All Kinds of Valentines

Hearts. Chocolate. Love notes and pretty cards. Valentine's day is one holiday that can be divinely fun or deeply depressing. Or, a day everyone, it seems, but you, seem to be celebrating.

This is a story of friendship. Back in the 1980s, there was a group of seven of us in various stages of life disrepair. Broken relationships or no relationships, unfulfilling jobs, losses. We seven were good friends -- three women, four men --  about half of whom worked together, the other half made up of people who had volunteered for our television station's fundraising events. 

For My Valentine

It started many moons ago. Rick and I have celebrated twenty Valentine's Days together but I think the first poetry book I made for him was a year or two after it all started. It was supposed to be a Christmas gift but I ran out of time -- and in time found it a better gift for the holiday of love anyway!

I will make a book of some sort -- and they have varied from pop-up books (that nearly killed me) to one with watercolor illustrations, photo books, envelope accordion books, journals that were already made and I filled to journals I made myself.


Each included poetry related to our year and this year was no exception.



This year's book used journal pages made in a workshop taught by Kari McKnight Holbrook that never quite got sewn together. (This was a good thing because I could add or subtract to fit the content!).

 

The books were 140# watercolor paper with fluid acrylics and stamps, cut into thirds and halves. If anyone really cares how that was done, I can explain better in an email!

I wrote till I ran out of creative thoughts and then started putting it together, printing the poetry and photos on vellum and gluing them down.

Then I did a few line markings and drawings in Pitt pen, just to add a little more interest.

After sewing it up, I did the cover, which included some raised blue metallic tape, a Margaret Furlong heart and a title from my label machine, along with some beads.

It wasn't a surprise. At this point in the game, it's a highly anticipated event!

But he liked it!

I guess I'll be doing this again next year!

(Oh, and for those who mentioned it before, Rick did make me the loveliest valentine at my card making party! A genuine treasure!)

(This post is linked to Jemma's Thoughts of Home on Thursday. Visit for decorating, recipe and craft posts!)

NOTE: I have just realized that my feedburner subscriptions have not been arriving for blogger blogs so if I've not been visiting that may be the reason. I've tried to figure out how to fix this -- to no avail. Are you able to receive mine if you subscribe by email? Just curious! Trying now to add those of you without google friend blog feeds into bloglovin'. Just a head's up.

The Real Gypsy -- Three Years Later

Those who have started following The Marmelade Gypsy over the past few years may not know there was a real Marmy Gyp. So please indulge me while I remember Gypsy, the namesake of this blog and my good buddy for 14 years, on the third anniversary of his passing this weekend. For many years, this photo was the banner for The Marmelade Gypsy.

Everyone who has a cat thinks theirs is the greatest -- even if they periodically despair of bad behavior. And they're right.
And so was I.

I won't go into Gypsy's story here, apart from the fact that he found me when he was just a kitten, about eight weeks old. It took two months before he became our cat. Well, admittedly our cat. As Rick said to me about six weeks before that, "You've got another cat."

He was playful and sweet and he loved his treats.

He also appreciated hanging out under the tree at Christmas. "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille," he seemed to be saying.

He was always ready for his close-up and there was a secret to the good photos I had of him. His limited vocabulary had two words that made him look up alertly. "Fancy Feast." Long after we had moved from Fancy Feast to a better food, he still would perk at the name. So, instead of "cheese," we'd mention the FF word and bingo!

Like many animals, he liked the sink.

And, he was tolerant of the seasonal humiliation of bow ties and Halloween costumes...

 

...and one couldn't do laundry, knit, read the paper or a book without his crawling up for attention. Which I was always only too glad to give.

So many of us have had our pets leave us, hopefully after long, happy lives. When Rick and I went to Europe, we left a very sick cat in the hands of a wonderful woman named Jan who came to stay with him for the nearly three weeks we were gone. It was tough duty -- she had a lot of phone calls with Friend Kate and our wonderful vet who talked her down more than once when Gypsy stopped eating. She gave him his IV fluids like a champ and he hung out with her while she did her bead work. Before we went away, we did pictures with the sweet boy.

And Jan took this photo while we were gone. It's part of a series of his last pictures. When we returned he was so thin. I didn't want to remember him that way. I am convinced he hung on during our trip and for two weeks after so he could be with us when he let go.

Blogger Vagabonde kindly made me this wonderful waterlogue version of Gypsy which I've since had made into note cards.

I find his fur in the keyboard and he's still a part of this blog, even though Lizzie now has center stage in the banner.

