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2007-02-15 - 12:45 p.m.

Previously unnoticed by me, Valentine's Day has become a relatively major holiday. The arrival of all the students took twice as long yesterday (kids generally got to class no less than fifteen minutes late, due to all the goodies that had to be unloaded, such as bags of valentines, cookies, cakes, presents for the teachers and other people, and other assorted festive accoutrements). The rule in the school is that if a kid is going to give a valentine, then every single person in the class has to get one, no singling anybody out for not getting a valentine, or turning the occasion into a popularity contest. I guess I agree with that, although I don't remember being bothered by how it used to be done when I was a kid. If I got a lot of valentines at a particular school, then I relished that fact, but if I got few, I nevertheless enjoyed the offerings of those few who actually did like me. There never was a time when I didn't get any, and I don't think that was ever the case for others in any of my classes. Well, I know it wasn't the case, because I, at least, always included everybody in my valentine giving (whether that came straight from me or via my mother's suggestion, I don't remember, although it is in keeping with my nature, anyway, so I will accept it as my own idea), and I probably wasn't the only one who thought that way. Anyway, it used to be lots of fun to give valentines and get them and I can see that it still is for today's kids. (I have to say it, these days for our age group, I feel that what we are all giving to and receiving from each other are bereavement cards.)

There was a relaxed dress code for the day (kids didn't have to wear their school uniforms)--free dress so long as you wore something red, pink, or white. I wore my red D.C. trip chaperone polo shirt with navy blue pants. The kids looked really cute, especially at lunch, with that vast sea of red, white, and pink.

Several years ago, John Ritter (before he died) and his wife, Amy Yasgar, came to check out the campus with their daughter, and the day they chose for that happened to be Hallowe'en. After they had visited all the schools that they were interested in, they asked the girl which school she wanted to go to, and she said, "I want to go to the Hallow'en school." (She is now longer here, though.) Well, yesterday, we had another celebrity come, who had already checked out the school a couple of weeks ago, and now had come back to get the children admissions-tested. I wonder if these kids will say that they want to go to "the Valentine school"?

A little bit after that testing occured, I got to interact with one of the visiting little boys (the family has three). When I went to go pick up my lunch at the nearby table, I saw some of our kids kicking around a very attractive soccer ball--it looked like an "Earth" or a globe. Then, when I came back to the administration building, I saw that same ball sitting untended down by the steps. I picked it up and carried it with me toward the admin building door--I wasn't quite sure what to do with it and thought I'd leave it with the receptionist so that somebody could claim it. However, out of the corner of my eye I saw a very tiny, forlorn-looking little boy watching me intently. I could see from the wet, red streaks down his cheeks that he had been crying. I said to him, "Is this yours?" He nodded. "Oh here you go, sweetie," I said, and handed it to his eager arms that clutched it tightly. I quickly realized that he had brought it as a toy during this visit and it had gotten away from him and some "bigger" kids saw it roll across the grass and automatically began playing with it. This tiny little pre-kindergarten boy had no idea how he could get his ball back under those circumstances. Thankfully, the big adult was there to come to the rescue! I then later from a window saw him happy again and joyfully getting a tour of the campus. Maybe he'll say he wants to go to the school where the man gave him his ball back!

What a day for eating it was, though--too much. One of our employees (who comes from Sri Lanka and cooks a lot of Indian delights) has a birthday on Valentine's Day, and he "traditionally" cooks a breakfast feast for some of us on HIS birthday. I got invited to that, and it sure got the day off right, although I ate way too much. I'm not used to breaking my diet like that, but I couldn't resist.

Then, with various cookies and doughnuts that came my way (not too many, but more than one), I couldn't even finish my lunch. Okay, and THEN Monique was taking me out to dinner for my birthday and the restaurant we were going to was one that gives you HUGE portions.

It ended up the restaurant was having a special Valentine's Day evening, with a specially-prepared menu, not their normal one. Everything was decorated with pink tablecloths and they had red rose petals strewn on all the tables. The menus were printed on red card stock and the special drink listings were on pink card stock. I ordered a drink called "The First Crush" (and the waiter kept adding an ordinal number to its name with each subsequent drink, as in, "Would you now like a Fourth Crush?"). I forget what Monique's drink was called, "Chocolate Kiss," I think--it was a vodka and Bailey's mix. My favorite item was the soup, a carrot and ginger bisque, utterly delicious and a taste combination I had never had before.

