Valentine's Day

          The first Valentine's Day that Mike and I spent together after we were, I thought, securely sweethearts fell on a Monday, a night I was already spending at his house on a regular basis. 

          All disappointments come from expectations, so I'll admit that because I was looking forward to some small recognition of our sweetheart status, I was equally dismayed when nothing seemed forthcoming. Finally, I mentioned that this was Valentine's Day, somehow adding a subtle hint about Valentine gifts. 

       He was nonchalant and dismissive. He said he thought Valentine's Day was just some commercial trick, another way to make people buy things, and that it didn't deserve any attention.

          I was stunned. I said—well, I probably wailed, "I think it's an opportunity!"—an opportunity to say, "I love you," to recognize each other as sweethearts. "Don't you think of me in that capacity?" I asked—or, probably, wailed. 

           Oh, yes, yes, of course, he reassured me. But he hadn't thought it was necessary to give me something for Valentine's Day to say so. 

          I didn't say anything more, and we went to bed together as usual, but I was still upset. I was probably repeating the "opportunity" line, until finally Mike said, defensively, "But you didn't give me anything."

          "Oh, but I do have something," I said. "I didn't give it to you when I realized you didn't have anything for me because I didn't want to make you feel bad." But since I had already made him feel bad by being upset, I got out of bed and brought him his present: a wedge of Rogue Creamery's Rogue River Blue cheese, at that time one of the top sixteen cheeses in the world (and now judged number one, the best blue cheese in the world) along with a copy of the essay in my book Wisdom of the Heart that talks about chocolates and cheeses and ends with this paragraph: "Chocolate speaks for the heart. 'I love you. See? I brought you chocolates.' But any good food can speak for the heart. Maybe a wedge of Rogue River Blue would work as well. 'Here, sweetheart. Have a taste. C'est mon coeur qui parle.'"

          "It's my heart that speaks," I translated as I read the essay to Mike, there in bed. It was my heart speaking to him through my Valentine's Day gift, taking advantage of the opportunity that Valentine's Day gives us to let our hearts speak.

          We were reconciled, then, and fell asleep with love in our hearts. 

          You can be sure that Mike has never neglected Valentine's Day since.

          And, of course, I've built a box around myself because there's no way I can neglect Valentine's Day, either, after making such a big deal about it the first time. But that's all right. I like having an opportunity to do something special for Mike, something that is a voice from my heart. Tomorrow night he's coming over for dinner. I'll spend the day preparing: cooking, setting the table with my Provencal tablecloth, lighting candles, dressing in a black lace skirt with a black top and a red silk scarf. Mike will arrive with wine. I'll serve figs and arugula wrapped in prosciutto for hors d'oeuvres and, for dinner, pork tenderloin with carmelized pears, a three-cheese baked spinach, and wine-braised olives. For dessert, I'll set before him a mousse-filled chocolate heart, a little heart-shaped sandwich of white and dark chocolate filled with luscious chocolate mousse. When Mike says how beautiful everything is and how good the dinner, I'll say, "Yes, sweetheart. C'est mon coeur qui parle." Then I'll give him my present, which is the same thing I've given him for the past three years: a hardbound book of my love poems to him. Here is the last poem in this year's book:

Valentine Book of Love Poems, 20920

Bigger than ever
is this year's Valentine Book of Love Poems.
No wonder.
Fear of losing you to cancer spurred love into writing poetry.
The sunshine explosion of "cancer-free"
was a bigger reason yet.
Your placing a diamond ring on my left hand
set my pen scribbling at a zany pace.
Our wedding and honeymoon alone
were reasons enough for a hundred poems
and the fraction of those that emerged on paper
were as big with love as all one hundred.

Bigger than ever
were the reasons
to write love poems this year
but the biggest reason of all
is my love for you:
constantly growing
bigger than ever.