Point of view: Everything's coming up roses
By Rose Bromberg
Years before I met my husband, my grandmother taught me, "A penny saved is a penny earned," and "Waste not, want not"
One Valentine's Day, when I was 15 years old, she handed me an envelope. When I opened it, I found a generic "Happy Valentine's Day" card without a personal note or signature from her.
When she saw the puzzled expression on my face, she explained, "I saved postage because I handed the card to you instead of mailing it, and when you are ready to send a Valentine's card to someone, you won't need to spend money and purchase a new one, you'll use this card again."
Some may find my grandmother's behavior odd, but I understood.
As a young girl, she escaped from Russia and came to this country with nothing except what she could carry. She was forced to travel by boat and sleep in the steerage section because she had no money. She had no education or skills, and was considered a "greenhorn" by those already in this country. As an inexperienced newcomer who arrived during difficult times, she learned how to survive.
In her late teens, she had an arranged marriage and subsequently had three children, but her husband eventually abandoned them. This forced my grandmother to learn how to work as a saleswoman in a large department store so she could support the family. She stood on her feet all day and the women she worked with fought with her over customers. It wasn't an easy or pleasant life, by anyone's standards.
Many like my grandmother came from places which held incredible losses, their world in turmoil. Many, particularly the women in her generation, lacked the opportunity for education and financial independence, making for an insecure future. Eventually, this country provided them with freedom and opportunity.
When my husband and I were dating, on each Valentine's Day he sent me a dozen red roses or a bouquet of colorful, assorted flowers, and took me out for delicious dinners.
During our marriage, I assumed responsibility for writing the checks and paying the bills. We wanted to save for our future and we had a budget. I saw how expensive the flowers were, so I suggested, "Instead of ordering flowers from the florist, why don't you go to the corner fruit and vegetable store and pick up a dozen roses? They look pretty, smell fragrant, and are less expensive. Better yet, we can just give each other cards." My husband agreed. As far as that special dinner, we kept it just for birthdays since we often went out to dinner during the year.
"After all," I thought to myself, "Valentine's Day is built on legends and myths, mainly appealing to emotionally-challenged women."
One legend has it that Valentine's Day commemorates a day that the church decided to inject religion into a pagan festival called Lupercalia — a fertility festival. During this time, young women placed their names into an urn. The city's bachelors would then choose a name from the urn and become paired with the woman for the year, hopefully to end in a marriage.
During the Middle Ages, in France and England, February was the beginning of birds' mating season, further suggesting that this month be a time for romance.
I read somewhere that over one billion cards are sent for Valentine's Day. Companies like Hallmark and Godiva have a need to make money, so they have an interest in feeding into the myths of this holiday. They advertise and market their products, along with florists, to the susceptible and lonely-hearted and make the rest of feel guilty if we don't comply.
And the restaurant business? They hike up the prices and take advantage of young men with small pockets who feel pressure to take out their "significant other" or he will forever be branded as "cheap."
No. Not me. I'm not easily fooled.
Last Valentine's Day, before my husband went to work, he left his traditional card for me on the kitchen table sealed in a big, red envelope.
When my husband came home from work, I handed him his Valentine's Day card. He opened the envelope and read the greeting. His forehead furrowed into a frown as he responded, "You could have selected something less ordinary."
I then realized he was right. We proceeded to sit down at the kitchen table for dinner and to reminisce. We recalled how in our younger days, before we were married, we used to go out for dinner on Valentine's Day.
I asked, "Remember those years when you used to buy me gorgeous, red roses?"
My thrifty behavior reminds me of my grandmother's generation and their thriftiness. Both my grandmother and mother survived on being prudent and I couldn't seem to break old habits. I couldn't enjoy the riches of my life without some guilty cloud hovering over me, although in reality I knew it wasn't necessary anymore. We've come a long way and I count my blessings.
From now on, I'll be more careful in selecting a Valentine's Day card for my husband. He remains a cooperative and generous person, but shows these characteristics differently now which, I admit, began at my request when I made suggestions to limit our budget. Still, wouldn't it be nice, just once a year, to hear a knock on the door from the florist and see a gorgeous bouquet of sun-drenched yellow — or perhaps baby-pink, soft-pedaled roses — delivered to yours truly?
Several minutes later, my buzzer rang. When I opened the door, waiting for me was one dozen, long-stemmed, two-toned, peachcolored roses — a surprise from my husband.
This was a new Valentine's Day! And I will savor and celebrate every moment and remember how lucky I am, not only to have a generous and loving husband, but to also have more privilege and stability than the previous generations.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Rose Bromberg, a Riverdale resident, is the resident poet with the Program in Narrative Medicine at the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Columbia University. She is a 2007 Pushcart Prize nominee in poetry.
Point of view is an occasional column open to all readers.
