In Defense of Valentine's Day

There are a few things you should know about me.


I have a paralyzing fear of balloons and snakes.

If, for whatever reason, you hated me and wanted to torture me in the meanest way possible putting snakes in balloons and then filling my bedroom with the terrifying snake-alloons would be the perfect way to do it. For maximum terrification I recommend creating a device that will make the balloons pop at random intervals thus creating extreme anxiety about both popping noises and the increasing proximity to a slithering death creature.

Also...

I love Valentine's Day.

So, if whatever reason you loved me, and wanted to delight me in the nicest way possible the best way to do it would be with a Valentine - perhaps a Valentine that somehow incorporated wine and cake, because I love those things too..



As a young energetic lass with an incredibly artistic mother I always had the most amazing Valentine's Day boxes. While other children were covering their pathetic little shoe boxes with foil and construction paper hearts my mother and I were busy gutting the inside of a beloved teddy bear and shoving a plastic bottle up it's tuckus to create a free standing "Love Bear" . Though mine was clearly the best and most original VDay box, it wasn't the status that appealed to me. It was the process of creating something special with my Mom.


Yes, at an early age I knew the true meaning of Valentine's Day - love.


I'm kidding, at an early age I believed Valentine's Day was about getting gifts, being adored, parties with frosted cookies and finding a super cute boy to kiss and hold hands with. Once I even threw a fit when my father neglected to get me, his only daughter, a Valentine's Day present. (A few years later, learning his lesson, he gave me a SUPER sweet light purple hair crimper. That thing was amazing.)


It took me a while to find my love for Valentine's Day. 

So I can kinda see where there are some who aren't quite on board...yet. 

I've heard a lot of criticism of VDay this past week - from Jim Gaffigan on CBS Sunday Morning to the Huffington Post chart entitled "Will You Be Disappointed this Valentine's Day?" with every answer leading to yes to people questioning the history of the holiday. 

(said in my whiny baby voice)  It's too commercial. We don't need a silly holiday to remind us to love each other. I'm single, Valentine's Day makes me feel sad inside. 



Blarg. Come on people. 


I spent some time researching St. Valentine and the origination of this wonderful holiday and here's what I've come up with: 

The commercial holiday naysayers annoy me. Don't participate in the commercialism. Make your cards on recycled handmade paper, confect your own confections, grow your own flowers - or keep it simple and just look someone in the eyes and say "I love you".
Just because some idiots spend their dough on giant white teddy bears and oversized heart-shaped Mylar balloons saying "be mine" doesn't mean you have to. But don't throw the baby out with the bath water. She's a perfectly good baby.

Yes we fucking do need a holiday to remind us to love each other. Come on. We are awful, horrible, selfish people who are so uncomfortable with love we try to squelch the ONE DAY we've set aside to celebrate it. Look around, the world is rather lacking in love. If anything we need Valentine's Day once a month. Get on it Obama. 

Sure, we shouldn't have to remind people to express their love, but we do. It's very silly. It's also silly that we need labels on cigarette and rat poison packages to warn people they are deadly. It's silly we have to tell people not to preform the stunts on Jackass. It's silly we have to create laws telling people to wear their motherfucking seat belts, but that's just how it is.



As an overweight crazy cat lady who spent most of her Friday nights putting on fashion shows for her cat and eating chicken in the bathtub while watching Grease 2  I was never the target Valentine's Day audience. Rarely did I ever have a romance, let alone one that occurred on the holiday.  No one was sending me roses or chocolates or cards. I was a classic candidate for Anti-Valentine's Day -the kind of girl who should have spent her VDay dressed all in black, stalking local restaurants and sabotaging the romantic dates of happy couples. Or I should've cried while watching Nicolas sparks movies and eating gallon sized tubs of ice cream. I should've be sad. I was alone, because cats don't count as life partners. And to be alone is miserable and pathetic. 


Except I didn't feel miserable or pathetic. My tears didn't wash the fabric of my pillow every February 14th. I never dressed all in black - I prefer to dress like a rainbow. I was delighted for my friends who were happily coupled. 

I was happy being single on Valentine's Day or any other day, because I loved myself. 

First, when you have a cat around you are never truly alone. And no I don't care if that sounds pathetic. Cats are amazing. Especially mine.