Time helps heal but it doesn't always stop the tears. Lizzie is filled with play and a big purr and I love her to pieces. She is Lizzie -- she is not Gypsy. There is no other Gypsy, nor will there ever be.

And I'm OK with that.

Getting Creative: A Valentine for Rick

Note: My computer has crashed. I'm periodically on loaners but if you don't hear from me or if I don't visit, there's a reason! I'll try to post and reply to comments and visit as soon as I can!
 
Making valentines hasn't been my only jaunt into creativity lately. About a month ago, I took a workshop with Jacqueline Sullivan and we made journals out of large sheets of water color paper, using gesso, acrylics and other media to create the base.

Each year I write a poetry "yearbook" for Rick and generally make it into an art book. I've done pop-up, envelope books, tag books and more. This year I decided to make the journal.

It's called "Two" because last winter I was too sick to make a poetry book for him. I'll never call the poetry good -- but it's personal! This one includes poems reflecting 2012, like "Lizzie" and "Gypsy."

It also covers our trip to Europe.

This page opened out into a wide spread.

There are poems for each of the kids and the family reunion, along with my retirement.

And guess what -- a few poems you can't see!

So, I will leave you with a song. (And this post is also in reply to a number of you -- including Rick -- who said "But what are you going to DO with them?" Fill them with pretty!)

Be My Valentine!

This is a strange Valentine's Day for me. There may be a lovely dinner awaiting me but the evening will be cut short so I can get on my IVs.

There's something terribly unromantic about that, and yet, I feel like I'll have the most romantic Valentine of all.

We all know that there is much more to loving than the thrill of romance. Sure, I love flowers more than anyone (even though I have a terrible track record keeping them alive). Chocolate is always great, but my hips need little more of that. And being the card woman I am, nothing is better than a perfect card.

I've had some pretty good romance in my life. We all love fireworks.

 

But does it hold up in the end? Or does it make a big burst that gently falls down to earth? (Or comes down with a thud or a fizzle?)

Real love is so much more than that. Real love is having someone make your dinner when you are so tired it's all you can do to drive home from work. (Yes, I'm still working.)

Real love is having your partner sitting beside you in the doctor's office asking the right questions that you are too fuzzy to ask.

Real love is having someone rub your back and neck and shoulders that are so sore from coughing there is simply no relief and every bone in your body is screaming "help me!"

Real love is having someone help you learn to be your own advocate and who reminds you to listen for the signs, to know if you are better or worse, and then do something about it.

Real love is someone who reminds you that when you say all the praying you've done hasn't been working that maybe it just hasn't worked yet. And reminds you that others are praying for you, too.

 

Real love is sitting right beside you when you cough to the point of frenzy, almost gagging -- uncontrollable and painful. And holding you till you stop.

And real love is still holding you when you cry and am discouraged. Real Love lights a lantern to help show the way.

Real love talks you down from the ledge when all you can see is darkness and absolutely no hope of change or healing.

Real love looks at at you when you look like hell and sometimes says so, but you also know he doesn't mean it in a bad way but in a worried way. (This is an old picture. Unfortunately, I look much worse right now.)

Real love doesn't look at the kitchen that is messy or the bed that is (uncharacteristically) unmade with scorn, but either helping or turning the blind eye with no criticism.

Real love knows that some big things can seem small -- it's all in how you look at them. And if they don't seem as big as they really are, maybe they're a little easier to deal with.

 

Real love looks out for you when you're lost and knows what to do to help you get back where you belong.

Real love listens when you rant about how frightened you are and how much you hurt and how much you just want to be able to be home and heal but just can't.

Real love rides out like the White Knight to help you fight your battles, especially the ones with the evil villains that rip at you mercilessly every single day.

Real love will make you laugh when you are sad -- but he'll also let you be sad. Because sometimes that's the right thing to do.

 

Real love knows that when you put a lock on a bridge in Paris and toss the key in the river, it isn't just a tourist thing. It's because you both know you'll never need that key.

Real love knows that you're not the girl he fell in love with 17 years ago. He knows you are so much more and he'll be there -- good times and bad times. Because he knows you'll come back.

I hope that everyone in the world will have a real love like mine. The ones who take you dancing, on fancy trips, buy you pretty things -- they are fine and I hope they do that, too. But just make sure they still love you when you look like a truck has run over you and just about all you have to give at a moment is your thanks for their love.

 And if you do, you will be happy. Happy like me.

Happy Valentine's Day!