My Valentine.

My Valentine is a man

who stops traffic on a winding mountain pass

to guide a snake to safety.

The Park Bench

  Come Sunday morning, the matchstick man bought a newspaper, a chocolate heart (wrapped in red foil), and walked to his favorite bench in The Park of Lovers

There, amidst soothing birdsong, and romantic music drifting from the bandstand, he would read about the crazy world and its people who made headlines, all the while, neatly nibbling on his chocolate heart.

Then, one Sunday morning, approaching his bench, he saw that it was occupied by a Fat Lady – literally, a lady made of fat! She sat looking straight ahead, half melted in the autumn sun. 

The matchstick man was most upset to have his routine thwarted by this glistening figure.

He coughed, ‘Urk! – and then returned home.

The following Sunday was much of a repeat. Except, in place of the Fat Lady, sat a Barbie Doll, staring out at the duck pond. It was a most off-putting sight. And so the matchstick man returned home.
  

  ‘Urk! Urk!

Autumn leaves fell and matchstick man stayed away from the park. Then, came the darkness and cold of winter.
 

‘Surely, no one will want to sit in a cold, damp park today,’ thought the matchstick man, as he returned there one wintry morning. However, when he arrived at his old spot – there, on his bench, sat a young woman, reading. Stiffly upright, she could easily have been made of wood, herself. But she smiled and shifted away from the centre when she saw that someone else wanted to sit down.

‘If I do not accept her polite gesture,’ he thought, ‘that would be most impolite of me.’

With that, he sat down and opened his newspaper. For a while, the two were silent. Once or twice they looked up when a noisy crow flew overhead. Then, slowly . . . but powerfully, the urge to unwrap his chocolate heart overcame his shyness. The red foil crinkled, which drew a sweet smile from the young woman. 

 

‘If I do not share of my chocolate heart,’ he thought, ‘that would be most discourteous of me.’

So he asked her if she might like to share his precious heart. Indeed, she would . . . very much.

That winter, the matchstick man and Lily (for that was her name) met every Sunday morning to read and share an inexpensive chocolate heart, wrapped in red foil.

Then came the first day of Spring . . . and a mystery that was to remain with him forever.
 

 Arriving a little late, the matchstick man was surprised to find the bench empty – except for a copy of love poems lying where Lily had always sat, waiting for him.

Confused, he sat down . . . opened the book and read the note that fell out:

I love you – Lily.

By Niki Daly, posted with kind permission.

The Eternal Lovers.

My parents, on their honeymoon in Durban, in the sixties.
My Father was a surgeon, my Mother his theatre sister. She'd pass him instruments and think to herself: "He has such beautiful hands!" Behind his back they called him Dr. Dreamboat.
They had supper by candlelight every night. They danced in the kitchen. Us kids would roll our eyes and the daschund went beserk.

My Grandmother and Grandfather on the beach in Jeffreys Bay. (In matching swim suits!)
I'm not sure how they met, but I have this dance card from 1924.

Eight dances, including first and last, to P.,
my Grandfather.
So romantic.

How did your parents meet?

Perhaps love IS a hat.

 My previous post resulted in numerous phone calls and a bag full of mail. Thank you!

 

An astute friend wrote:

Love might be a hat. If we had no control over falling in love, then many of us would live lives full of guilt and remorse and regret. I've held back from falling in love, sensing that it could be more dangerous and destructive than pleasurable. I think there is a point where, consciously or unconsciously, a decision is made to fall, or to stand on the brink, or to step back entirely. To admire the hat, to lift it up and look at it from all angles, or to put it on.

 

I hope she doesn't mind me quoting her. This is a person of great integrity - a rare quality these days.

I'm a careful person. I've not been in love many times,

but I fall in love like... 

falling off a cliff. 

My friend's words have made a large impression and I'm taking a step back to reflect.

Love is not a hat.

If one more man says to me: 'I could so easily fall in love with you', I'm going to throw up. 

Don't you get it people? 

With love, there is no choice. 

You may as well try to stop the rain from falling.

 

That person you like is 72.8% water.

In a 70kg person, there is:

43kg oxygen

16kg carbon

7kg hydrogen

1.8kg nitrogen

1kg calcium

780g phosphorus

140g potassium

140g sulfur

100g sodium

95g chlorine

19g magnesium

4.2g iron

2.6g fluorine

2.3g zinc

1g silicon

0.12g lead

72mg copper

60mg aluminum

50mg cadmium

22mg barium

20mg iodine

20mg tin

20mg titanium

18mg boron

15mg nickel

15mg selenium

14mg chromium

12mg manganese

7mg arsenic

7mg lithium

6mg mercury

3mg cobalt

2mg silver

0.2mg gold

Oxygen is the most abundant element in the earth's crust and in the body. The body's 43 kilograms of oxygen is found mostly as a component of water, which makes up approximately 70% of total body weight.

(Raw data from Emsley, John, The Elements, 3rd ed., Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1998.)

Eyes, saws, ships and horsewhips.

Much like a hundred-year-old flirty text message, this love letter is written in a puzzling language of icons called a rebus. It was discovered in the Swansea University Archives, among the minutes of the temperance society (they who abstain from the drinking of alcohol) and dates back to 1890. Transcript follows:

My Dearest Fanny,

I am writing these few lines to tell you that I cannot live any longer without you. I worship you always. I think you are a beauty and the nicest girl I ever saw and I adore you. Oh exquisite Fanny, do not despise me for loving you so well. I shall be broken-hearted if you desert me. Can you meet me on Monday night, when I will take you to the Star Music Hall. I hate that Bill Robinson, who is hanging after you and I intend to horsewhip him when I see him. I shall be delighted to hear from you at once. Do not let my suit be fruitless. Reply by next post to

Your loving

William Weightman