Valentine's Day

Remember when  you had a Valentine Box. The school teacher decked out a soup carton and pasted red  hearts and crepe paper ruffles all over it and made it into a kind of February classroom altar at the front of the room. To it, each morning you marched up and dropped in your cards. Laboriously, the night before, you had cut out of your Valentine book each one. It took a deal of serious contemplation as to whom would receive which card.  After the  task of effecting this selection, you judiciously penned your name on the item and were satisfied you had chosen the right one for each kid.  It took careful consideration of what card went to what person. The boring ones were saved for the kids you, nor anyone else knew very well, but whom you felt sorry for. There were the funny ones you gave to your best friends. There was one for the teacher of course. And there were the cards you reserved for your secret loves hoping by disguising your signature, you would remain anonymous.Somehow the word always got out. The way it worked was that the number of Valentines you got on your desk top, the higher, your status. Finally the great day came to open the revered Valentine Box.  A few  kids known as the teacher's pets, but who actually did the best job, were chosen to hand out the cards. They dug into the huge number of bilet doux in The Box, and doled them out to eager hands.  When all the cards were distributed, there was a moment of deep, respectful silence before the teacher gave the nod and we all dove into our pile.  Some cards were embarrassing, others insulting but most were welcome ones from those you loved.  You laughed aloud at the funny ones and blushed at the romantic ones and were mystified at those with code names. It was a point of discussion during the messy matter of the classroom party amidst frosting and cake crumbs and cookie bits trampled into the floor, that  cards were shown and counted and some, hidden away to be read in privacy at home while a few were judiciously thrown away. At the end of the school day, you stuffed the cards into your Valentine Sack, the one you made in the last Art class, and you carted them off to re-read over and over, later. No, not the dozen red spousal  roses  nor even the heart box of candy from your Sweetie, could ever match the childhood joys of the Elementary School Valentine Box.

Loving Antiques

Love among antiquities is not the same as that with the young. There are complexities. These days, some are fixable with pills but most are entirely due to the attitudes of the subjects. The elder has image to deal with. Do I look alright to him or her? The beauty of it is that if you're both old, you both have the same kinds of beauty marks: blue veins, flab, loose muscles, liver spots and wrinkles. These are all natural matters that are part of the aging process and if you are both old, so be it. Women seem to worry more about them than men do. They believe that their man really wants the younger, slimmer, tighter skinned woman. Not true. While he may entertain himself temporarily or until the SWT tires of him and his aging qualities, he really wants someone who gets it. He and she both want someone who understands what it is like to feel unwilling to leap out of bed and run around the block or jog down to the gym for an 8 AM bone jarring session. The six pack is now the full dozen and the ham has strings. The uplift is now the down draft and the pony tail has become a shorn mane. Ah life in the slower lane. But love in Antiqueville has its advantages. You can cuddle together and watch the oldy movies and actually remember seeing them when they were new. You can fall asleep and not worry because your partner is also, hopefully soundlessly, dozing. When you hear the litany of the aches and pains, you can share them. You take the same pills apparently. When you're spooning, you fit nicely. Your fat zones, fit his skinny ones and vice versa. Getting up at night a dozen times can be turned into some sweet conversational moments. Being retired, who cares when the sun comes up. There are no alarms. Yes, the older realm is not a bad one in which to reside. With pride.