Thank you, Wikipedia:
Saint Valentine’s Day, commonly known as Valentine’s Day, or the Feast of Saint Valentine,is observed on February 14 each year. It is celebrated in many countries around the world, although it remains a working day in most of them.
St. Valentine’s Day began as a liturgical celebration of one or more early Christian saints named Valentinus. The most popular martyrology associated with Saint Valentine was that he was imprisoned for performing weddings for soldiers who were forbidden to marry and for ministering to Christians, who were persecuted under the Roman Empire; during his imprisonment, he is said to have healed the daughter of his jailer Asterius. Legend states that before his execution he wrote her a letter “from your Valentine” as a farewell.
A love story if I’ve heard one. So here’s to Saint Valentine for his love and kindness. Little did he know that a simple declaration of love would begin a tradition to last for centuries.
Personally, I’m in favor of declaring your deepest feelings -all good, mind you-every day. How about you, dear reader? Do you tell loved ones , “I love you,” each day?
The following is from a work in progress beginning on Valentine’s Day. A senior man and woman meet Helen Hayes Rehab Hospital. excerpt:
The crotchety old grump limped off Nu Step to search for Nino. I went through my paces, shaking off the foiled attempt at reaching out. Mystery man didn’t know what he’d missed. Fifteen minutes on the step, up and down-up and down, next the treadmill to nowhere and the stationary bike until my muscles screamed enough already. Through the huge windows, the February weather had changed. Not the pretty Valentine’s Day I’d hoped for. Fluffy white clouds turned gray to skitter across the sky chased by a strong wind blowing from East to West over the Hudson River. Not the day forecast at all and I’d left my trusty cane in the car.
A sudden pang of loneliness hit me. Where was my first husband when I needed his strong warm touch to help me through this storm in my heart. But he had passed years before leaving me to take one step and another until here I stood. Slowly I made my way through the spacious building and out the door putting on a happy face to the staff. Soon I’d be finished with outpatient benefits and work out at home. Another step toward total rehab. Solitary and necessary. Rain pelted against my umbrella, wind threatened to turn it inside out. I used the building as a touchstone, the rough hewn brick combined with smooth sandstone gave comfort. As I neared my car, a male voice, heavy with Irish brogue, called out.
“Miss Corrigan, wait up. An old man needs your help, don’t ya know. The voice of Collin Brody, music to my ears, made me stop in my shaky tracks. “Old man, indeed. If you’re old, what does that make me?” He caught up with me and took my arm. Looking down from his height of maybe six feet, he laughed. “Makes you a tasty treat, I declare.” My heart sped up just a beat or two and we walked along, me with a sense of security long missing. His shaggy white head turned toward me and wonder of wonders, he smiled. Then I recalled his rudeness. “And who might you be? I talked to you for ten minutes and not a word came back. Such bad manners, I’ve never seen the likes of. Go away. It’s too late to make friends.”
Just then a gust of wind caught my coat and almost knocked me over. Strong arms kept me from taking a fall. And oh the feeling of those arms. His warmth came right through his jacket and toasted me right down to my toes.