I’ve not had good luck with Valentine’s Days in the past. Much of it has been my own doing. Like the relationship I broke up last year… sorry Marg. Why did it have to end on that day loaded with Hallmark sentiment, saccharine and chocolate? Well it did, that’s all.
Long ago I remember being in the midst of a protracted break-up: you know the one when you’ve decided it’s over and you’re headed for divorce, but you need to save enough money to move into the basement suite. Valentine’s Day just passed that year. Long time ago but it still hurts.
A few years back I invited a small crowd of my single friends over for what I called, the “we may be single but we’re still going to eat chocolate on Valentine’s Day” dinner. It was lovely. Chocolate fondue concluded a delightful meal, accompanied by stories of heartbreak and laughter.
And then there was Valentine’s just a few nights ago. With five of my buddies, we donned snowshoes on a mild night on Mount Seymour and trudged along the snowy trail, marked by guideposts with reflective tape that lit up as our headlamps nodded through the dark.
My heart was pounding… no, not for love this time, exhaustion! But I made it to the summit and there on Dog Mountain, the lights of the city, bridges, and ships in the harbour were laid before us.
And then from her pack, Shawna pulled out a tiny stove and fuel bottle and in minutes, there she was heating chocolate into molten splendour.
With fondue forks we speared strawberries, banana, kiwifruit and marshmallows and dunked in chocolate while the lights of the city blinked below.
Now that was a Valentine I will long remember.