The trouble with hearts and flowers
Well Valentine’s Day has come and gone and it’s just as well. I’m all for love, faithfulness and looking deeply into someone’s baby blues, or in my case steely greys, but the pressure is just too much.
Why the romantics picked Valentine in the first place has always amazed me. The guy was apparently a 3rd century bishop of Rome who fell afoul of the officially pagan government of the time for baptizing and marrying Christians. For his transgressions he was beaten with clubs and stones, then beheaded and finally marinated before being stuffed into the ground. I say apparently because it’s not even too sure which Valentine we are talking about since there were likely more than one.
Personally, there were times as a child when I would have preferred being beaten and beheaded rather than take part in the Valentine’s Day celebrations at school. At the primary level we would spend all week stuffing a box with Valentines for the other kids in the class and then on Friday the teacher would pull them out one at a time and announce who the recipient was. Of course, the more popular the child the more cards he or she received which caused a lot of anxiety in the first place. This was compounded by the general tittering and giggling that went on when it was revealed who sent cards to whom.
For some reason or other I was extremely popular with girls who had pronounced squints and sported braces as opposed to the cutie in the second row who didn’t even know my name. Looking back, I can’t help but think if there is any justice in the world the squinters all went on to have brilliant smiles and successful careers as fashion models or corporate lawyers.
Face it, the road to romance is fraught with peril. Just look at some of the story book cases of love. Abelard and Heloise are a perfect example. Peter Abelard was a teacher in 12th century Paris who made the mistake of falling in love with his student, Heloise, a no-no given their disparity in age and social standing. Nevertheless, they persevered, married and had a child. Heloise’s family ended things when they kidnapped Heloise and beat Abelard just short of death. She ended up in a convent and he became a monk. They continued to love each other and wrote letters back and forth for the rest of their lives. And all this is celebrated as a great love story!
In fiction we have Romeo and Juliet, two teenagers who defy their respective families - who are part of an ongoing feud - and become amorously involved. Shakespeare has them trade a lot of inspiring dialogue full of protestations of love but in the end the Bard was a realist. There is no happily-ever-after, both end up dead. Once again, for some reason, the tale is celebrated as great love story.
One of the oddest tales of love and romance was that of Victoria and Albert. The dowdy little Queen of England was hopelessly and helplessly smitten with her stuffy, German consort. Together they had nine children in a 21-year span and could scarcely stand being apart. When Albert suddenly died in 1861 Victoria began dressing in black and spent the next forty years in her widow’s weeds despite carrying on a rather odd dalliance with her Scots man servant, John Brown. Another much heralded tale of true love with a bitter ending.
The list goes on: Paris and Helen of Troy, a love which not only launched a thousand ships but caused the slaughter of untold Greeks and Trojans; Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson, where a man gave up a crown (thankfully) for the woman he loved and got just what he deserved; Jean-paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. . . never mind I never understood that one either.
It’s simple, finding love and holding onto it is hard enough without the added pressure of Valentine’s Day once a year. Why not just try being a little more romantic the other 364 days. At least getting a restaurant reservation will be a whole lot easier.