The Tin Man’s heart was artificial, the Grinch’s too small. Like a heart-shaped box of chocolates, you never know which one you’re going to get. On Valentine’s Day, we celebrate them all.
This January, my son’s twins arrived. Not expected until mid-February, the two little cherubs came as quite the New Year’s Day surprise. Like a pair of cupids, these tiny angels pierced our hearts, leaving my son completely love-struck.
As I unwrap the glass jar (the heart-shaped one that looks like an oversized bottle of perfume), I can still remember my son’s excitement back in grade school, the day he gave it to me. Rushing through the door, he shouted, “Mom, Mom, look what I won! My guess was the closest,” he beamed, shaking the cinnamon hearts inside. “I’ve never won anything before!”
Every year since, come February first, I’ve taken the jar out, refilled the hearts, and sat it on my counter, where the spicy candy waits, ready to paint the tongues of family and friends bright red. Now that my son has a little family of his own though, I’ll likely give it back to him once his girls are older.
Then again, I may just keep it here for a treat at their Nana’s. It did come in handy last Valentine’s Day, when my daughter and I made our annual chocolate and vanilla cupcakes. Old enough to join in, my grandson had such fun decorating the frosted tops. Safe on his stool between his Momma and Nana, he excitedly sprinkled pink sugar and then the cinnamon hearts from his uncle’s jar, the three of us giggling with our icing smiles.
Speaking of Nanas, I still can’t believe I am one. It seems like only yesterday that I was at my own grandparent’s house, my Papa telling me how he and my Nan were the first couple in Sudbury to have open-heart surgery, my Nan more interested in the paper insert, searching for a caramel chocolate in one of the heart-shaped boxes my Papa always bought her.
To me, the beautiful boxes were always more special than the sweets. Sure the chocolates were yummy, but it was the shape, colour and textures of the huge hearts that I loved the best. Wrapped in deep pinks, satin-reds, or blushing rose, with a small sprig of silk flowers pinned to the front like a corsage, the boxes were stunning.
After Valentine’s Day, my Nan always kept the empty hearts, “perfect for old jewelry,” she said. During weekend visits, every Saturday night, I’d retrieve the boxes from under her bed and carry them to the living room. Sitting crossed-legged at her feet, I’d beg her to tell me the story behind the pieces as I draped myself in rhinestone-clustered clip-ons, and other bobbles and bracelets, tying the boxes back up for my next visit.
You can imagine how delighted I was the first time I received my very own chocolate-filled Valentine. Finding a mix of my favorite salted caramels (as well as an assortment of mouthwatering truffles), I selected only one or two a day from the giant heart, savoring them as long as I could until they were finished.
I couldn’t help but tease my fiancé that I’d now be expecting one every year, not only because the box was so beautiful and the chocolates so delectable, but more so, in lieu of our recent discovery that he was the boy who’d pushed me in the snow when we were sliding on Mickey Mouse Mountain as children in Copper Cliff.
With a sheepish grin, he said, “That’s what you did back then when you liked someone,” adding that “Girls can be just as mean,” to which he referenced Lucy swiping the football from Charlie Brown just as he went to kick it.
Naturally, I kept the box of chocolates, just as my Nan did, this one a deep red with black, velvet swirls. Instead of using it for jewelry though, mine holds cherished greeting cards from past Valentine’s Days, which I go through from time-to-time when I’m feeling nostalgic.
Although the cards I keep in it are lovely, I must admit they are nothing like the handmade ones we used to make as children. We took such great care in creating gifts for that special Valentine, which was usually a parent or grandparent, and even a pet, definitely not someone you pushed in the snow.
Parked at our desks, our tongues poking out the side of our mouths in deep concentration, we’d begin. Folding our pink or red construction paper, we’d line up the edges just so before tracing, then cutting a half-heart. Opening them up, we’d trim them with paper doilies or scrunched up tissue paper, then drizzle white words of love from our glue bottles.
Lastly, we’d shake on silver glitter and blow the remainder in the air, watching the particles fall like pixie dust. These were the ones that decorated our classrooms until Valentine’s Day when we brought them home for that special someone in our family.
For our Valentine’s party as school, though, we’d hand out smaller cards, the ones our parents purchased with the characters and cheesy sayings. As soon as we received the class list from our teacher, we’d start filling them out. In our best printing, we’d write our friends’ names, and then sign our own with fat, red pencils before folding then tucking them into the little tables that kept them in place.
With the candy messages from the pastel hearts melting in our moths, we’d go from desk to desk, dropping our cards into the oversized folders we’d decorated like giant envelopes, taped perfectly to our desks by our teachers.
As soon as we got home that day, we’d dump out our envelopes. Digging through the cards, we couldn’t wait to see which friends gave us what, reading the messages to the adorable plush animals our parents usually bought us; mine usually, a teddy bear, monkey or lion, with words like “I’m bananas for you!”
That night, of course, we’d watch the Peanuts special, rooting for Charlie Brown, squirming with Sally’s affections for her Sweet Babboo, and laughing as the little yellow bird, Woodstock, who, out of shear puppy love, playfully planted a Valentine’s card on Snoopy’s nose.
Whether it’s a jar filled with cinnamon candies, a beautifully-decorated box of chocolates, store-bought or handmade cards, or that special somebody (the one who pushed you in the snow, whom you plan to marry someday in front of that very mountain on Power Street, the painted Disney character smiling down like a forever Valentine), or watching the awkward attributes of the Peanuts gang the night of Feb. 14, Valentine’s Day will always hold a special place in my heart.
Tara-Lee Lecours lives in Greater Sudbury.
