Everyday Valentines

Some months I was asked to write a guest post for someone's blog.  As it has yet to be published I thought, perhaps I could share it on my own forum.  It was fun to write, and not a little challenging, especially as the subject matter was left for me to choose.

Looking back over my own romantic life I can see perhaps the men in my life didn't grasp what I didn't have the words to tell them at the time; that romance doesn't need to be grand cinematic gestures, costly or extravagant.  

“Tell me your definition of romance,” my new friend asked. His question gave me a moment's pause before I rattled off a reply that while sincere was still a little glib. Our conversation eventually came to an end, but I couldn't shake that question. I mentioned it to my boyfriend later that day when he called. He immediately began to list what he thought of as romantic, a list I am familiar with and one I agree with. And still the question stayed in my head, as some things do. It seemed apparent then that this needed further investigation.

If you Google the word “romance” the first thing that comes up is a series of images of hearts and flowers, of couples on sunset beaches. Nothing too surprising there.

Up next is a Wikipedia entry for Romance (love) Romance is the expressive and pleasurable feeling from an emotional attraction towards another person associated with love.

In the context of romantic love relationships, romance usually implies an expression of one's strong romantic love, or one's deep and strong emotional desires to connect with another person intimately or romantically. Historically, the term "romance" originates with the medieval ideal of chivalry as set out in its chivalric romance literature.

This is followed by the Free Dictionary definition: a love affair; ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people; or a strong, sometimes short-lived attachment, fascination or enthusiasm for something.

Further exploration of Wikipedia (honestly not the best source of information, but these were the top results to my search) revealed this explanation: Romance or romantic usually refers to romance (love) love emphasizing emotion over libido

Dictionary.com (my favourite on-line dictionary/thesaurus) offered a more academic definition: a novel or other prose narrative depicting heroic or marvelous deeds, pageantry, romantic exploits, etc., usually in a historical or imaginary setting.

These links were followed by a link to the IMBd website's listing of top romantic movies. Most were, no surprise, romantic comedies.

Society has told us that this is what romance is. Hearts and flowers, fleeting emotions and literary constructs. I think it is something a little more indefinable, intangible and even just a little subjective.

I put the question out to my friends on Facebook and discovered a common theme, one entirely missed by online encyclopedias and dictionaries. The answers I received aligned with what I had discussed with my boyfriend, and with the poser of the initial question.

Not long after my boyfriend and I started seeing each other he came to see me with an armful of books he had just found at a used book sale. I accepted his gift, laughing that it had been ages since anyone had brought me flowers, but no one had ever brought me books. To me this was real romancing. I love books, and he knew that. (Don't get me wrong, I still like getting flowers! Yes, dear, that was a hint.)

Romance is a thousand little things, unique to every relationship. The response I received to my query were all from women in solid, lasting relationships, women who have seen relationships fail too, so they appreciate the value of these invisible gestures.

An unexpected coffee. An impromptu foot rub. Kissing my forehead. Helping me tie my shoes when I can't reach my feet.

Turning the electric blanket on without telling so I don't crawl into a cold bed. Washing the truck so me and my friends have a clean ride. Pushing me to buy that certain something that I am on the fence about. Holding hands while watching tv. Hugging me from behind when I'm standing at the counter.

Making coffee for me in the morning

Doing the dishes

Choosing to prefer me. My hubby always looks for a way to make my day; like surprise me with a cup of coffee.

Harry does the kitchen everyday so when I come upstairs it's so clean and tidy, delights me each day, trimming my horses feet, build a whole array of shelters for the livestock

Romance is his pouring me a glass of wine while I start supper, it's knowing how I like my coffee, and bringing it to me in the morning so I can stay in bed a little longer. It's loving my daughter like she was his own, and showing her how a real man treats a woman so she'll know when she grows up. It's notes tucked into a lunchbox or left as surprises around the house

And the list goes on....

Private jokes, and shared memories, mutual respect. This is romance. A thousand everyday things, this is romance, the way we keep love alive, keep our relationships strong and growing.

I have had two marriages fail. There were lots of reasons they didn't work, and I won't delve into that here, but I know that when things started getting tough these were the first things to fall by the wayside. We stopped touching, stopped serving each other, stopped trying to anticipate the other's needs.

There is no formula for romance, despite all the books that argue otherwise. It is knowing who you have decided to love and choosing the best way to love them every day.

Valentine:

You are not red cardboard hearts adorned with ribbon

and plastic flowers containing stickysweet candy

not longstemmed redroses, crooned sonnets or sentimental verse written for Hallmark.

You are laundry trailing across the bedroom floor, dishes not carried to the sink,

asking "Are you busy?" when I am up to my elbows in dishwater or cookie dough. You are heartsung laughter, mascara on pillowcases, whispered secrets in our dark, fistfulls of windblown wildflowers.

I cannot cease breathing, stop my pounding heart, I cannot keep the wind, the sun from caressing, searing the prairie.

You ask a knotted question: "why do you love me?"

Justbecause, that's all, justbecause.

Valentine:

The years have flown on wild wind and eagles' wings

my heart rent, repaired, shattered and mended

You have never been red cardboard hearts, candy, flowers, candlelight;

Stickysweet sentimentality

You are hands to hold in longdark nights

lovesong in perfect harmony, arias of laughter and tears

you are banished ghosts, unexpected joy

You are lingering Sunday morning coffee, the sure routine of everyday, counting stars Saturday midnight;

Moonsong, autumn breezes, sunsets followed too soon by sun's rising

You ask the unanswerable: "Why do you love me?"

I cannot cease breathing, stop my pounding heart; I cannot keep the wind, the sun from caressing, searing the prairie.

My answer remains-

Justbecause I do

I do

justbecause.