Lovers | The Real Reality Show Blog

It’s time for my annual “Woe is me” party. I figure I have lots of reasons to celebrate my misfortunes. A rare weird disease, cancer, blood clots, lack of mobility, dialysis. Too much plaid in my wardrobe. The list goes on. But those are everyday disasters and things that almost everybody else will go through. Maybe not all of them or the ones you someday experience not all at once. But these are the things people deal with. And I deal with them pretty well. I have good family and good friends and a good medical team to help me along.

But all the help and support from family members and dialysis nurses won’t change the fact that on Wednesday I’m going to wake up alone. There will be no card taped to the bathroom mirror, they’ll be no second place setting at breakfast (and that’s a shame because I’m planning on a traditional Eggs Benedict with my own Hollandaise), there’ll be no impromptu dancing in the living room in front of an open window for the world to see that old people can still love.

I suppose old people still love. I see them. I know some who are seemingly doing all the right things. Maybe that’s it. Seemingly. In my experience, getting old did not help in the still loving department.

Broken_Heart_Pose_(1) First there was the ex. Forgive me for being so old fashioned here but by “ex” I shouldn’t have to explain ex what. It kills me when people refer to someone they dated three times as their ex. That’s a “guy or girl I dated.” Or someone they saw for almost a year. That’s an “old boyfriend.” By the way there is no “old girlfriend.” Just someone “I used to spend time with” accompanied by a wistful look into nowhere. But no, these people aren’t exes. There has to be something that existed to be exed out of. To me “ex” will always and only be an ex-wife. Or husband depending on your point of view.

Anyway, first there was the ex. We weren’t that bad when we were. We had our moments but then we also had our moments. It was hard getting together in the 70’s. Things were expensive. Money was expensive. It was not a time of destination weddings and yearly two week tropical vacations, new cars, new houses, or new tires no matter how much the mechanic whined they weren’t going to pass inspection next time. We’ll worry about it then. And that was pretty much how we got though out first 10 years. Worrying about it then. And then by the next 10 years we didn’t have to worry so much. Cars were newer. Houses were big enough that the daughter could have her own room with lots of space to spare. Plans were made and met and new ones thought up. One plan that caught us off guard was that I planned on turning 40 and she didn’t. So when I did and she should have soon followed there was lots of holding back and plans changed. Eventually my 40 turned 45 and her never ending 39 regressed to 30 and the 15 years difference was too much for her.

comforting__hearttle_6__by_domobfdi-d7186dw Years went by and I would meet a somebody now and then in between being dad and homemaker. Single parenting isn’t much fun for the male set either in case you’re wondering. Eventually a new she entered and if she wasn’t perfect, she was just right. Right enough that space could be made for her. We danced and swam and festivaled. We visited places from northern falls to tropical islands and enjoyed time in farm markets and art studios. Plans were made and met and new ones thought up. One plan that caught us off guard was that I planned on getting cancer (well, part of me did but didn’t bother to tell the rest of me until it was too late) and she planned on me always being the same. So when I did and the cure necessitated removing some parts of me, and some of those parts were the parts that impart a certain amount of masculinity to maleness, and plans changed. We struggled a bit until the phone call that spoke of things wanted and things able and they weren’t the same things. And then sometime in our 8th, maybe 9th, could have been 10th year, the new she began to become someone I used to spend time with.

So twice bitten I’ve had no will to risk adding even a girl I used to date to my record. The desire, yes. The will, no. I’d love to have someone warm to hold close at night or to slog through mud tracked roads leading to the demonstration area at the maple festival. Someone to see the old ships of New England and the old houses of the Old Country. Or someone to sit next to and read a book for the fourteenth time and for the thirteenth time to explain that it’s OK to reread a book. Or someone to share an Eggs Benedict then dance with in front of a window

Nope, not the most wonderful week of the year for me. But that’s ok. There are 51 others to amuse me. I’ll be back to normal sometime next week.

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Sunday evening we were at home having our Valentine’s Day dinner. (Steak au poivre, green beans sautéed in butter and olive oil with onions and mushrooms, baked potato with a pepper cream sauce, and a salad of mixed greens with strawberries, walnuts, and feta. We never made it to dessert.) (Yes, we go out a lot but we still know how to cook and cook we do when it’s a truly special occasion.) Work schedules and other conflicts forced us to hold our celebration off for a few days. It happens. And it was worth the wait.

While we were dining we wondered what is it about this Valentine guy that has made greeting card companies, florists, jewelers, and for some, restaurants so much money around the globe and over the years. The most common story is that of Valentine, priest and martyr of third century Rome during the reign of Claudius II, also known as Claudius the Cruel. He believed that his army was not giving its all because the men were more attached to their wives and families than to their emperor. To solve that little problem he banned marriages. No marriages, no families, strong fighting men. He didn’t count on Valentine still performing marriage ceremonies even under the ban. Valentine was imprisoned and ordered to be executed. While in prison Valentine became enamored with the daughter of his jailer and legend goes on to say that on his last day in prison he wrote her a farewell letter and signed it, “With Love, Your Valentine.”

We sort of like that story. It has a love interest, a creepy villain, a secret plot twist (priests aren’t supposed to fall in love with women, even in the late 200’s), and a story that hangs around even after almost 1,750 years. But there are other stories. There were other Valentine’s, other Valentines who were priests, and other Valentines who were martyred and became saints. We still like that story. And it is St. Valentine of Rome whose feast day was set to the day of his execution, February 14.

But how did that get from there to a Hallmark moment? Let’s fast forward some 1100 years from the 270’s to the 1370’s and to English poet Geoffrey Chaucer. In the poem Parliament of Foules he wrote, “For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne’s day Whan every foul cometh ther to choose his mate” and thus linked February 14 as the day we go in search of our best link. In fact, it was already becoming common in late 13th and 14th century England and France for lovers to exchange letters, poems, and gifts in mid-February as the weather lightened.

There are many Valentines who have been canonized by many Popes over many years. (There was even a Pope Valentine. He served for only 40 days in 827.) In all there are 12 St. Valentines, the most recent, St. Valentine Berrio-Ochoa, a Spaniard who served as bishop in Vietnam until his beheading in 1861, was elevated to sainthood by John Paul II in 1988. Twelve Valentine’s, twelve months. We didn’t do the research but you can probably find a St. Valentine Day almost any time of the year if you, like us, were busy on February 14.

Then, when you have another one as special as we have in each other, every day can be a day to celebrate your love for each other, even if it isn’t the real Valentine’s Day.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?