. . . or, with that oversized wine glass of Syrah.
I will say that, while we don’t officially celebrate Valentine’s Day, we managed to have quite a nice time last night. We got home around 7 and decided to heat up some soup instead of cooking dinner. To make it more celebratory, we also opened a bottle of one of our favorite California Syrahs, 2009 6th Sense, by Michael David Winery.
And it was good.
I’ve been stressed lately—and an evening of Syrah, reminiscing and Castle on TV, all worked as a very nice chill pill. At one point, Phil asked me if I remembered our first kiss, then did a little extemporaneous reenactment.
So, I guess we do sort of celebrate Valentine’s Day. I made a Jib Jab Valentine e-card (for some reason, I love sticking our faces on the animated characters. It may be that I am just easily entertained) and we had wine and got mushy. We just didn’t go out, buy flowers or candy or cards or have a fancy dinner.
So I hope all of you who celebrate Valentine’s Day had at least as much fun as I did.
And for those of you who don’t celebrate—an anecdote.
Once upon a time I was card shopping over lunch on Valentine’s day. A couple of guys about 30 years old, were also last minute card shopping over lunch. The guy looking for the card was not happy about the whole thing. He was griping and complaining and basically cussing the whole Valentine tradition. Finally, he found a big, red, shiny card, showed it to his friend and said “This ought to shut her up!”
So, as we pause to bask in the remembered glow of that special moment, we can all give thanks that we are not in that relationship!
Ben Jonson (~1616)
Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much hon’ring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon did’st only breathe,
And sent’st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear
Not of itself, but thee.