Valentine's Day

Lately it’s been quiet in my place. I’m amazed by how only a week can feel like a lifetime after ending a half-year relationship with the person I was convinced I loved. The red pillow on the other side of my memory foam mattress hasn't been touched, the non-slam toilet seat in my bathroom is permanently up and the only article of clothing that remains folded in my apartment are the green pajama bottoms she borrowed last time she was here.

There is no longer a need for a mutually accepted group to be played on my record console; the more sultry romantic sounds of Elysian Fields, Sergio Mendes & Brasil ’66, Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds soundtrack have been replaced with the more discordant melodies and raucous noises from Joy Division, Igor Stravinksy and Chet Baker. A new tone has prevailed underneath my spacious ceilings, not a tone of vivacious spirit or luminous activity, but one of concord and settled reconciliation. All these lofty words are used to cover up sorrow with a big cheeky grin because now I can expand my mind opposed to my heart. Oh, who am I kidding?

Classics become classic because they don’t succumb to time or trend but grow true to themselves. Such is the case with the makers of the beloved blue box with the white ribbon. As Valentine’s Day rolls around, naturally my mind, as well as my hopes, go straight to that classic blue box.

Growing up, my mother and her sisters were my style mentors. It was my younger aunts in particular with their gold bracelets and brooches, that cued me into the finer things in life. Their heavy gold link bracelets, laden with charms that made music as they walked, and the jeweled pins that adorned their dresses and sweaters were all, as I learned early, from Tiffany’s. That blue box tied neatly with the white ribbon became a familiar site under our Christmas tree, on my mother’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary. It became for me, a style-precocious child, something to aspire to.

My first blue box came at 18 from my first serious boyfriend. He would later become my first fiancé, gifting me yet again with a coveted blue box containing The ring. But the first box which was indeed ring-size and had my fingers trembling as I opened it, held two enamel and gold bands. Pre-engagement rings was how I viewed my Valentine’s Day gift of the blue and gold, and green and gold Schlumberger bands that stacked beautifully on my finger.

My grandma's favorite gift was a box of chocolate covered cherries. I can still see her biting into the first one she picked from the box my uncle would bring her from Walgreen's Drugstore in Chicago. The liquid insides would ooze out and drip down her chin. She'd smile and her eyes would sparkle with delight. I never did grow fond of the chocolate-cherry treats that would bring her such glee. Even as a child, they were just too sweet for my liking.

I've never really developed an appreciation for the combination of chocolate and cherries. Rich, creamy chocolate -- yes. Sweet-tart juicy cherries -- yes. But together in one bite? No.

Despite my dislike for the marriage of chocolate and cherries in anything edible, each February since I was old enough to read a recipe, I've been baking a chocolate and cherry treat to celebrate the month that claims Valentine's Day and George Washington's birthday. These two days make February a time to hail chocolate and observe National Cherry Month.

Looking back fifteen to twenty years ago, I am amazed at the weighted significance I placed on Valentine’s Day gift giving.  It was forever the holiday filled with potential of making or breaking a relationship.  Those feelings all seem so ridiculous and childish now, but then, with very little relationship maturity under my belt, it all made logical sense.

When it came to giving the “right Valentine’s gift” I placed a lot of energy and time concocting my gift giving plan of attack.  I completely lost sight of what the celebration was about. Love. Right?

I distinctly recall dating a “certain guy” at the young and clueless age of twenty.  We had only been going out for a short time and Valentine’s Day was quickly approaching.  I know…the pressure.  There is nothing worse than an impending holiday like Valentine’s to put a young relationship to the ultimate test of failure or success.  At least that’s what I thought.

I was of course ecstatic.  I made this “certain guy” a very clever card, had a picture of us framed, made him my, “Yes, you will fall in love with me Chocolate Chip Cookies” and bought him a shirt.  I know the shirt sounds lame, unimaginative and pathetic, but believe me when I tell you it was a very cool shirt.  It. Really. Was.