Second, spending time by myself isn't depressing. It's awesome. I love myself -and I'm not talking masturbation (though it's perfectly healthy). I could spend a whole night just talking to myself in the mirror or doing a crazy art project or creating a short story about the weird guy in the neighborhood who walks around carrying a brief case full of cat food or getting drunk and making a new dish out of all the ingredients in the fridge. With me around there are endless fun things to explore.


Third, I think we make the mistake that romantic love is the only kind of love that counts. Or it counts the most. How limiting. How sad. I spent most of my young adult years being single, but I was never short on love. I have amazingly loving parents, a brother who adores me, friends who fill my life with love and laughter, co-workers who support and care about me, and grandparents and aunts and cousins. My life has always been filled to the brim with love. So, even just hanging with a cat and a rotisserie chicken on Valentine's Day I was still the luckiest girl in the world. I often decorated my tiny apartment with glitter hearts and mailed Valentine's cards to all my friends. Because if you are lucky enough to have love in your life at all then that is certainly something worth celebrating.




I've added more love to my life since being a single crazy cat lady.

Two more cats. 

I'm kidding. 



Actually, I have three cats, two children, an amazingly loving lady and one breathtakingly beautiful life. 

And you better believe I am sure to tell them all how much I love them EVERY SINGLE DAY, but especially on Valentine's Day. The day I set aside to go the extra mile and make a celebration out of my loves. 


I highly recommend you do the same and have yourself a very Happy Valentine's Day. 

The Coca-Cola Connection

Just drive in and get a Coke, if you're thirsty. 
  
                                                      - Waiting for Guffman 




My Nana always had a variety of carbonated beverages available to us. Her large off-white garage refrigerator was heavily stocked with Coke, Dr. Pepper and Diet Rite among others. Before every game of Liverpool Rummy you'd hear the distinct slam of the screen door followed by the sharp pop of an aluminum can. We'd drink and play and talk and eventually the caramel coloring would take effect and we'd be singing silly songs and slinging curse words across the table.

The tiny one car garage at my Great Grandmother's house barely had room for her giant brown 1970's Impala. She kept her sodas in the cardboard boxes provided and stacked them along the garage wall. Back in the days when my brother still consumed meat, we'd load up on sweet and sour chicken from Hong Kong Inn and storm through her front door unannounced. She'd rise from her green sitting chair and immediately begin preparing the kitchen table for our meal. "Get a Coke. You know where they are," she would say. Once the clanging and popping and pouring was complete we'd settle into our usual seats and catch up on the happenings of the week.

After yoga and before Jeopardy my east coast Grandparents often enjoy a rousing game of cards. Players grab snacks and beverages before pulling up to the long wooden antique table. Sodas were once stored in the house, but due to their unhealthy nature have been banished to the garage and reduced to mini-sizes. Carbonation junkies are required to exercise their calves as they journey down the hallway and staircase across the beautifully organized garage to access the devil juice in the tiny black refrigerator. Still, around the table, those delightful popping noises rouse conversation, sarcasm and connection.


There's something about Coke*. Something that brings people together.

Yup. Those are my finger blurs. I take a great picture. 

Ms. Judy, a feisty seventy something lady with billowy white hair and dark serious eyes, preferred to purchase her sodas in bulk - fifteen to twenty cases at a time. In the fridge on the main floor of the Administration building Judy would store a case of each carbonated beverage. Below, in the basement, she would stack the extras. The plethora of cardboard boxes would combine to create a colorful wall of carbonation. Only thirty or so people work at the Haven and maybe eight of them drink a soda on a regular basis. Even when the company downsized the soda supply did not. If suddenly four hundred people descended on The Haven and needed a jolt of bubbly caffeine goodness Ms. Judy was ready.



Often I had seen the generous amount of pop boxes sitting in the basement during my trips to pick up shoes or towels or blankets or something else stored in the dark nether quarters. I assumed the stash was reserved for parties or fundraisers or other business functions so I left it alone. From time to time, when the craving struck me, I'd take a walk down the street to Walgreens and fork over $1.69 for a Coke.

