Well, it’s coming on to Valentine’s Day, so of course I’ve been thinking about grand and miserable Valentine’s Days past, and listening to Louis Armstrong CD’s. “Give me a kiss to build a dream on, and my imagination will thrive upon that kiss.” “As time goes by” “How long has this been going on?”
Valentine’s Day is one of those holidays you love to hate, because as one of the less popular and pretty kids, you always got the ugly, stupid valentines that were the dregs of the pack. Or you only got candy from your father. Or you never had your secret Valentine acknowledged. Or you never were seeing anyone around Valentines day, and if you were they were out of town.
Guilt producing holidays, up there with New Years Eve (no date), and for me, Halloween (can I borrow this costume? last minute), because you were supposed to do something, or have something, that didn’t happen.
Don’t get me wrong. I am romantic. I just can’t, won’t get all hepped up around a manufactured day. When running with a crowd, I’m usually at the back of the pack, if not totally on the sidelines.
I resent overpriced roses, and the guilt over breaking my diet takes all the allure out of chocolates.
One memory of Valentine’s day past was working in a florist’s while in College, and cleaning boxes and boxes of roses, and going home exhausted with thorn ripped hands. How romantic is that?
I do have a favorite Valentine’s day poem:
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamoured of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape,
And thy fair virtues force, perforce,
Doeth move me to say, ah, to swear
I love thee.
Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Titania to Bottom (who has just been turned into an ass).
The Art of the Day is: the romantic art of courtship.
posted by the other Joan @ 8:56 AM
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