Wharf between floods, Ash Point. (Erin O’Mara photo)
Anyone who’s dating, or has ever dated, has attended an early February strategy session.
Important questions must be answered. Contingencies and tactics developed.
What does it mean if you’re invited to Valentine’s Day dinner? What does it mean if the restaurant is expensive or has a holiday prix fixe? Should you show your excitement or play it cool, as if a seven-course meal over candlelight on a Wednesday is, yawn, part of your regular routine?
What about gifts? Should it be something personal or is it best to stick with the theme and get chocolate or a card with a heart?
What if they’re on a dairy-free diet?
What if the heart on the card is purple or pink? Does pastel — not red, never red — suggest interest and casual optimism without any hint of desperation? Does a green heart say relationship sustainability, or does it land the recipient immediately, and without redemption, in the friend zone?
What if there’s no dinner but a rose, and what if the rose was purchased at a grocery store on the way to the meet-up?
What if there’s a call to explain that a date on Valentine’s Day isn’t in the plan? People are allowed to be busy, but unlike every other day of the year, the absence of a date on Valentine’s Day must be explained if anyone wants another date after Valentine’s Day.
What if your would-be date rails against capitalism and the commercialization of love and you sort of agree but it also feels like a cop-out?
And when it feels impossible to put the appropriate communication strategy together — the one that properly reflects current feelings, hopes and fears for the future, a robust sense of cautious optimism, and the desire to be kind and maybe explore possibilities without leading anyone on — ghosting is the best and only option.
I have friends who didn’t bother to date until the February fervor died down — roses wilted, chocolate safely digested. Unless Cupid’s arrow struck deep from the start, tender, baby relationships bend under the weight of Valentine’s Day.
For some reason, single men seem to escape V-Day pressure while all the single ladies are the target of every marketer.
Does the phrase, “Galentine’s Day” scrape on anyone’s nerves like it does mine?
A single woman can’t go home alone and watch Netflix with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. On this one day, quality alone time becomes stereotypical, sad nonsense. The only option? Find a lady pack and restaurant with a Galentine’s Day special and descend on a public pot of cheese fondue.
Is it possible the advertising, planning and expectations have pulled our attention in the wrong direction? Maybe we’re receiving Valentine’s love every day, and we just need to know where to look.
The first time this winter that high winds ripped shingles off our roof, we were out of town. Our neighbor saw the damage and had someone scheduled to fix it before we even had a chance to worry. Greg and Sterling showed up and protected our home before they fixed the damage at theirs. The second time destruction visited, my partner, who hates roofs, felt my anxiety over the damage, so he climbed a ladder and worked until help arrived. They’d have been here sooner, but they were busy helping neighbors.
And there’s the letter to the editor from Colby Barnes, thanking so many for their selfless effort to save his boat. There are people who missed fishing between storms to help. People showed up with their hands, tools and boats to make a difference and The Dolphin Marina showed up to haul the boat ashore.
Well wishes — for everyone on the working waterfront who lost buildings, boats and wharves, for everyone cleaning up after multiple floods and for the people who are dealing with damaged homes — have wrapped this community in ribbons.
The standard practice of neighbors helping neighbors, a practice so basic to everyone in Harpswell that it can probably be mapped on our residents’ DNA, happens without thought or hesitation. The community shows up in times of joy and worry, celebration and pain. Nobody will ever have to struggle alone. We know that’s true and that truth is deeply held and immutable. Our community bonds will never buckle under pressure.
Now that’s a valentine.
Dear Harpswell, Happy Valentine’s Day. The gifts you give me are too numerous to count. I will never ghost you.
And, to my dear partner, Roger, I love you and I mean everything I wrote here. Also, I love chocolate and flowers.
Erin O’Mara lives in Harpswell and serves on the Harpswell News Board of Directors.
