A Valentines Tale

Inspired by a letter to a friend, this is a recounting of my mischief on Valentines Day.
     Valentines Day actually started in the dark on Thursday night. Coming home at seven, my plans for cleaning were waylaid by the appearance of my darling nephew, who cleverly kept me distracted till eight thirty, when his mother took him home. I blame the lapse on his overwhelming cuteness, helplessness, and general lovableness.
     Nevertheless, he went to his home, and Operation Valentines: Part I began. It was a ruthless cleaning of the upstairs--straightening the living room, cleaning off the dining room, and then spending over an hour on the dishes and the kitchen. I had turned all overhead lights off, with only a small lamp on in the other rooms, and Josh Groban playing. Everyone else was sensibly in bed, but this was my Friday night, the night before my weekend began, and I was up late, plotting and cleaning. Decorating must wait till the morning, but right before bed I put a bright red table cloth over our large table, and a complete lace, white tablecloth over that as a promise for tomorrow. I looked around, blew out the candle I had lit, and went to bed.
     The next morning began early. I knew I had limited time before inhabitants awoke, for one had a place called "work" to be at 6:30, and I wanted to give her some gifts before going.
For I was not doing this entirely from my own imagination; for years my mother had created a delightful tradition of having a small bouquet of flowers and a few chocolates for each child as we grew up. Valentines was a time of free giving, a reminder of the love that stretched from parents to children, from children to parents (though those gifts often had funny stories that went along with them), and a witness to us of our parents' love for each other. But this year I knew she was far too tired.
So I woke at 5:45 and (being of a disposition that caused a former college roommate to exclaim "You pop out of bed like you sleep in a toaster!"), had my boots, keys, and purse within a few minutes, grabbed my father's instrument of transportation (having none of mine own), and went to the grocery store. Getting out the car, I paused, still enjoying the snow that was coming down and making the air within a few feet white. But I had forgotten my coat, and hurried the few feet inside (the other shoppers were few in number at that time of the morning). My sister had protested her tiredness of sugar the night before, so I looked for other means of delighting the taste buds. I found blueberries and an uncut pineapple for an affordable price, and I selected one roll of Rolos to be split among us. Then I went to the flower area (enjoying the smells!) and got two bundles of carnations, white and red. The entire trip was $18. I went back out to the car (falling to my knees on the ice in the process, but God spared flowers and food!), but made it home safely.
     The carnations were just enough to divide between myself, my mother, and my four sisters, and I put them in small, separate vases on the table with a single Rolo on the gold wrapping in front of every vase. My father received three Rolos, as he did not get flowers. :) I took the pink tissue paper the flowers had been wrapped in and folded it into a centerpiece, setting a pink candle on top. My sister who worked came and ate some blueberries before heading out--and I finished the decorations, cut the pineapple, put them both on a white plate, and all was ready.
     By the time the rest of the family was up (late sleepers, they are), I had the ingredients for French Toast ready as well, and we had French Toast, pineapple, blueberries, maple syrup, and powdered sugar. It was lovely. Later that day my mother bought each daughter a much prettier bouquet (they're so lovely--four different colored carnations and baby's breath--mine sits across the room and is so beautiful) and a gift card to Half-Price books. It became a day of cleaning, decorating, giving, and just fellowship with family; it was lovely.