Open Writing

Valentine’s Day customs, in America at least, have changed beyond all recognition compared with those of my youth. Back then we sent cards anonymously to those we loved or lusted after from a distance, hoping, and sometimes fearing, that the recipients would guess who had sent them and fall yieldingly into our arms. Of course it never happened; anyway not to me. More often than not the object of my affection guessed I had sent it and responded to my advances with a snigger.

In the decades since then, anonymousness somehow became passé, as did having a secret object of your affection. It also became acceptable, in fact expected, that you would send a signed card to everyone in your closest circle of family and friends. I’m not sure which came first, the desire on the part of individuals to extend their circle of Valentines, or the realization by the card manufacturers that they were on to something big if they fostered the trend, but I suspect it was the latter.

So now we send our pleas to be my Valentine to the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker et al. At the beginning of this trend I would browse the card racks, alternately fascinated and dismayed by the commercialization of this special day. Probably one of the most ludicrous examples I remember is a card that read “A Valentine’s wish for my favorite priest.” I had to wonder what the reaction might have been on the part of the unfortunate celibate who received it.

After a few years, this particular manifestation of quirky human behavior ceased to intrigue me, and I hadn’t given it much thought until this week, when I received a news release from the American Chemical Society (ACS). The ACS is a respected, learned society that embodies a wide spectrum of scientific researchers. Each week I receive a list of topics to be promulgated; some that might interest a lay readership, and others so esoteric it makes my brain hurt when I try to read them. A recent batch included the following:

“Wishing your Valentine good heart health on February 14 — and throughout 2008? Then consider the food some people love to hate, and hand over a gift bag of broccoli along with that heart-shaped box of chocolates. Researchers in Connecticut are reporting impressive new evidence that eating broccoli may protect against heart disease. Their study is scheduled for the Jan. 23 issue of ACS' Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry, a bi-weekly publication.”

Good advice though it may be, St. Valentine is probably turning over in his grave, that is if he knows where it is. As much as I love broccoli and eat it regularly, somehow it doesn’t quite fit into my romantic ideal. It’s a pretty vegetable, but can’t hold a candle to a bunch of long-stemmed, red American Beauty roses. And there’s another thing; all the roses on sale here these days come from Holland or Taiwan, or even China. My mother had a beautiful rose garden in England and was an expert in raising them, so some of that rubbed off on me.

What I know of roses tells me that no rose is going to survive being refrigerated and shipped halfway round the world, even in the fastest jet plane. So the dozen you pay an exorbitant amount of money for on Valentines Day will likely never open fully, and in a couple of days will hang their heads and die, just like the love you had hoped to cultivate with your offering. On second thoughts, perhaps a couple of crowns of “fresh” broccoli, grown in Chile, might be a better proposition. At least your intended can eat it after he or she spurns your advances.

According to my research, Saint Valentine was a kind-hearted Roman priest who married young couples against the wishes of Emperor Claudius II, and was beheaded for his deeds on the 14th of February. However, the exact origins and identity of St. Valentine are unclear. At least three different Saint Valentines, all of them martyrs, are mentioned in the Catholic Encyclopedia under the date of February 14. Two of these men lived in the third century A.D., one being the bishop of Terni, in Italy, and the other a priest of Rome.

There is some speculation that these two figures were actually the same man. Both men reportedly were persecuted for their beliefs; the Roman priest was beaten and then beheaded on the orders of Emperor Claudius II, in or about the year 270. Legends vary on how the martyr's name became connected with romance. One theory is that the date of his death may have become mingled with the feast of Lupercalia, a pagan festival of love.

Another is an ancient belief that birds first mate in the middle of February. So perhaps in the end, all the heavy breathing, the long sighs and the yearning are really for the birds after all.

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