Whoever said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all did not mean repeatedly, exclusively, and after the age of 35.

(Merril Markoe)

This morning on my walk (yes, I went for a walk today!!) Valentine's Day hit me straight between the eyes. It's on a Tuesday, it's Marian (the Librarian)'s birthday, and I promised I would bake goods (the folks in cataloguing don't believe I use my oven except to store empty cookie sheets.) So I can't go out of town, crap. I have to be in Pittsburgh. My dad generally sends flowers. Last year he sent forced bulbs, which didn't have the "oh wow flowers" until weeks later, but it was cool anyways.

I don't want to work until 9pm (my usual MO on Tuesday), but I need to have something to do--some people consider New Year's important, or Christmas, and I do too, but for me VDay has intense emotional power. (Update: Emily and I are going to do something fun, she just called while I was blogging this. I don't think it will involve an EZ Bake Oven.) I've actually only had a boyfriend twice in February. The first one: our 2nd date was on VDay, we went to the movies, went back to his garret for wine and had our first smooch. The second one: I'd been trying to break up with him since October (or earlier), by January, we decided on considering getting engaged, and on VDay he wanted to take me to this fancy famous restaurant that didn't take reservations. So instead of waiting in line, (the line was three hours long and we had symphony tickets) I convinced him that pizza by candlelight would be very romantic. He was a little miffed that his "perfect plan" was crumbling and we had a fight during intermission because I fell asleep during the first part of the concert (I had wine with the pizza and Beethoven wasn't my choice for VDay, I wanted to see Giselle). I thought he was going to get me coffee while I ran to stand in line at the ladies. We had a lovely shouting fest in the car while gridlocked in the parking garage (in full view of all the other concert goers, nice.)

But the cute story of my childhood is that when I was in Kindergarden, I thought "Happy Valentine's Day" is what you said like "Have a nice day" so for weeks after, I'd say "Happy Valentine's Day" to my dad as he left for work. Every once in a while, in the middle of summer, I'll just interject that greeting into our conversation. It's like our special code.

When my mom was teaching at a Presbyterian mission school in Iran in the late 60s, during the reign of the Shah, my parents were not dating. (They never actually dated, they knew each other over the course of nine years.) But in February, 1968, my dad was not in a relationship and wanted to send flowers to someone. Since my mom was still single, and he had realized over Christmas (while washing dishes) that he missed my mom more than the chick he was dating at the moment, (they broke up in January for other reasons) he decided to send flowers to my mom. FTD. Well, the minimum FTD to Tehran was $7, which in today's money would be like $35. There were a couple florists, the Imperial Florist sounded good, so my dad picked that one. He didn't realize it was "the" Imperial Florist, as in Florist to the Shah. And he probably was not thinking about what $7 could buy in Tehran. (A truckload of floral delight.) My mom's mailing address was the school, so this truck pulls up at her fourth grade classroom and starts unloading flowers upon flowers. (And my mom was not expecting them, had not spoken to my dad for months.)

Actually, my favorite thing to do on VDay is to watch "Enchanted April" which is the most beautiful movie, because it emphacizes friendship. Yes, there is romance, but like the Nick Hornby novel/movie, "About a Boy," it sends the message that "couples aren't the end all be all." The only quote I could find on IMDB from the movie (I can't find my copy of the book!) Marcus says (as his mom is crying over making his breakfast) "Suddenly I realized - two people isn't enough. You need backup. If you're only two people, and someone drops off the edge, then you're on your own. Two isn't a large enough number. You need three at least. " Which always reminds me of the line from the Indigo Girl's song, "Love's Recovery," "Oh how I wish I were a trinity, so if I lost a part of meI'd still have two of the same to live." That is one of my favorite favorite Indigo Girl songs.

The song ends thusly, as will this blog post:

To let this love survive would be the greatest gift we could give

Tell all the friends who think they're so together

That these are ghosts and mirages, these thoughts of fairer weather

Though it's storming out I feel safe within the arms of love's discovery