ALT-14 Making Valentines Day Gestures more Meaningful
It seems like only yesterday that I sat in the living room of our tiny house, wringing my hands, wrought with inadequacy. I was just out of college and working for a pitiful wage. My wife was still going to school full time.
To say money was tight would be like saying a snakebite is unpleasant. I had a full heart and an empty wallet - and only one day to put together a Valentine's Day celebration even half fitting of my feelings for her.
She was not a material girl, but it still seemed wrong for such a perfect and supportive wife to have anything less than a day as a princess. Unfortunately, the money was too sparse to go out and buy a diamond ring or even fancy new outfit. All I really had in abundance was love and time.
Despite my dread, that Valentine's Day five years ago remains one of our most special nights. Although I was unable to raise any funds for V-Day bling, the love and time turned out to be plenty. Instead of adding dollar signs, I added meaning by going above and beyond to stretch every penny into something special.
I came home early from work on Valentine's Day morning to get started on the plan that had begun to materialize in the shower before the sun had peeked over the horizon.
The first step was to use the spare cash I had to buy supplies. I needed strawberries, chocolate fruit dip, Valentine's cookies, balloons, streamers, flowers, tea candles, boneless chicken breasts, an orange, a calligraphy pen and some nice stationery. The store was just three miles away, so I hopped out of my car at home, ran inside, grabbed the stash of V-Day cash and ran back outside.
The keys, of course, were locked in the car. The odds had started out against me that morning even if I had both adequate transportation and supplies. Suddenly, I was dead in the water - unless I walked. Even then, it would add two hours to my prep time.
After considering my options, my feet took over. I set out along our street, my hands in my pockets to shield against the near-freezing wind. I had left my jacket in the car along with my keys. By the time I had been walking for five minutes, my nose and eyes were pouring various fluids.
Almost 40 minutes later, I walked through the supermarket doors and tried to shake off the cold. Running had cut a bit of time, but the frigid air had not been kind to my lungs, so I had slowed back to a steady walk.
I grabbed my supplies and checked out. On the long walk home, I marveled at how the term "a lot of groceries" is relative to how you're getting them home. I felt like I was carrying quadruplets.
Almost an hour later, I walked back inside and started throwing things together. I filled two fish bowls with water and floated the tea candles on them. I blew up the white, red and pink balloons and scattered them across the floor - a bubbly sea of feminine shades.
I logged on to the computer and quickly set up a romantic playlist of music she'd never heard - from Morphine's "The Night." I did my best to follow the recipe for Asian Orange Chicken and tossed it into the oven.
Then I did something that is far from the comfort zone of any red blooded male - I arranged the flowers, then put the cookies and chocolate-dipped strawberries on a crystal platter in a way that I thought would be visually appealing (to my culinary art major wife).
Then I set to work creating a poetic treasure hunt for the few modest gifts I had purchased weeks earlier. Although writing has always been a passion of mine, poetry is not my thing. Somehow, though, she always manages to inspire me to write just enough to charm her.
Each little poem was a cryptic description of a gift's hiding place. I hid the gifts, put each poem in an envelope, and ran to pull dinner out of the oven. While I had the searing pan of experimental chicken precariously balanced on an oven mitt, the phone jangled.
Uh oh.
I set down the pan and grabbed the handset. She was on her way - about five minutes down the road.
In a panic, I did my best to arrange the "guy gourmet" dinner in an aesthetically-pleasing way. I ran to the living room and lit the floating candles, then barely managed to slide to the desk and get Morphine humming before she rang the doorbell.
I won't go on about the details of her reaction or our night together. That's a memory that is just for my wife and me. I still felt bad for not buying her an eye-popping diamond, but she showed no signs of disappointment.
In fact, to this day, she goes on about how that year was the most special Valentine's Day of her life. Instead of getting insulted when I think how our situation has improved and our gift-giving has benefitted, I finally have mentally grasped the "why."
It all came down to thought and effort. For a few years there, when I began making far more than I had that frigid morning, the influx of money made me lazy about my efforts. Bigger gifts seemed to somehow hurt my romantic touch.
Instead of scaling the presents down, I think we need to ratchet the presentation and effort up a few notches. If we treat each expression of love like it's a fight to prove our feelings, no gesture will seem hollow or insincere.
