Valentine's Day - A Few Random Thoughts

by Sandy Cody

First and most important, Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope all of you are fortunate enough to spend the day with someone you love. It doesn’t have to be a sweetheart. Most of us love a lot of people and we love them in a lot of different ways. However, tradition has made Valentine’s Day all about romantic love - the happily-ever-after kind of love we dream about when we’re young - and, truth be told, probably never stop dreaming about. And, somehow, a heart that looks nothing like our actual heart has become the symbol of love.

To celebrate, even the most practical among us send sentimental cards to someone special and hope to receive a token that assures us that our love is returned. Maybe red roses or chocolates will go along with that card. (By the way, I have it on good authority that Valentine chocolate contains no calories.) You and your someone special may go out for a romantic, candle-lit dinner at a restaurant you usually consider beyond your budget. It's a day when the usual rules don't apply.

As near as I can tell, these customs began sometime in the Middle Ages in England and may be linked to the fertility rites that took place in that restless season when winter is ending and spring beginning. Makes sense. Whatever the reason, love truly does seem to fill the air at that time of year. If you’re not in love when spring hits, you want to be.

Is it really true that all you need is love? Your answer to that may depend on your age. If you’re very young ... say 15 (that’s how old I was when I fell in love the first time) ... you’ll probably answer “yes” without hesitation. If you’re a little older, you’re likely to hesitate. A whole list of “needs” may occur to you. Most of us need a little something in addition to love - but not much. Our fifteen-year-old selves were not too far off the mark. If we have love, we may need something more - but not much.

A personal note about my all-time favorite Valentine: I've been married fifty-plus years, and have received close to that many Valentines (yes, he did forget a couple of times), but the one I treasure most came when we were well into those years. It said "Happy Valentine's Day to my best friend". It may not seem romantic to everyone, but it touched my heart.

So, again, Happy Valentine’s Day. Tell the people you love how much they mean to you. Cry over your mushy card. Smell your roses. Enjoy your calorie-free chocolates. Savor this day set aside just for love.

It Only Takes a Minute....

I love love. Is there any more wondrous event in life than finding another person to share your future? When this happens, it is truly nothing less than a miracle. Think about it. Six billion people in the world and you find The One who is meant to be your life partner. Amazing that this happens at all. Even more amazing is that finding and falling in love with "The Right One" happens as often as it does. This is my story:

Once in a while, we make a decision that changes the direction of our lives forever. And sometimes, we rescind that decision in a mistaken belief that we made the wrong decision in the first place.

Four years after I finished my degree, I had the opportunity to attend a week long Welsh language course — an interest I had developed during my post-graduate trip to the British Isles. A month before the course began, I changed my mind because I’m not good at learning languages and, after all, it was a whim. I requested a refund. With some reluctance, Cymdeithas Madog agreed to return the small fee.

One morning, a week later, while I read the Sunday paper, I realized that I had probably shut the door on an experience I might find useful in the future. I intended to write about my visit to Wales, and a knowledge of the language was always a good thing.

I canceled my cancellation, knowing that my reputation with the Cymdeithas was now tainted.
The course began in the first week of August. My first indication that I had made the right decision to return my whimsical pursuit of learning Welsh when, on the opening introductory evening, my attention was drawn to one of the name cards of someone who had not yet arrived — one of the course tutors.

His last name was the same as a writer I had studied on my course, but his first name looked French — an added intrigue.

I returned to following morning to attend the first day of the course. That enchanted morning, across a crowded room, sat a man with a guitar. I stared at him. He glanced at me.

Thankfully, I was assigned to another tutor and that evening I had a chance to meet this Welsh-speaking guitarist on less shaky ground at an external, related event. I, the Big City girl, and he, the charming innocent from the market town in the county made famous by the Lord Rhys, gravitated to each other as though we knew from the minute we glimpsed one another we were meant to be together.

I learned much more Welsh in that week than the course could have promised. Though we were discreet, my follow learners and his fellow tutors knew we were crazy about one another. Parting at the end of the course was dreadful. He had to go on to visit friends in Maryland where he had attended the Conservatory of Music and I had to return to my job as graduate liaison officer at my former university. We made promises to write, certain never to meet again.

I wrote my first of many letters to him that night. Twenty-four long, dreary hours passed. On the third day of our separation, he phoned — as he promised he would. He was miserable in Maryland. I was thrilled he wanted to come back to spend another week in San Francisco.


Over burgers and milkshakes at Great America, he told me he wanted four children and I accepted his proposal. Crazy as it seems, we have now been soul mates and best friends, partners and parents of three (reality did kick in eventually!) for 32 years.