Be my Valentine?

Seems that back in the third century, a Roman Emperor named Claudius II had a priest named Valentine executed, on or around Feb. 14.

Romantic, ain’t it? Okay, not really, I guess.

As it turns out, there was another guy named Valentine who was also executed by old Claudius on Feb. 14 of another year, or so history says.

That makes it better, right? Well, I guess not, if you get right down to it.

Actually, the names of those two martyrs, (or one of them; who knows?) were used to give Feb. 14 a new meaning. Good stuff, right?

Uh, not really. Seems a couple of days in mid-February had long been celebrated by Romans as a time of romance, whatever that meant in Rome at the time. According to a couple of sources, which may or may not be accurate, (I think they are; those Romans were something else) it included a heavy dose of – uh, shall we say – the temptations of the flesh.

All of which brings us to Feb. 14 of this year, and every year since most of us were born. Valentine’s Day has become a sweet, sentimental time of friendship, courtship, wooing, schmoozing, spooning, smooching, canoodling, etc., all of which may eventually lead to the altar. An altogether innocent, probably chaste, bursting forth of affection.

And if you believe that, I can sell you the deed to the Empire State Building in New York, or some beachfront in Arizona. Or both. Innocent? Sentimental? Try desperate.

The bloody origins that gave the day its name may not be emblematic today’s Valentine’s Day. However, few things are more pitifully agonizing than the tortures some young men go through in the twentyfirst century, trying to decide what to get in order to curry favor with that special someone. Will she be pleased, will she be disappointed, will she be offended?

I’ve said this in the past, and I’ll say it again: An entire industry has been built around male insecurity, and this industry has been named Valentine’s Day.

Billions of dollars are spent each year on Valentine cards. No telling how much on flowers. Along with that, the mind boggles at how much chocolate is purchased (actually, not a bad idea, unless the object of one’s affections is one of those rare females who doesn’t like chocolate; they do exist, so it’s a good idea to find out somehow what she likes and doesn’t like, and whether additions of such things as nuts, caramel, nougat, coconut, etc. would be welcome or disastrous).

I find myself being among the lucky at this time of year. It started when Alice and I started going together and I realized, much to my amazed joy, that she was a cheap date.

Today, after numerous years of marriage, I know there are a couple of things she definitely expects to get on Valentine’s Day. And they don’t include fancy cards that cost an arm and a leg, or equally fancy confections. But the things she wants, she definitely wants, so she gets them.

First, she wants a card. Not, as I said, something out of the offerings of even the most elegant store aisle. She wants me to make her a card. It’s something I do at Christmas and at the birthdays of special people. So she figures I can do one at Valentine’s.

She doesn’t want a mass-produced card. She wants her own, personalized Valentine, and it doesn’t have to be fancy or artful. She wants to know, in her heart of hearts, that no one else in the world will be getting a card like hers.

My cards tend to be on the humorous side, but she doesn’t mind that – in fact, I think she expects it, since it’s me. Whether serious or silly, it’s one of a kind. That’s what she wants, and that’s what she gets.

Second, there is a certain brand of chocolate candy that practically makes her swoon.

She likes the dark version of this particular chocolate treat, which isn’t always the easiest to find. But I usually manage. And I don’t have to venture into expensive stores or take trips to foreign countries to get it.

If it’s not around for Valentine’s, it’s usually there at another time during the year. I don’t make her wait for Valentine’s. She’ll get her dark chocolate. And it doesn’t have to be in a fancy box. I won’t give the name for fear that it might cause a run on that brand by some younger men more desperate than I am. Not that it would work; just because Alice likes a certain candy, it doesn’t follow that Darlene or Esmerelda will. I’m just not taking any chances.

Got a new grill Saturday. Nothing fancy, just one like I’ve always used. I had noticed flame showing out the side of the old one last week, so knew I needed a new one.

Is ten years a good time for a charcoal grill to last? If it’s used a lot? Oh, well, it’s time to start wearing out this one.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: David Nichol is a freelance writer who retired from the Times-Herald. He can be contacted at nicholdb@cablelynx.com.)