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.

Compromise can be a four-letter word

I've been doing a great deal of thinking about my first marriage. Things like – you know, how cheeky is it to refer to it as a ``FIRST'' marriage. Calling it my ONLY is just as accurate. Then again, so is My Flirtation With Temporary Insanity.''

To everyone who hasn't been cheeky enough to hint at it, yes, I have met someone very recently who makes me very happy. Happy to know her. Happy to be with her. Happy to be alive and taking up space on Planet Earth, too, for that matter.

One of the exercises you go through when you meet someone new is to go through your litany of failures. Personally, I think it's our primeval need to scare anyone worth attracting completely and totally away. It's like dumping all of your personal baggage, complete with all of your dirty laundry, at someone's feet and announcing loudly ``Love Me, Love My Baggage.''

Now, for me, that's not a scary proposition. And I try to avoid being that blatant about my past history. But it all comes out in the end, doesn't it? I look at it all this way: we all have a history. What's important is where we are in life, not where we've been. Talking about our past helps us now only as a context for understanding the person we are, or the person we're with.

As I think back on my marriage – now that I've been single again as long as I was married – I think about it in terms of what it taught me about myself and what it is that is truly important to me, and what it is that I really need out of a relationship.

It's easy to think of a divorce as a failed marriage. But it's not – not if you don't allow it. It was a part of the journey, and you come away from it wiser and smarter – if you can learn from it. Hurt to the core, maybe. Knocked to your knees, definitely.

In my case, I learned a very valuable less on about the meaning of the word compromise.

In my marriage, compromise had several meanings. When it had to do with a difference of opinion between myself and my ex-wife, it meant ``Just shut up and do it her way.'' Meeting someone halfway was not in her vocabulary. Even when she made a gigantic production out of it – it just didn't happen. If she ``allowed'' me to choose a movie to see, for example, she would invariably have a reason for not seeing any film other than the one she wanted to see. But it wasn't her idea, of course.

The compromising I learned the most about was what I did myself. Telling myself that certain things weren't as important as I probably thought they were. – and there were many. To get along, you have to go along, you know?

The thing about compromising that way is that, sooner or later you stop compromising your needs and begin compromising your self-respect, compromising the relationship and compromising your own identity.

I came out of my marriage knowing that there were some things that were just too important to compromise. And in the right relationship, with the right person, you won't have to – not when it comes to who you are.

More soon.

Thoughts from the Periodic Table of Elements

I wish I understood chemistry.

I understand something about chemicals. Water is made of Hydrogen and Oxygen. Table salt is Sodium Chloride.

Maybe it's biochemistry I don't understand. How can two people meet and have a reaction that is so bright that it emits sparks. And then, how does that reaction become a black hole – sucking life from everything around it?

How can someone you've only just met turn your world upside down and show you possibilities you'd never dreamed, or that you'd written off as impossible?

How does a heart know someone so well after just a few hours, when the mind can no someone forever and not know them at all?

How is you can go from feeling like a total fool for years, and suddenly feel like a king?

How can a single smile mean so very much?

How is it that a million words can fall far short of the meaning conveyed in one contented sigh?

How is that you can learn more about one person through a simple conversation, and never know another despite a hundred heart-to-heart talks?

I think, maybe, I know the answer after all.

More soon.