Ode to Valentines

Sometimes I miss grade school.

I don’t miss middle school, or high school (mostly), but grade school holds some of that lovely, pleasant nostalgia that allows us a moment of disassociation from what’s in front of us in real time. Yes, there was feeling left out, or crying over that dreaded small cardboard carton of milk at lunch, and there was gym. (Two thumbs down.) But there was also the freedom of the swing set and Mrs. Shanks reading prizes. There were Halloween costume parades and easier versions of math, and there were mandatory Valentines.

💌 💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Can we get that back, the breadth and wideness of finding a load of cards just for you, and also for everyone, to hear “You matter. You are seen. You are not invisible.” I want clever puns with mediocre suckers attached? I want Star Wars and Sponge Bob and Bluey in cardstock thickness to run through my fingers. Or just a construction paper heart with two names on it - yours and mine.

In this cold, hard world, sometimes I wish I could create a box, decorate it with stickers, and collect some love.

Let’s allow ourself the fuzzy, drunk warmth nostalgia brings and imagine a world with universal grown up valentines. I think, in the junky adult Valentine moments - awkward dates, less than exceptional presents, being the single friend - we long for the simple, universal, communal love of second grade valentines.

We send valentines each year at our house. We love bomb mailboxes with a tiny, insignificant representation of how much love we have for all of our people, and just how much we want that love to find a place to live all around the world.

This note is my Valentine to you. Pass it on. Create your own. Send some universal love into the world and let it grow.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Ode to Valentines

The 9-year-old in me,

gleeful each year,

Tiny notes

A photo

maybe a sticker

Or confetti(!)

Draining my bank account on stamps

Because we still believe, 34 years later,

in love as miscellany,

The unexpected gathering

of homemade hearts in a box

From unlikely candidates

Buoying us through the coldest of seasons