{"id":1522,"date":"2007-02-12T22:01:00","date_gmt":"2007-02-12T22:01:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2007\/02\/12\/something-heartfelt"},"modified":"2007-02-12T22:01:00","modified_gmt":"2007-02-12T22:01:00","slug":"something-heartfelt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2007\/02\/something-heartfelt\/","title":{"rendered":"Something heartfelt"},"content":{"rendered":"
Before I begin, I have to assure you that it\u2019s not really as bad as it may seem. I\u2019m not a curmudgeon, I swear. I\u2019m not one of those bitter types who while away February by spitting on the displays of pink-and-red heart garlands in the grocery store. (Although, come to think of it, now that I\u2019ve written that sentence, if I were<\/i> a curmudgeon, I\u2019d know exactly what to do.) It\u2019s just that Valentine\u2019s Day doesn\u2019t really excite me. It\u2019s not like Thanksgiving or Christmas, those holidays that come with catchy tunes to hum under your breath, the holidays that invite all sorts of baking and splurging and beautiful, endless buffet tables. Valentine\u2019s Day feels a little stilted, that\u2019s all. Too often, it\u2019s like an obstacle course or a big end-of-term exam, a test to prove how good you are, or how impossibly romantic you can be. I like my romance under less fraught circumstances. It just feels more romantic that way.<\/p>\n
Maybe I shouldn\u2019t admit this, but I don\u2019t even remember what Brandon and I did last Valentine\u2019s Day. I have no idea. I don\u2019t even know if we were in the same city. I\u2019m sure it was nice, whatever it was, but to tell you the truth, it has nothing on any number of other, more ordinary days. Like, for example, one Saturday last July. I think of that day a lot. It was overcast, and we left at midday and drove north to Bellingham. We had a bag of spicy peanuts in the console, and I was wearing a new pair of shoes. We stopped at a Goodwill near Mount Vernon and bought a Pyrex dish that I love, and then we ate spaghetti with pesto for dinner. Our canopy bed at the Best Western was nearly four feet high \u2013 it had stairs<\/i>, people \u2013 and the next morning, when I tried to climb down, I banged my hip on the bedside table and got a whopper of a bruise. We laughed about it for a long time. I loved that trip.<\/p>\n
Or then there was September 15, the day after my birthday, the day that Brandon spent sitting on the floor of my family\u2019s kitchen in Oklahoma City<\/a>, wrestling contentedly with a rusty bolt in my father<\/a>\u2019s old espresso machine. He spent hours sitting there, watching us come and go, rigging and wrenching and wielding a can of WD-40. When he finally pried the bugger loose, the machine shuddered to life with a squeal and a roar, a sound none of us had heard since my father died. Brandon worked the knobs with a sort of sweet, fearful reverence, and my mother fawned over her cappuccino for hours<\/i>.<\/p>\n Or there\u2019s that time a few weeks ago, when we decided that dinner at home was too much trouble and drove instead to Malena\u2019s<\/a>, as we sometimes do. The cilantro on my beans was a little wilted, but the guacamole was good, and so were the tortillas. We sat next to the heating vent, under the fluorescent tubes, and I tickled my foot along his calf, and all of it cost under nine dollars. I\u2019d take any of these for a Valentine\u2019s Day. They\u2019re good enough for me. A special holiday for lovers is a very nice idea, but I\u2019d much rather a little daily something heartfelt \u2013 a touch, a look, a table for two at a tacqueria \u2013 instead.<\/p>\n So I\u2019m not a big Valentine\u2019s buff. I don\u2019t need any fancy celebrations or fanfare. (Never mind that Brandon has apparently planned some sort of huge, secret to-do for this Wednesday, nor that he is so impatient to share it with me that he asks at least once a day, \u201cDo you want me to tell you what it is? No<\/span>? Are you sure<\/i>?\u201d I know I will love it, whatever it is \u2013 but mainly because he\u2019s so unbearably cute when he\u2019s scheming and planning and itching to tell a secret, not so much because it\u2019s Valentine\u2019s Day.) For me, a quiet dinner is just fine. Or better than fine, even, especially when it concludes on the couch, with sleek, squidgy wedges cut from a chocolate tart.<\/p>\n I know, because that was our Saturday. I didn\u2019t want to interfere with Brandon\u2019s secret scheme for Wednesday, so this weekend I made us an early Valentine\u2019s dinner. We started with a favorite salad, a purply jumble of slivered red cabbage and lemon, and then moved on to panade<\/a><\/i>, which is pretty plush and sexy as winter dishes go. (It is also quite filling; be warned.) It was a good meal, minus the part where I got painfully hungry before supper was ready and Brandon had to step in to make the salad while I, in a panic, set the table. But the best part was undoubtedly the tart.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n