Years ago my father introduced me to a tradition that was able to bring peace into our relationship.  My parents divorced when I was about ten years old and my Dad moved south, far away from me.  We really didn’t speak often as my parents had one of those horrendous divorces.  I probably saw him a half a dozen times before heading to college in Burlington, VT.

 Needless to say, we did not have much in common and frankly, I kept myself slightly aloof from him as he left long ago…During college he began making attempts to be a part of my life.  He would take me skiing with my boyfriend, send money finally and call more often.   

One memorial weekend he asked me if I would like to do the graves with him.  Strangely enough that was one place we both liked to go – cemeteries.  We both liked wandering around old graveyards reading headstones and admiring the artistry of the marble works.   

 My Dad grew up in Middlebury, VT.  Most of that side of the family still lives there and our relatives are buried in several different cemeteries in the area.  I agreed, although not really knowing what I was getting into.  He picked me up early that Sunday morning and I looked in the backseat to see all kinds of supplies – gardening tools, cups and to my surprise, chilled champagne. 

 We began chatting about where we were going first and my Dad started telling stories.  He loves telling stories, but this time the stories were of friends he had lost in Vietnam, Uncles wounded in WWII and scandalous adventures of my family I never knew.  I laughed, really laughed and I saw my father for the first time as more than the man that left.

 He was flawed certainly, but he was trying.  Trying to become a family again.  I saw for the first time how young he was when my parents got married and I found compassion that was not there before. 

 At each grave we cleared away the weeds, and planted pansies and marigolds.  We offered champagne toasts and funny stories to those long gone.  Quietly, without knowing when, a gentle peace had slipped into my Dad and my relationship.

 I finally had come to love my father again.  I realized wasn’t abandoned any longer.  I had found my way back to him and this family through the memories and stories of those long past.  That day, together, we found peace again in pansies and laughter.  This peace has made all the difference and I am grateful. 

Happy Memorial Day!  May peace find each of us.

That day is upon us, Valentine’s Day.  A girlfriend and I have referred to it as “Happy V.D.” for years, followed by much giggling.   Valentine’s Day is  quite a conundrum.  I like the idea of celebrating love, but find the whole day, kind of a set up for failure.

If I chose to say I am above that “kind of manufactured display of love” and not participate, certainly I’m unhappy.  Where are my chocolates?  Thank God, I no longer work in an office where the relentless parade of delivered flowers consumed me.  I can honestly say, what I dislike the most, is the exclusionary aspect of the celebration.  You don’t have a Valentine?

I did a little research on the origins of Valentine’s Day using the Wikipedia encyclopedia, only to discover its beginnings had little to do with “romantic love”…

The feast of St. Valentine was first decreed in 496 by Pope Gelasius, possibly as an attempt to supersede the pagan holiday of Lupercalia that was still being celebrated in fifth-century Rome.  Valentine was the name of one or more martyred Christian Saints.  Nothing is known about them except “their feats were known to God”  - a dubious beginning to be sure.

It was in the 14th century that author Geoffrey Chaucer first associated the feast with the notion of “romantic love.”   Ummmm, so we can thank an author with a knack for refined “fart” jokes for this celebration…There is a certain kind of symmetry to that I think.

As you can guess, I do like to participate in Valentine’s Day.  However, I have modified it to fit me.  I send Valentines to my girlfriends.  I give my husband instructions, “Chocolate and lingerie.”    (“Lingerie” can easily be exchanged for “shiny baubles” depending how I feel about my dress size that year.)  I buy my husband and my kids something small with homemade cards attached.  And, I buy myself flowers.   Pretty, pretty flowers.  Happy V.D.