ve achieved it.
The takeaway might be that I’m unfocused when it comes to Valentine’s Day. It kind of feels like just another day. Not because I expect nothing or because Ryan won’t try to do something extra special, but because I view Valentine’s Day as a day to reaffirm and work on failing relationships, to be demonstrative when you are normally not, to say you love someone a couple more times than normal. I don’t need any of that today. And I probably won’t need any of it tomorrow. We can get special chocolates together any day. We can go to a nice meal any day. We say I love you far more often than most folks I know, and it’s not just at the end of phone calls. We’re not failing or breaking or coming to a cusp where things might change for us.
We’re good. Carnations or no. Good.