My Funny Valentines

I tend to tell Peter that he was my very first Valentine. Technically, it's not true though. For 24 years, I had one of the most loving, thoughtful, generous Valentines ever - my parents.

Every year, I would come downstairs to a Valentine's adorned breakfast slab (we didn't have a table, but a Formica slab that ran along the kitchen wall. With imagination I could envision myself standing up having an espresso at a coffee bar in Italy every morning, but reality always set in when I looked up at the expansive bulletin board in front of me - a make-shift collage of reminders, calendars, invitations, coupons, and phone numbers calling attention to the myriad of people, places, and performances we juggled every week.) At each of our breakfast places were cards with our names - Adam, Erin and Lauren - written in my Mom's signature font and a little present or two next to them.

My Mom carefully and thoughtfully selected greeting cards that appropriately leveraged Hallmark's poetry to tell each of us how special we were - how talented we were - how we lit up my parents' lives. They were words, enhanced by the doting personal sentiments added by my Mom and Dad that trumped what any Romeo could have written to me. (At least, I convinced myself that was the case.)

Then there were the little gifts - as thoughtfully chosen as the cards. Things like specialty chocolates, a piece of jewelry, a china animal for my collection, or a specialty tool that lined the inner sanctum of Williams Sonoma - kitchen wares that wouldn't excite the average sixth grader. Oooh ... things like pastry blenders, double whisks, nutmeg graters, melon ball scoops, and ravioli cutters - trinkets that sparked pure ecstasy as I envisioned myself able to make pate brise, bechamel, or caprese ravioli the Martha Stewart way.

For a girl who never nabbed one of her crushes, the Valentines from my Mom and Dad were very special and they were all I needed. At the ripe age of 25 I resigned myself to a lifetime of having the parental unit as my sweethearts. But then cupid, in the form of an all-odds-in-my-favor-business-school-program, struck. On my 25th Valentine's Day, the role and responsibility of providing a little something sweet and special shifted from parents to Peter.

Ironically, Peter's gifts complemented my my Mom and Dad's perfectly. Not just in the thoughtfulness of them, but in that they came from the same store - Williams Sonoma. I've received a massive Ken Shun sushi knife, a copper Mauviel saute pan, a Le Creuset dutch oven and a red pasta rolling machine.

Last year we tried to make ravioli for the big V-Day, but they weren't quite right. A week later we tried to make them again, still not right. Several months later, we said, "come one ... we can DO THIS!" No we can't. On Sunday night though, I realized what it was - the thing that I was doing wrong. I was neglecting my other Valentines and the gift they had given me back in the sixth grade - the special ravioli cutting tool that not just cuts, but seals each ravioli with a kiss when you use the other end of it. During my previous attempts at ravioli crafting the filling kept falling out and the boiling water kept getting inside of the pillows, but when I put my parent's gift to use, the ravioli seamlessly pulled themselves together for the big show. 

So here's the thing ... I'm really glad I have a special Valentine now and I'm really glad I got to make a special Valentine's dinner for the guy who pulled out all the stops back in September. But I think on Valentine's Day you need to remember all the people who have showered you with love throughout the years - all the Valentines who have made you who you are - who have toasted you, feted you, and loved you for being who you are. 

Lo.