Mostly, I celebrated by not celebrating. I planned, today, to post about how Joe & I felt about Valentine’s Day. Our stance on it, since everyone seems to have one. I don’t like roses & chocolates. Not for the cliché or the anything. I just happen not to. I happen not to like being in crowded restaurants. But I have no feelings about Valentine’s Day.
Itwas the first holiday that Joe & I celebrating, finding a snow-covered bench in the quad of our university’s campus to exchange small gifts after only a month of dating. (I think this was the moment when I gave Joe cookie do, so that he could have fresh cookies whenever he wanted, only to find a the container on the coffee table days later. He was still eating it. It had never seen the fridge. I knew then that I’d have some work to do…*)
For yesterday’s Valentine’s Day, I appreciated my husband a little extra, which had more to do with Joe giving me a back rub, an Old Fashioned & a patient ear while I whine about how much I cannot deal with math that it did with any holiday. This is what I love about marriage. His just being there, even if that means he’s laying on the bed writing while I sit on the floor in the living room working.
And that is what I wish I could explain to people when they look at the rings on my finger & say, again, “You got married young.” Maybe I did. Or maybe I didn’t, because what does that mean? And why does it matter? And what is the age for marriage today, & what does that mean? What am I to have accomplished before I marry (because that sounds like some pressure I couldn’t have handled)? And why? Why can’t I find someone that loves me for the mess I am while I figure everything out? Someone who’s willing to move through the world with me & figure out what we want & what we’re not? Because it all feels wonderful.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Joe!
I’m feeling insanely nostalgic lately. As Joe begins to plan his next career step & we look toward leaving Bloomington, we both find ourselves wishing the move was back across the pond, to a cozy apartment under a Mansard roof*. It doesn’t help that our friend’s band has been up to wonderful things we left. So today, I’ll leave you with this. His voice is a piece of some of my favorite memories from last year–standing in front of Joe, surrounded by our group of ex-pat friends swayed to the beginnings of the Aerials. (Because the French will not dance at a concert, only stand respectfully.)
*Just kidding, Joe. I love you. But that was gross.