Valentine

It was February 14th. St Valentine’s Day. Not exactly festive outside.

Cold this morning, gloomy. Sun still tucked away, winter late rising.

Time for coffee. Even decaf would be welcome.

On my way to the kitchen, I looked out the sun parlor windows. Even after living on Myrtle Island all these years, I automatically check to make sure the Maye River is out there.

Oak trees and wax myrtles were Carew Rice silhouetted against the horizon. The tide was high, the water in shades of silver and grey hiding the mud flats, dying reeds of spartina grass created lineal patterns of flat brown, a color that matched the dead leaves in the front yard.

Quiet too. Not a speck of breeze. Spanish moss hanging straight down.

The pair of blue jays hadn’t come yet to splash about in the pan of water I put out on the deck for them every day.

I really needed to bring in the hummingbird feeder. They had left ages ago for warmer climes and wouldn’t be back until Mother Nature promised decent temperatures.

The TV set sat with a blank black face. Television, with its news of disasters and more disasters, held no appeal.

Later, fortified after coffee, I would turn it on.

For now, I would lean back in my chair, sip my cuppa, munch on a breakfast bar smeared with peanut butter, and reminisce.

Valentine’s Day. Today was Saint Valentine’s Day.

Oh, how we used to celebrate that day of Cupid’s bow and arrow, a day devoted to love.

In grammar school, we made Valentines from bright red construction paper, cutting out hearts and gluing on bits of paper doilies with white library paste that dried hard and stuck our fingers together. We wrote silly verses and signed them Guess Who or left our initials transformed into numbers, Annelore Stelljes became 1.19. Remember the candy hearts with stamped messages?

Sweet memories of red roses and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and cards so carefully selected for their message of undying love.

And all this before we passed puberty.

But why February 14th and what did Saint Valentine do to become a saint, and why all these hearts and flowers and chocolates. Can’t forget chocolates.

I decided to check Wikipedia, my info source.

St. Valentine’s Day had been commemorated since the eighth century in the Anglican, Catholic, and Lutheran churches on the 14th of February, the day a 42-year-old martyred Roman priest Valentinus was buried on Via Flaminia in Rome in 269, give or take a year.

His death had been a violent one.

Seems that the Roman Emperor Claudius II was against church-blessed marriages, and as the local in-house priest, Valentinus went around marrying young folks, and even worse, as far as Claudius was concerned, Valentinus was defending persecuted Christians. Word had it that he administered to sick, even bringing sight to a blind child. This priest was going around evangelizing about love and a man called Jesus and getting citizens all riled up. He even suggested that he, Claudius II, Emperor of Rome, become a Christian or suffer the fires of hell. Claudius was fit to be tied and demanded he renounce his faith. Valentinus refused. So, Claudius had him tortured, beaten to death, and beheaded. Chopped his head right off.

You don’t aggravate an emperor.

Centuries later, Anne Boleyn learned that hard lesson as she lay her head on the guillotine.

St Valentine’s skull, all neat and clean, crowned with flowers, was for years exhibited in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Rome.

Grossly gory.

On the bright side, Valentinus was said to have loved birds and roses.

Nothing has ever been said whether or not he had a sweet tooth, but beekeepers did seek his patronage and there are those delicious honeycombs.

Ask Yogi Bear.

So, there it was, Saint Valentine, formerly known as Valentinus, evangelist, priest, martyr, but mainly, a man remembered for love.

The coffee pot was empty. Time to dress and begin the day.

Maybe I should take out the Austrian rhinestone necklace and earrings George William bought me for Valentine’s Day back in 1956.

They would look great with a red sweater and blue jeans.

And I know there are chocolates out there somewhere waiting for me.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.

Carpe Diem.

Annelore Harrell’s journey is a tapestry woven with fascinating experiences and extraordinary accomplishments. Even at 92 in 2025, Annelore’s energy and zest for life continue to inspire. Annelore Harrell’s story is a testament to living with passion, resilience, and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.