Valentine Recipe

The stores were glutted with Valentine candy last week and I bought the hubs his dream come true: an impossibly huge bag of peanut M&Ms. I told him to hide it from me, but I found it in the pantry, amongst the pharmaceuticals. I haven't snitched even one yet, but my resolve can only hold out for so long. We won't talk about the fact that the Girl Scouts came 'round the other day.

Every holiday is connected to candy. Even Thanksgiving gets its gobbler-shaped chocolates, not to mention the candy corn that's still hanging on from Halloween. The stores stock up the appropriate two aisles of selections, people dash around the day before, snatching up last-minute gifts and treats...then there's a 50% off sale the whole week after. Then they start stocking for the next holiday. It's insane. How am I ever going to escape Willie Wonka and that blasted Chocolate Factory? Now that cacao has been labeled an antioxidant, I'm really never going to get delivered of my confectionary demons. I forget that cacao is really the same thing as cocoa, that bitter stuff that Mama used to buy in cans and tastes horrible until you put lots of sugar and butter in it. I don't give a rip about fried chicken, French fries or macaroni and cheese. Whip me up a brownie with ice cream and fudge sauce, tote me on out to the curb and dump me out with the trash. 

I couldn't help but think on some of my past Valentines and the last 37 with my Sugar Bear. I feel sorry for all the expectations put on men, in particular, on that silly day. There's no way most of them ever get it right. Who could? But there's been a whole lot of money made with all the trying. Ken has learned to just get me some flowers (with the help of his children) and some chocolate. It's sweet, to the point, with no surprises. Surprises can be overrated, although a puppy or a pony once a decade doesn't hurt anybody's score card. I'm late into my fifth decade and I still mentally put those two items on my Christmas list. I think heaven must be full of those.

My sweetheart was sick with a stomach flu this week, moaning and groaning and unable to get much relief. I got aggravated with him because it seemed to never end. Then I thought about how, if we tarry long, we might be in store for a lot of never-ending whining going on, from both of us. When you are young, carefree and strong, you don't think about all that. You line up with your pretty, fair friends and say vows that sound nice and true. Then there comes a day when he's got a paunch, you've got what looks like twins in the oven, and both of your hairlines are receding. Your skin is starting to crinkle up, it's hard to remember where your glasses are and I think my hip just cracked. We might have a long haul ahead of us, maybe not. In sickness and in health, in wealth or poverty, til death do us part. I reach over and find his big ole warm hand. I press my fingers to his lips. Even though he's asleep, he kisses them. Some days I could just slap him, and then others I melt. And on any given day I have no idea how he puts up with my sass. I thank God for the truth of grace, the slow, steady path that is commitment, and the shared yoke that we have shouldered all these years. It doesn't feel like a yoke. It feels like a whole lot of words, tears, laughter, and life, in between the mundane parts. There's oatmeal and then there's champagne. It's all good.