Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Somebody poisoned the waterhole ...
For many folks, Valentine's Day is a day to be disdained. A manufactured holiday designed to pad the sales of florists, chocolatiers and card companies everywhere. It's a day lovers will look at their partners and either be delighted or disappointed.
Where love is symbolized as foil-wrapped truffles or see-through nighties.
I suppose you could take any occasion celebrated by the exchange of gifts and hold it up to the UV light and trace amounts of excrement in the water supply will be detected.
I've never been the sort (or even been with the sort) that takes this day too an extreme. A card here, a flower there maybe dinner and a movie.
I nearly had to consider the holiday this year, since Ittybit goes to preschool, and a note came home with her at the beginning of the month that said the school didn't encourage valentine exchanges, but that if a student felt strongly about it they should make enough for everyone.
Oh the dilemma of such a horific choice: If you don't make 10 cards for everyone -- nevermind that I've lost the most recent (and accurate) class roster with names, and that Annabel has a tendancy to manufacture her own names for classmates; bowmmeggo, blahblue and glugglug, I imagine, wouldn't be too pleased with their construction paper valentines from us, I'm afraid -- what happens when they make them for her and she has none to share?
It's not that we weren't making TONS of cards. We've done nothing but snip out construction paper hearts and glue them to ripped pieces of paper embellished with old watercolor paintings and crayon drawings for weeks. We mailed one to her cousin, her amahs and papas. We gave one to Lori and Tierney and Brianna. We popped them in the coat pockets of some of her friends and toted the rest around unaddressed.
It seems strange to me to be saying this now, but I've never really given much thought to Valentine's Day before this month of this year. It never seemed like anything terribly special.
But then came a turning point. Julie K in Taiwan started counting down the days.
When something is made with so much love that you can't help but see more of the love than the thing, you can't help but admire the holiday that inspired its creation. ... at least a little bit anyway.