Those without a loved one to share Valentine’s Day have more in common with the tradition of sending Valentine’s Day cards than those with a lover.
I thought the Victorians began the tradition with their sentimental, flowery, lacy, and cupid adorned cards:
The couple meets at a soiree where the fine lady’s heart beats like a caged canary. The gentleman wears gloves and even with them worries he’ll leave a thumbprint on the greeting card. He escorts her to a small chamber not far from the ballroom. Her cheeks flush with the touch of his warm hand on her back. It sends a thrill of which she is not accustomed. He pulls the declaration of love from his breast pocket and presents it with a bow. She smiles, rips it open and gasps when she sees two naked cupids complete with jiggly bits dancing in the sky. Underneath are the words “Be My Lover.” She drops the card and trounces from the room.
And that is when the gentleman became acquainted with the florist’s establishment around the corner which he frequented in years to come.
Sending cards began more than 400 years earlier with a French romantic poet, of course! It did not begin with the uptight Victorians, but the English had their part in history.
The French nobleman, Charles I de Valois, Duke of Orleans fought against the English and became trapped in his own armor. (How does that happen? “Help me! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!) In 1415, he took up residence as a prisoner in the Tower of London. Continue reading
Along with bushy eyebrows, Lulu had been burdened with helicopter parents. She never had a moment alone with little Harold. They had dated for two years without a single kiss.
Towering over him had been a turnoff. Sitting down put him at ease.
Harold came a-calling on Valentine’s Day. Electricity shot between them the moment he entered the room. She had to have him.
Kassandra slipped under the comforter. As she drifted off, a thought pulled her back. “Did I lock the back door? Oh, he’ll be home soon.” Continue reading
He had watched her for days.
Sheila crouched over her rose garden, preoccupied with the snipping of dead blossoms. She stood and stretched while running her hands along her lower back.
He slipped behind a tree as she crossed the yard.
After laying the shears on the garage workbench, she stepped inside the house.
He followed. Continue reading
Mary regretted taking the short cut home.
“I’ll give you a head start little girl. Ready? GO!”
She bolted from him, rounding the corner of the old mill as its blades dashed through the frigid water in the cold evening air. Then she passed a stand of evergreens. Snow covered needles fell in her wake. She slid down the embankment onto the ice-covered lake. After reaching the middle, she stopped to catch her breath. He was right behind her. Continue reading
With a deadline for a column looming, Samantha had writer’s block.
“See you tomorrow.” she said to her roommate Jack. Grabbing her loaded framepack, she pulled her blonde ponytail through the back of her ball cap.
“Have fun and be careful.” Jack tossed her cell phone to her.
“Don’t worry!” She slipped the phone into her jacket pocket and left the apartment.
She threw her pack in the back of her black Toyota and started the hour-long trip into the mountains. As she drove higher in elevation, the road narrowed. After a series of hairpin turns it ended altogether.
Samantha pulled over next to a grove of Aspens. She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh pine fragrance.
Throwing the bulging pack over her shoulders, she started up the trail. Shadows crept across the path. Continue reading
Alice hurried along the path of the ancient forest in fading light. Listening to her elders and obeying were two different things and now she was hungry and lost.
As night descended, fog slithered like silent serpents through the understory. She stopped in her tracks as it wrapped around her narrow ankles and swallowed the trail. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction, Humor