Monday, February 14 2011

Happy Valentine's Day!

Adorable!

February 14th is of course the most romantic day of the year, or a crass commercialisation of expressions of romantic love by greeting card companies and florists, depending upon how much poetry you have in your soul, or how much cash has recently fled your wallet in pursuit of chocolates, roses and dinner out with your sweetie.

The true origins of Valentine's Day are, like all good stories, lost in a mish-mash of borrowing, baloney and blathering. A quick look at the history of the day tracks it back variously to Roman saints (now dropped off the calendar), Lupercalia, Victorian magazine writers and Geoffrey Chaucer's poetry

For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make

(No, the robins and wrens weren't out making cheese: he wrote this about the second of March, after all, when birds weren't even around England. They were comyth to 'Choose their mate')

But at the end of the day events have the meanings and significance we assign to them in our hearts, and Valentine's day is special indeed to me: I feel fortunate every year to have found the love of my life, and even more fortunate that she seems curiously blind to my many faults and drawbacks. This is our 27th Valentine's day together and this year we celebrated by going to Victoria for the weekend. We stayed in the Bob Hope suite at the fabulous Fairmont Empress Hotel.

Putting Green not shown

We're very sentimental about the Empress. My wife was born in Victoria, and as a very young lady she got an after-hours tour of the place from an ancient porter, who was part of the place when it was a Canadian Pacific Hotel, one of an age of magnificent railway hotels in the world. He told her the old stories of royalty and movie stars and war and prohibition, and the place has been a fairy-tale castle for her ever since.

Me, I love the old girl because she's so beautiful and regal and solid, and because at one time in my life I got such kindness there that I've never, ever forgotten the lesson in grace: I was at a low ebb, about to become homeless the next day, with very poor prospects indeed. I had a few dollars in my pocket and no plans, or much of anything except a dull sense of panic. I ended up in the Empress and had just enough for a small glass of port at the bar. When the bartender asked me if I wanted another, or to see a menu I told him I couldn't really afford it, and had only wanted to come in someplace cheerful and bright, but I'd be going. He asked me to please stay a while, brought me another glass of port and some bar snacks and wouldn't hear of me going--or paying.

And that's what the place is like: full of kind, cheerful people and big hearts.

This kitty does not have a heart-shaped mark and does not move around much

And as is our custom, we spent a lovely evening in the Bengal Lounge, having a curry, listening to live jazz music and soaking up Champagne. I'm not really sure how far you'd have to travel to find a leather-upholstered pocket of the Raj anywhere else, but I strongly suspect that it would have to be at some old club in London. The place is complete with languidly wafting ceiling fans, gorgeous architectural details, soaring ceilings, a handsome fireplace and waiters and waitresses who are perfectly ladies and gentlemen of service.

Sigh.

We also spent a day at the Victoria Tea Festival, learning all about cupping techniques, the right teapot, water-volume-tea ratios, and the crucial importance of water temperature for various types of green, black and herbal teas. Tea tasting, with an emphasis on varietals, styles, regions and estates is as fully complex and stimulating as wine appreciation, with the advantage that you can drink and drive when it's tea.

We wound up our stay with a little light shopping. For us, no visit is complete without a trip to Munro's books, Canada's most magnificent bookstore. Even though I recently took possession of a Kindle E-reader, I still can't go without physical books. The Kindle is an excellent tool, works brilliantly, and I can't recommend it enough. But it's not a book. I want to hold books, to smell the paper, feel the weight, crease the page, get excited about it and give it to someone else to read . . . I'm afraid that books are yet another symptom of my gluttony, but one which I feel no shame over, nor can I ever contemplate putting them aside.

It was a great weekend, but now back to work! Pink Shirt Day, in honour of anti-bullying is coming up, I've got a course to teach in Winnipeg week after next which needs working on, I've got to get my F-12 strategic plan finished and my employee reviews in both directions (mine for my boss, my employees for me) have to be completed and I've got at least three magazine articles that need outlining . . . as usual I'm overcommitted and busy. Ah well, it keeps me out of the pool hall.

Posted by Big Ol' Softy Tim AT 3:02PM

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