CyberValentine


Boy Howdy! There is this guy I would like to give a piece of my mind 'cept he has been dead sixteen-hundred and forty-four years. Thanks to him I suffer a variety of emotional ailments each year on his day of honor.

Last Valentine's evening, a girlfriend calls and chides, "You're alone on Valentine's day too! Ha!" Little does she realize her key word is "too." Nonetheless, how very embarrassing to hear her tease.

I am such a hopeless romantic. I have not enjoyed a girlfriend or a boyfriend in years. Actually, sometimes, I think this may be a blessing. Blessing or not, another ailment I suffer is an intense desire to have someone, anyone, to send a Valentine message. Valentine cards are so much fun. Imagine being able to send one of those "singing" Valentine's. Some handsome guy or beautiful girl dressed in an outrageous Cupid outfit, singing a silly love song and shooting little rubber tipped arrows at a grinning victim. A more personal ailment is simply wishing to receive a card or love note on this day of sweethearts.

All of this trouble, this age old battle of the sexes, started back around 270 A.D. at the height of the Roman Empire. Emperior Claudis Goth becomes a bit perturbed with a Christian priest then beheads him. Christians were not real popular back then, except as food for lions. Hard to believe Romans felt feeding Christians to lions a real "sport." It is not like Christians were riding in chariots being chased by lions. No, they were fed to lions. The Christian Crusades were a bit more sporting.

As this story sorta tells, a priest by the name of Valentine has a very bad habit of converting Romans to a new religion, Christianity. Our pagan emperor, Claudis, feels his political power is threatened by this priest, so he has him jailed. While in jail, Father Valentine reportedly cures a jailkeeper's daughter of blindness. Claudis loses his head over this, as does Valentine, more literally.

History is a little cloudy on the identity of Father Valentine. He may have been a bishop in a city some sixty miles from Rome. Another side of the story has Bishop Valentine of Interanma, today Terni, as the one reduced in height by Claudis, the head emperior. Nevertheless, sometime around the year 350 A.D., a basilica, a church with rows of large marble columns so popular then, is built in honor of Father or Bishop Valentine. Recently archaeologist uncovered the remains of who is believed to be Bishop Valentine, in the catacombs of this church. I am curious how they identified the remains as his, heady material for thought.

More heady material for mindful consideration are some of the activities in celebration of this sweetheart of a guy who becomes a saint by curing a jailkeeper's young daughter of blindness.

During the Dark Ages, heart struck English misses, to draw out their secret lovers, would circle a church twelve times at midnight chanting, "I sow hemp, hemp I sow, he that loves me best come after me now." I doubt they were growing rope. What a heady way to get a guy. Even more romantic is an age old custom of single and available young ladies, who write the names of various possible suitors on pieces of paper. Each paper with a name on it, is rolled up in a clay tube then tossed into a convenient body of water. The first scrap of paper to surface, tells a hopeful valentine the name of her lover. To find out if her newly discovered valentine truly loves her, our amorous lady strikes her forehead with a folded rose petal. If the petal cracks, she knows he truly loves her. Do you think these are red roses at fifty bucks a dozen? A well-known poet by the name of Robert Herrick takes a bit more sensible approach when he writes, "She must know more by a-maying than by rosebuds divine who'll be her valentine." A fanciful way of saying, "Maybe he loves me. Maybe he does not."

More dreamy ladies pin five bay leaves to their pillow; one in the center and one on each corner. During their sleep it is said the identity of their valentines will come to them in dreams.

Finding a valentine is not all that easy. I tried sowing hemp seeds and only got into a shitload of trouble for growing marijuana. Those pieces of paper with names rolled up in clay led to a phone call to Rotor Rooter. Bay leaves make my pillows smell like incense and gives me nightmares. After all that, it would have been easier to have Cupid shoot an arrow through my head.

Saint Valentine's day is really nothing more than an excuse for some hot romance. Of course, that is an unspoken truth. Guys are supposed to act in a way not inherent to their nature by gender. Sweet, tender, romantic but never as nature intends, horny. Setting aside Libido, there really is something special about this loving day of flowers, chocolates and hearts.

All of us can be romantic, you know. For those who are bashful this day gives us an opportunity to send a love message to someone special, a person we are interested in but too shy to approach. Friends even make this day a little extra special by sending each other silly Valentine cards or gifts. Saint Valentine's day is very special in another way. It almost rivals Christmas in love and gift giving. Although it is a religious day, somehow it seems too fun to be; we do not have to go to church.

I have often wished I could give a magic wand to my wanna-be Valentine lover. Silly, not one of those wands a magician uses, a wand you use to blow bubbles. My wand would be magically loving. My wand would blow small heart shaped bubbles. My lover could purse very kissable lips then blow little hearts which will float all about him, or her. Beats roses by far.

Saint Valentine, I would like to give you a piece of my mind, just a small piece. I seem to have lost most of mine over the years. Oh, I would not say anything you would lose your head over, but I would like to discuss this arrow in the butt thing. My butt is too easy of a target, being rather plump.

Thank you, Saint Valentine, for giving us a day during which romance is acceptable in an age when romance seems to no longer exist. Curse you Saint Valentine for giving us one of the most lonely days of the year. Your day is not a day to spend alone. Such a paradox am I. A hopeless romantic in a world with no Romeos, no Juliets. So talented in romance. So loving, so tender, so sweet and no lover upon whom to bestow my talents, not that I am complaining; I am actually very happy alone. I could be happier together. Especially if mine is Juliet instead of a Romeo. Trying out romance is so very frightening. I love you and hate you Saint Valentine. You lost your head and you are causing me to lose mine. What a sweetheart of a guy!