Journal of a Living Lady #49
Nancy White Kelly
Next week is Valentine’s Day. Romantic cards, candy, and flowers arrangements beckon to be bought. You can’t see the smug smile on my face. One year, during the early part of our marriage, Buddy forgot Valentine’s Day. He never has since. Not that it is a big event now. I have lived long enough to know that one commercialized day does not consummate a successful marriage. But, back then, being remembered on Sweetheart’s Day was a given. To be forgotten on an anniversary or February 14th was the biggest mistake a husband could make.
Our first Valentine’s Day after marriage consisted of a nice evening, complete with roses, cards, and a candlelit dinner at a fancy restaurant. Our first anniversary was celebrated around the top layer of our wedding cake which had been frozen for twelve months. The second Valentine’s Day was nice as was our second anniversary when Buddy gave me more roses and a beautiful, hand-picked card that I have in an album somewhere. But the third Valentine’s Day. That was the occasion Buddy forgot.
I never hint at our anniversary or Valentine’s Day simply because a reminder shouldn’t be needed. April 24, 1965, should have been forever etched in the circuitry of Buddy’s brain. After all, he married me in a large church complete with two ministers and a huge reception attended by more people than anticipated. My Aunt Anne, who had catered the affair, had to send to the store to get more sherbet and ginger ale while we stood in the receiving line.
Buddy is by nature a shy fellow and his love for me was being seriously tested by all this attention. His most memorable comment, as we were on our way to our honeymoon in Bermuda, was that if he had known what all weddings involved, he would have eloped alone. I could have joined him later.
During his working years, Buddy was an airline mechanic, first for Pan Am Airlines, then Eastern Airlines, and finally Northwest Airlines. February, 1968 was a cold, snowy month in Memphis. He was then working the second shift glycoling airplanes, an important processes which keeps ice from forming on the wings. I was teaching first grade. Our working schedule conflicted and didn’t allow for a lot of communication.
It was Valentine’s Day, 1968. Of course, I had valentines on my mind. Who wouldn’t with a class full of eager six-year-olds excitedly exchanging cards at the end of the day? I already had at least thirty cards, plus plenty of cupcakes and boxes of heart-shaped candy. But Buddy would be home after mid-night and I planned to be up waiting with candles lit on the dining table surrounding his favorite meal. I had just read a book about some silly romantic notion of meeting your husband at the door with just an apron on.
Midnight passed. No Buddy. One o’clock a.m. No Buddy.
He could have at least called, I fumed. The candles burnt down. The meal was tossed out at three o’clock a.m. I was half worried and half mad. How could he forget Valentine’s Day?
A few minutes later the front door creaked open. Snow frosted his heavy black eye-brows.
“What are you doing still up?” he asked as he unloaded his heavy overcoat on the rack.
“Waiting on you,” I said. “Where have you been?”
“Where do you think I have been?” he retorted. “Working my tail off in the freezing weather.”
“You could have called.”
“I tried to. The phones are out.”
Buddy looked at me with a puzzled look, not fully comprehending my hair was fancier or that I had on red lipstick. He did notice the burned down candles on the table.
“Power been out here too?”
“Yes,” I lied, feeling quite foolish. “Want some hot chocolate?”
“Not now. All I want is to go to bed.”
I never mentioned Valentine Day that night. I put on my flannel pajamas and crawled into bed with him. Soon the alarm sounded and I headed off to school leaving Buddy in deep sleep. When I got home that afternoon, there was a note on the table.
“I’m sorry I forgot. Will make it up to you tonight.” And he did.
web: https://www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly
February 9, 2000
