Thursday, February 3, 2011
In general, I've never met a holiday (or a holiday tradition) that I didn't like. Epiphany is my signal to start thinking about taking down Christmas decorations. Mardi Gras calls for a King's Cake, if I remember. I love decking myself out in red, white and blue for the Fourth of July. By the time October rolls around, I'm pumped for pumpkins and subsequent turkeys and the decorating of trees.
But Valentine's Day? I have a pretty poor track record with doing anything exciting for good ol' V-day.
I usually have big plans.
Like making everyone I love one these woolly little hearts:
Or whipping up one of these guys:
Or, or, or . . . .
Yet, I never seem to get around to it. It's not that I view Valentine's Day as a strictly Hallmark holiday that doesn't deserve the time of day. I think it's nice to take a day to be sweet to all those who make your life a little lovelier. Maybe the holiday falls just a little close to Christmas. Come February 14, I often find myself still fumbling with the reins of the new year.
Valentine's Day have come and gone in my life and now it seems as though none remain. When I was little, my brother and I used to wake up on Valentine's Day morning to find a collection of small trinkets by our seat at the kitchen table. A relationship or two back, I used to receive flowers for the day, although something about the fact that I had to pout to get them made them feel not terribly sincere. Our first winter together Andy and I exchanged cards, but only because the relationship was long distance at that point.
So I go into this February with no Valentine's traditions in tow. No matter. Perhaps the most important thing Valentine's Day can do for us, regardless of how we celebrate, is to start the spring thaw in our very own hearts.