Naturally, we got stuffed stuffed stuffed and then we still had to have dessert, of which there was only one choice, a blow-your-head-off rich chocolate mousse encased in hard dark chocolate in the shape of two entwined hearts, served with whipped cream and strawberries. It was made to share, coming on one big plate with two forks.

We had so much more fun that we did for my birthday dinner last year, when the service at what used to be one of my favorite restaurants was so horrible due to me being white and Monique being black. ("Hey, we are WORK COLLEAGUES, assholes and bitches!") But that sure wasn't the case last night at THIS restaurant (we had been there before, anyway, so we knew they were welcoming). The waiters seemed to really like us a lot and treated us extremely well, even though the place was packed and jammed. We were the first ones in the restaurant for dinner and asked to sit in the front alcove right in the front bay window. The maitre d' said, "Oh, we love it when our attractive guests want to sit there..."

"...so we can drawn in more customers!" I added...

"Exactly!" he concluded.

Gee, at that place last year, they acted like our very presence (in a dark, out of the way corner) was poison, itself.

I said "waiters," because there had been some initial confusion as to which waiter had which section and apparently the first one had made a mistake and had started with us when we weren't in his section. He apologized for that, saying that this other waiter was supposed to be our waiter, but then he kept checking on us to see if we were enjoying everything. Really, it really was as if they BOTH just wanted to wait on us so bad, so that's great service, in my book. I hope Monique tipped well (this was her treat, you know), but I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry about that. She knows what to do!

Since this was a special Valentine's Day evening there, and everything was presented so romantically with love-and-romance drinks and shared chocolate hearts desserts and all, I wonder if they presumed we were lovers? It might have looked like a fascinating combination, not only the race thing, but I think I am at least half-a-generation older than Monique, so they might have been trying to work out the dynamics of this relationship. Well, since Monique was the one manning the credit card, they had to rule out that she was into me for the money! Or maybe waiters are just too busy to even wonder anything at all about the diners they are serving. And not everybody in there were romantic couples. Who followed us in were a Dad and his two kids, a boy and a girl, whom he had just picked up post their karate practice at the dojo down the block.

Monique is married, but her husband is overseas, in Greece. It was only an accident of timing that the night we chose to go to celebrate my birthday was Valentine's Day (but when I was a boy growing up, as the dates are so close to each other, my mother often involved Valentine's Day themes in my birthday celebration), but it made the occasion even more festive. Monique was kind of upset at her husband who failed to send her anything that day (no card, no flowers, etc.). "We'll celebrate when we're together," he explained, but she said, "You KNOW the DAY is important to me!" So now the poor man is in the doghouse. I heard of other stories of disappointments, arguments, and fights from some others of the employees who had somehow failed to treat the day properly...so men, with Valentine's Day, please tread carefully!

I'm glad I had a fun day yesterday, because what is coming up isn't going to be much fun at all. After work today, I'm heading up north to my Mom and Dad's house to start doing...whatever. Looking for legal documents, going through papers, starting the process of the distribution, sale, or trashing of whatever is in the house, getting the house cleaned up and ready to be sold, etc. The others are all descending onto the house in a few days, too, although I will have a couple of days there to myself. I plan to be there all the way until February 25 (that's all the time I can spend this go-round), when I will drive back here. I think all we will manage to do is get a good start. I'm sure my spring break in late March will be involved with more of it.

There are some intra-family squabbles or contentions already happening and I don't went to get embroiled in it. I don't feel like I have enough energy to get into my usual role of peacemaker...I just want my OWN peace (which will entail, what, compromise, detente, appeasement, sacrifice?) I guess I'll say more about all that later, once I've discovered what it will all REALLY be like.

One thing I am quite proud of, though, and I will end this entry on this note. I seem to be, in my behavior, abilities, personality, or character, a great advertisement for people's positive impressions of my parents. I am constantly hearing things like, "They must have been extraordinary people, based on what I see in you." As an example, last night, Monique said to me, "I don't know how you know as much as you do, how you manage to retain so much information. Your parents must have taught you some great learning and memory techniques!" I don't know, but whatever they did, it was good. I am glad that people can see that, and so much more of them in me.

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