My Valentine

I pride myself on being a romantic. A hopeful romantic, but bordering on hopelessness. Most of the time, though, it leaves me feeling like a ship without a rudder.

The first Valentine's Day after I was married I pulled out all of the stops. We lived in Seattle and I wanted to do something special. She loved chocolates from Purdy's – a company in Canada that stopped exporting to the U.S. And I knew she loved cake – and there was a great little dessert bistro in Vancouver, B.C. that we had been to on a few memorable outings.

So I started out on Valentine's Day – I'd have done this all sooner, but I had been working 10- and 12-hour days up to that day. I drove north from Seattle just as the snow began to fall. The farther north I drove, the harder the snow came down. And I had to go slower and slower. By the time I reached the border, it was a full-on blizzard.

At another time I might have turned back and tried to make do with something else, but this time I was powered by a single, romantic thought. And even though what I drove wasn't equipped for blizzard travel, I journeyed onward.

The snow stopped just across the border and I arrived in downtown Vancouver just three hours later than I had anticipated. I remember standing in line at Purdy's – a very long line as men bought boxes of Valentine chocolates at the last minute before heading home to their wives and girlfriends – and buying the most expensive gift basket in the shop. I remember heads snapping around to look at me when I asked for it. I remember the wry smile on the sales woman's face as she rang up my purchase. I remember the look on other men's faces – the look that screamed ``He's Whipped!!'' But I didn't care.

My next stop was the shop on English Bay – the one with the most incredible cakes I've ever tasted. I'd packed a big cooler and arranged a large platter with generous slices of her favorite cakes. The woman behind the counter gave me that same look – and was wonderfully helpful arranging the cakes on my platter. She kept saying she wished her husband had done something like this for her.

I was back on the road heading South as quickly as I could, but if anything, the storm was worse by the time I crossed the border. I declared my purchases as I went through customs and got more of those looks. I was used to them by that point. And in hindsight, I am glad it was a kinder, gentler time in the world. Today, customs would probably have pulled me over and stripped searched me – and the cakes.

There wasn't much left of Valentine's Day left by the time I got home. And I sheepishly carried my treasures in the house, sure that, although it had been a good idea, my timing probably sucked about as bad as it ever had – which is saying a very great deal.

Needless to say, I got the cold shoulder when I got home. Since the heater in the car was on the blink, the cold shoulder fit with the cold everything else I had.

The ice melted when I presented her with the huge wicker basket filled with every candy Purdy's made. Followed by a platter of her favorite cakes – with just one fork. No sharing necessary. I only cautioned her to go slowly to avoid a diabetic coma.

In hindsight, I'm glad I did it. Even though the reaction I got was more along the lines of ``You really are a sap, you know?''

It was the giving that mattered. Even though the target of my giving was less than enthusiastic about the gesture.

There's always next Valentine's Day.

More soon.