Every time I said “Happy Valentine’s!” to someone today, Joey would grunt, “Pea Plantin’ Day.”

Now, I worked at the Co-op a long time, and I don’t remember this particular day in February being marked as that designated time to plant legimes, but it sounds about right. Although I doubt anybody was planting peas or anything else in this flood of biblical proportions. 

So, in honor of Joey’s- and evidently Southwest Virginia’s-pea planting roots, we’re having sugar snap peas with pork chops, taters, and onions tonight. I’m using a paste that I bought off our computer guru who still plays Grand Theft Auto with his other grown men friends. That’s right, computers and cooking condiments. He calls himself a nerd so the rest of us don’t have to. 

The lovely Tracy baked some cookies to perfection and delivered them in their little baggie tied with a wee bit of string to my place of employment this morning. Were they picture worthy? You betcha. Did I pause long enough to take a picture before gobbling them down? Not hardly. In my defense, I did share, though. 

There was a BOGO sale at the library today (speaking of nerds, right?) so naturally I stopped by. 

And found this lying in the parking lot. 

It kinda broke my heart. 

I could clearly picture some little pimply faced boy, using the five dollars he coerced from his dad to buy the prettiest girl in his grade a rose. Or maybe he was feeling bold and she was older than him. And she crushed his rose, and along with it his hopes for a kiss stolen behind the bleachers at the basketball game. 

Or maybe it fell out of a car door and nobody noticed. Maybe she saw it and thought it couldn’t possibly be for her, there must be some mistake.

Or maybe some good ole boy gave it to his ol’ lady and she disdainfully shoved it back at him, saying if he couldn’t do no better than a single puny rose, she didn’t want any at all. And he thought, “I could have bought a six pack for what that thing cost.”

Or heck, some girl could have given to her girl crush and embarrassed the ever living crap out of her and she threw it down in a fury of confusion and humiliation.

I don’t know. 

I just saw a sad long stemmed rose, doomed from the day it was separated and wrapped in cellophane to be sold in a plastic bucket on a gas station counter. Because either this rose had either had a really hard time in its short life already, or it had been laying out here longer than just today. It wasn’t an official Valentine’s Day rose from the local boutiques and florists that serve the school. Nope. It was too far gone for that. 

I sighed, stepped over it, and headed towards my own happiness on the third floor. 

I spent two dollars and got four hardcovers, two for Johnny, two for me. Happy Valentine’s, indeed. 

Shug is hard to buy books for. He’s not like his counterpart, who will read pretty much anything that isn’t about…well…I can’t think of anything right this very minute that I won’t read. Maybe underwater basket weaving. But anyhoot, I did a good job today, he liked both selections. I preened, smug in my knowledge that I know his genre well. And, as an added bonus, he didn’t already own them. Wonder of wonders! 

While perusing the shelves, I found one with a delightful inscription. 

I love nicknames. I guess because I’ve always had a bunch. Some people just encourage them, I suppose. The finance manager at Co-op once mused that he’d never had a nickname. “I’m just a vanilla kind of guy,” he remarked. I didn’t disagree, but only because I like vanilla. You can make it fun and different every time. Vanilla is trustworthy and honest. Sometimes surprises are bad news, disguised. 

So happy Pea Plantin’ Day, whether you had a big fancy Valentines with dozens of roses and German chocolate or just pork chops on Corelle ware. Or maybe you’ve had better weather and you spent it in the pea patch or even the lettuce bed.