Happy Valentine's Day

Some of you probably clicked the link to this blog entry expecting me to have a small diatribe on St. Valentine's Day. Perhaps, you thought I would call it a Hallmark holiday, or point out what a waste of money and calories flowers and candy are. At least one of you, you know who you are, were hoping I would write about the mysterious third century Roman saint, who gave us at least the name of the day. As a note, the rest of you are relieved I am not. Maybe you even thought I would poke fun at this heart filled, pink and fluff day. I'm nit going to write about any of those things. Instead, I thought I would write about something a little more personal.

It was Wednesday, the day before Valentines Day, at 3:30 PM. I had to go soon, so I could make it appear as if I was changing nothing about my schedule. The thirty minutes should give me time to hit the Jeweler, then if they didn't have what I was looking for, transition to plan B. My mission, if I chose to accept it (and I did), was to delight and surprise Shelly. Isn't it awesome to do that for someone you love?

I pull into the lot of 14Kt Jewelers and make my way inside. Not only is this shop strategically placed between work and home, but it is my wife's favorite jeweler. Do you know how wrong that is? Who has a favorite jeweler? I guess it is the kind of person who wins jewelry by guessing the karats of the stones by look alone. In my mind I see the classic 50's robot gyrating and flailing its arms saying, "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger."

The store is empty except for one young lady, I think the daughter of the owners, but I am not sure. I tell her I am looking for Black Diamond earrings. My wife saw a pair she liked a lot over Christmas, and I acted completely uninterested in them ( you can never start too early preparing for these sort of mission). The lady looks at me and asks what kind. I tell her studs and she says they don't have anything like that, but they have these. Her hand waves over the top of the glass cabinet and inside I see a selection of multi stone earrings with black and white diamonds in gold settings. I can tell they are not in the range I am looking for. Time is ticking away, though, so I tell her how much I am looking to spend. I can almost detect the laugh she is holding in. She opens the back of the case and says, I think these are the least expensive ones we have. They are $1500. I practically run out of the place. Favorite Jeweler.... I think I figured out why I was the only customer there.

I check the time when I get back to the car. It is a little after four. I call Shelly, as I always do when I am getting ready to come home and let her know I will be on my way in a few minutes. We talk for a few minutes and I get back onto the road. There is something my wife likes almost as much as sparkling things and that is flowers. So, I know I'll end up passing the house, but I know Sparr's will be open and have what I am looking for.

The lot is more crowded than the jeweler, meaning three cars and every other customer in there is also a man, probably husband's of wives who are now on plan B. I am immediately greeted and asked what I would like. I tell her a dozen roses and she asked which kind. She stares into the glass fronted refrigeration unit full of different colored roses, I stand beside her for a moment considering my options. There is a nice purple-pink one I think Shelly will like, by the petals are not as nice as some of the others. I select red, of coarse, and the interrogation begins. Do you have a nice vase? What temperature should these be kept at? How can I make sure they won't wilt before the morning? I need to know how I can hide these, as they certainly won't be as easy to conceal as a small box. Not below 45 degrees, so the garage is out.

I pull out of the lot, gift in hand still hatching my plot. Get everything to the back of the car. Let Shelly leave for church first, then transfer everything downstairs. It can't just go anywhere downstairs, it needs to be hidden. Behind the old computers I have down there. I stop and get a card, a perfect one that tells her how much I love her and how I thank God for her and head home, putting my casual face on.

It works like a charm. She leaves first, I transfer the goods, she doesn't stumble into them over the course of the night. Even in the morning, I get up first, prepare the water with the powder, snip the end of roses and arrange them. I sign the card and put them together on her desk, for her to see wen she turns the corner to cone down stairs. It says I love you.

Sure, it may not be my holiday, but when I think how good it feels to make my wife happy with some flowers and a mushy card, I can't help but think it is ours.