Archives for posts with tag: Valentine’s Day

So here’s a twist on Valentines I didn’t know about, even though it’s Victorian in nature. This article about Vinegar Valentines is fascinating. Somehow it manages to be eyebrow raising, disgusting, and a bit charming all at the same time. Far removed from our own commercially overridden holiday of love, the Victorian Era brought not only lovers to their special day, but haters as well. Googly eyed with adoration? Why, send your beloved a card with a pretty picture and prettier flowing, waxingly poetic verse. Squinty eyed with loathing? Just send along a card displaying an insulting poem, often accompanied by an ugly caricature! As time passed spinsters, suffragettes, and medical practitioners that quacked like a quack doctor could all look forward to missives of disgust. Also known as Penny Dreadfuls, these little insult bombs went off in many an unseemly heart, even as loving tributes were showered upon the beloved and beautiful. The contrast and idea of how unpleasant Vinegar Valentines must have been to their recipients make the sight of our modern store shelves, festooned with red heartshaped boxes full of everything from the disappointing questionably flavored chocolate like substance to the good stuff that’s gobbled at breakneck pace, a little more palatable. 

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I wasn’t thinking about how crowded Walmart would be tonight, when I went to get groceries. I realized soon enough, of course. Last minute trawlers for Valentines loomed at every turn, as well as all the accoutrements that go with the holiday.

As I carefully made my way past a large table of flower arrangements, I admired various colors of roses. One bouquet in particular caught my eye.

These roses were almost completely white, except for many of the petals that were barely tinged with a pinkish crimson. Normally, I would admire and walk on, but these roses were special. To me. Or perhaps more accurately to my muse.

I recently wrote a short story set in Paris. Near the end I wrote in a single white rose with crimson tinged petals, to symbolize the purity and barely blooming passion of the couple at its heart. I didn’t remember seeing roses exactly like that and could only hope they really exist.

Thrilled to have stumbled across such lovely proof, I managed to avoid the jostling elbows of romantic souls seeking the perfect symbol of their love, as I pulled out my phone to take some pictures.

So some lucky lady will end up with a pretty bouquet, never suspecting that someone else treasures pictures of her imaginary Paris rose.