Why Valentines?

Every year I think about the days when my life felt all about romance and had no romance in it. In fact, it had working to survive cancer in it. Or the even earlier days when all the other high school girls got Homecoming mums and I never did. Already two good reasons to proliferate Valentines into the world.

And then there's knowing I have people close to me who've lost their husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, closest friends, little dogs and cats. so much love suddenly leaving holes in their lives. Getting a Valentine in the mail isn't top-of-mind for them. All the more reason why they should get one.

More tenderly, I think about a row of little white paper bags, a riot of crayon embellishment, construction paper add-ons and hand-lettered names. Those stood on the brick ledge under the big windows at Valley Oaks Elementary School. We spent at least one art class making them ourselves, and there they were, a red-and-white fringe to our panoramic view of squirrels running up distinguished oak trees and birds winging through the damp Houston skies. They represented huge anticipation. 

Because ... On Valentine's Day, we would bring dime-store Valentines, hand-signed and folded into little white envelopes. And all of us would drop Valentines into those white sacks. Sometimes candy, too. And the room mothers would arrive with trays of cupcakes and jugs of punch and decorated cookies and all sorts of party treasure to stim us up to unbearable levels. Poor teachers! Our little minds pondered the heavy questions:

• Should I give a Valentine to everyone? What about that mean kid who pulled me off the monkey bars? Ugh! Him, too?
• What if (insert name of current crush) gives me a Valentine??
• What if (insert name of current crush) doesn't give me a Valentine??
• What if my sack only has a couple in there at the end of class? Or NONE?
• What if ...

All in all, I'd have to say I grew up with a pretty sweet bunch of kids, and everyone's mom lobbied for the kid who pulled people off the monkey bars, just because Valentine's Day was about love, no matter what. There was a wonderful joy in the simplicity of carrying home a fistful of sweets and a white sack of Valentines to read and smile, cringe or chuckle over. And that simple joy is what I'm after when I mail someone a Valentine. Just a moment of that will do. Everyone needs a moment of that. 

So, many years ago, I started making Valentines. At first, I made sure I had enough for the people who weren't expecting them. The ones having a tough time who I just wanted to give a little lift to. And then other friends saw them and asked (and begged and sighed over) them. So I made more. One year I think I was up well beyond 100 of them hitting the mail.

Each one becomes part of a story. I will never know all those stories, but I can tell you one. I had a long-distance fellow-artist friend who was dear to me. We'd call each other with encouragement or sometimes just to have the comfort of talking about things other people didn't care about (watercolor paper, paint brands, abstract vs. representational...). We had "met" because we were both in a national art exhibit and reached out to one another because we liked each other's work. We'd never met in person. But. of course, she was on the Valentine list. As the years went on, her husband developed dementia. It weighed on her. One February she called me to tell me that his world was diminishing, but one thing he still liked to do was bring in the mail. And my Valentine had arrived that day. "Rhonda, his face broke into a smile. He can't speak anymore, but he carried that Valentine around all day long, smiling." 

It may be the best Valentine I ever sent. But I'll never know. 

Every year I tell myself they're too much work, too much of an interruption. After all, I can only produce so many, but I somehow manage. And every year I get texts and stories and happiness thrown back at me when I mail them. I get to create more joy in the world.

That's why Valentines.