I met my husband Mike in Paris, and, no, it was not like that. He was visiting his sister and I was a friend of hers traveling through Europe.
Well, one day we convinced him to go shopping with us. I needed something to layer in because it was a cold summer and there was this nearby shop that made elaborate and exquisite batik sarongs that can double as wraps, scarves, whatever the need (this is pre Pashmina).
Ah, to be dead and in love. Sounds strange but why can’t love transcend dimensions as seems to be the curious case at Idyllwild’s Strawberry Creek Inn. The proprietor and chef, Rodney Williams, sometimes felt a warmth, a caress, an alarming brush of passion when alone in one particular room. He ignored it at first but as the sensations continued and he found himself oddly aroused, his curiosity grew. Finally, he called on a group of psychic experts and discovered that in fact, (for those who believe that parapsychology is fact), there was someone or something swooning about the place. Further investigation led to a ghost named Jade. According to the psychics, and there were several in concurrence, Jade, was the spirit of an ancient indigenous woman who occupied the land in life, and she was hanging around because she had fallen madly in love with the handsome Williams. It’s a strange romance that he finds comforting.
“She’s here to help,” he says, “I believe she may be responsible for our extraordinary success.”
Jade’s infatuated spirit seems to infuse the inn with romance. The award-winning bed and breakfast is a labor of love for Williams and his life-partner, Ian Scott. “So far Jade has not shown any signs of jealousy,” laughs Williams, “she seems happy to share me.”
Yesterday I asked my son Sam the question I have asked him every February since he started kindergarten. “Is there somebody you want to get a special Valentine for? We could make one, if you want, or we can pick one out when we buy the regular ones….” This year, he embellished on the six-year tradition of polite refusal by rolling his eyes and saying “no” in a tone that translated clearly into “derrrrrr.”
I am not anxious for my twelve-year-old to be in love, or even smitten. In a twisted knot of irony of the type found only in motherhood, I am simultaneously delighted that he is not interested in girls, and worried that he should be. All around him crushes are blooming, complete with third-party intercession, texting after bedtime, and group movie “dates.” Sam finds the sixth grade romance scene ridiculous, in a benign and pragmatic sort of way. His best friend is a girl, and he listens kindly and without comment to her lengthy, high-volume and rapid-fire proclamations of love for various boys. He is waiting for her to stop talking so that they can do something interesting, like making a video or playing Xbox.
My little brother came home from a bar mitzvah with a dazed look in his eyes and a henna tattoo across his arm that read: 'Nikita.' He told me it was fate. He was standing in the middle of the dance floor and announced to his friends that the sexiest name in the world was Nikita, and within moments a blonde sauntered over to him and said, "That's my name. I'm Nikita."
He was in love, his faith in the universe (which had recently been diminished following our move from his beloved Pacific Palisades to the gaudy Beverly Hills) had just been restored…and I didn't have the heart to tell him, but I remember looking at my mom and us both thinking, "There's no way her real name is Nikita."
Every day coming home from school was another lovestruck car ride, "Nikita this, Nikita that..." Until Thursday. Thursday he got in the car completely deflated. He looked up and told me, "Her name's not Nikita."
Valentine's day means many things to many people.
For most, it's a time to let your loved one know how you feel. To affirm your love with flowers, candy, or even jewelry, and hope it somehow translates into rough sex.
For me, it's always been a time of reflection, since the only rough sex I'm going to have is if throw myself on Rachelle while she's filing her nails.
Which she usually is when I throw myself on her.
Yes, for me it's a chance to look back at the way things might have been... ....had I not hooked up with someone dedicated to making my life a living hell.
Don't take my word for it. Watch the show, "Living With Ed", and see for yourself. That's why I did the show. It was that or install a Nanny cam. I wanted the world could see that I wasn't making this shit up.