It's a holiday most elaborately celebrated, it would seem, by young couples in love. Those of us who have been married or in a relationship for a longer period of time celebrate it in varying degrees.
Mr. Ginley makes me a card. I buy him a card. This year, we purchased a pizza to support a fundraiser for my favorite cat shelter, then munched it in front of the TV while we watched a video.
Polling friends, some choose not to participate at all. Others get flowers or candy. Share a dinner, perhaps.
It is said that a lot of young couples will celebrate this weekend. Which makes sense, I suppose, if you are both working and don't see each other during the week.
In grade school, Valentine's Day was a nice break from winter doldrums. In those days, we could address our cards however we wished. The cute boys got the best ones. The mean kid got the one with the weird drawing and the oddly-constructed sentiment. These days, if schools do let your child hand out Valentines, they have to merely be signed by the student, then distributed one to each child. I suppose this mitigates any favoritism among the students, but it kind of takes the wonder out of it. Occasionally, I'd get a card with a question mark instead of a signature, and I'd wonder for days afterward who gave it to me. (It was probably more intriguing than actually knowing.)
There is a much to be said for long-time relationships. It's good to know someone in this world has your back. And, in spite of sometimes driving each other nuts, it's a fun ride.
So, Happy Valentine's Day to my Valentine.
I know, it's the weekend after. The young folks say it's still okay to celebrate.
So, let's go a little crazy. We'll split a beer. Hand me the pretzels.
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