Then, one day, having no money at all and a deep desire for caffeine, I walked across the lawn to the Administration building. Quietly I put my key in the back door, hoping no one was working on the main floor. Tip toeing I snuck into Ms. Judy's kitchen. The smell of fried chicken still lingered in the air. Ms. Judy wasn't just the company's soda supplier, she also prepared all the meals.  She cooked lavish protein rich feasts for the admin boys - steaks, pork chops, filets, you name it. For the preschoolers she prepared more kid friendly dishes - grilled cheese, hot dogs and of course the occasional fried chicken and mashed potatoes. The kitchen and dining room were dark and empty. I could hear the faint sounds of men mumurming about business stuff and whatnot upstairs. Slowly, I opened the double doors to the refrigerator. Pepsi, Coke, Diet Coke, Diet Dr. Pepper, Dr. Pepper, Diet Pepsi, orange soda, root beer - SO MANY CHOICES. It was like Walgreens only better - it was free. As the bright fluorescent refrigerator lights illuminated my face I stood speechless taking in the beauty.

"Hello!" came a familiar voice from the other side of the door. Ms. Judy entered the kitchen carrying grocery bags. Flustered I rambled, "I was just getting...it's been a long day so I needed...I usually go to Walgreens but I thought maybe it would be alright if....I just needed a Coke." "Of course," she beamed, "Anytime, Sarah. Help yourself. Hey I'm trying this new recipe. Tell me what you think." She handed me a chocolate brownie looking thing with caramel and pretzels. I ate it. It was slightly soggy, but delicious. "Yummy. Thank you," and with Coke in hand I walked off  towards my building.

And like that a new connection was made. Over a Coke.

I made many trips to Ms. Judy's kitchen.

Once when I came into work with a slight hangover I sought out an early morning Coke - a long standing hangover cure of mine. Ms. Judy took one look at me and knew exactly what was up. "Had too much sauce last night, eh?" she cackled while cutting up a pineapple. "Ugh. Today's gonna be rough," I lamented while sampling her newest cookie recipe.

We had small moments like this most days  -

"How's your day?"
"Did you see that thing on the news?"
"Going anywhere exciting this weekend?"
"How's your brother?"
"Did you ever get that dishwasher fixed?"
"Would you like a Coke?"
"How about a piece of chocolate?"
"Would you like me to make an extra hot dog for you? Of course, I'll burn it for you Sarah."

I came to learn of Ms. Judy's love of travel, her devout Catholic beliefs, her enjoyment of alcoholic beverages, her lack of knowledge about other co-workers actual names, her husband's interest in golf and her children's various life choices - all in these brief moments.


Then, one day, she was gone.


On Wednesday morning I came to work and I found out there wouldn't be any more moments with Ms. Judy. She died sitting in her chair watching television. All those hellos and how are yous and questions about my life and sharings about her life were gone and replaced with silence.


I burst into tears.


When my Nana died ten years ago I could feel a part of myself become empty. I still had all my organs and two elbows and eyes and ears and I could feel my heart beating and my stomach dropping and my throat closing. All of my toes were still intact and my fingers were fully functional. Though I couldn't identify the location, a part of me that was once full and present was suddenly empty and gone. And it fucking hurt like hell.

Then, after all the crying and screaming and grieving and drinking I began the slow process of regrowing the part of me that vanished.

I collected connections that reminded me of Nana or that somehow honored her memory. I sang "Sugar in the Morning" at inappropriate moments. I told her stories. I taught my friends to play Liverpool Rummy. I reminisced with my brother. I developed a closer relationship with my great grandmother and maternal grandmother. I became a mentor. I prayed. I went to church. I made cookies with my children.  I painted my toenails red. I wore her jewelry. I slammed screen doors. I answered the phone singing. I drank Cokes with white haired ladies in elastic pants.

Eventually I felt less empty.

When my Great Grandmother died I could feel the emptiness expand again. And again I grieved and set out on a quest for connections.

The moment I heard of Ms. Judy's death I felt it again. Smaller, but still, an emptiness.

She wasn't my grandmother or dearest friend. There were hundreds at her funeral with decades of memories and moments with Ms. Judy. Really, I was just a blip in Ms. Judy's life as she was in mine. We spent no more than seventy-two total hours together. Though somehow those small moments made a big impact on me. Through her I found connection to those I had lost.



So, now, here I am, drinking a Coke and finding new ways to connect and fill the empty.





















*This author in no way endorses Coke, Coke products or the Coca-Cola company. Coke is actually pretty bad for you and the Coca-Cola company has done some shitty things over the years. So, take this Coke stuff with a grain of salt or a shot of whiskey.