Valentine's Day...Laughter?
It's the little (and funny) things that make a life lovely
Valentine’s Day, or VD as I like to call it, is a day dedicated to romantic love. It’s even linked to a Roman fertility festival called Lupercalia. Intrigued by this history, which was unfamiliar to me, I found this description:
The Lupercalia festival took place on February 15 every year in Palatine Hill at the Lupercal cave. The Lupercalia festival began with an animal sacrifice, followed by the Feast of Lupercal. After the Lupercal feast, priests ran from Palatine Hill to the Roman Forum, whipping people with strips of animal hide.
This is what passed for a “festival” in ancient Rome? Gee, it sounds like a blast. Count me out.
But count me in to the modern Valentine’s Day—and not because I’m a hopeless romantic. I was once called “the world’s least romantic woman” by a past boyfriend because I said I’d be more thrilled to have my garbage disposal fixed than to get flowers or candy. I am nothing if not pragmatic.
No, count me into Valentine’s Day because it reminds me that love should be celebrated and shared. It doesn’t have to be romantic love. I use the word “love” a LOT, as in “I love this coconut almond ice cream,” “I love that cute little house,” and “I love that you fixed my garbage disposal.” But honestly, can we use the word too much? Does it diminish “real” love? I don’t think so, because the things that make us feel good are all versions of love.
The big, momentous occasions aren’t that frequent over the course of a life: graduations, weddings, babies, grandbabies, vacations. Of course those are wonderful times, but there are smaller events and memories that round out a life and make it lovely (and funny). These are some of mine:
My great-grandmother, at age 105, refused to wear some “walking shoes” her daughter bought her because she felt they looked like old lady shoes.
My paternal grandma used to work around her house whistling or singing with a parakeet (yes, a live one) perched on her shoulder or head.
My dad could always be talked into taking us horseback riding while we were on vacation, but he had to do a lot of mock-grumbling first. My siblings and I knew this was the routine and learned to wait him out.
My mother would put our plates of uneaten food on the windowsill so that “Santa will see it as he flies by.” I had never realized Santa did reconnaissance missions year round.
I felt I had to set an example with my oldest son when he was about 12. He had sassed or disobeyed me and he had three younger brothers watching his every move. I had read about spanking from one of those dumb parenting books at the time. It advised that “you should use a paddle of some type rather than your hand, which should be associated with love.” (Yeah, but that hand will be holding a paddle—duh!) I made a big production of it and the boys were fascinated, which wasn’t quite the reaction I was hoping for. I found a wooden spoon in the drawer and reluctantly tapped my son’s butt with it. The spoon, old and apparently already cracked, promptly broke. He ran around the house pumping his fists and shouting “I’ve got buns of steel!” His brothers raced after him, laughing their heads off. The whole lesson went out the window. That was my first and thankfully last attempt at corporal punishment.
I have a very long list of memories that I love about the people in my life, and I have found the memories are nearly always associated with laughter (not always during the event but certainly afterwards). I’ve realized that the corny things are what stick with me, and what I remember most fondly. These people have provided me with great material, and I count on them to continue doing so.
Today, as my partner and I walked along the beach to get some exercise and Vitamin D while enjoying each other’s company, I got some more good material. We saw an enterprising couple sitting at a table under an umbrella. Around their table was a half-circle of fake long-stemmed roses stuck into the sand. A sign advertised that for only $9.95, you could secretly buy a rose to whip out to your Valentine on the beach.
My first reaction if that happened to me would certainly not be to swoon, but to wonder where he had hidden the rose since we were wearing skimpy beach clothes. Too unromantic again. I’ve got to work on that.
Happy VD!
LOL my favourite part was that you’d chose the garbage disposal fixed! SAME. Pragmatics for the win 😆