Valentine's Day
Originally published in the 70's

Saint Valentine's day was the day of revelation. You had worried and wondered, if he really did like you. There was positively no give away of the secret that you withheld. It was something that you could not share, not even with your sister nor your best friend, especially not your brother, he would have teased you unmercifully.

He did put some valentines in the box, by some miracle could your name be on one of them. There was also the possibility that the person that you disliked very much would stuff the Valentine box with Valentines for you with sweet nothings written all over them. This would be the living end of embarrassment because you felt like the entire world would know and believe that you liked him.

Valientine's Day was a day of excitement, you hands perspired, and your hair wouldn't stay in place, your long stockings itched and your underwear showed at the neck.

Your name has been called a dozen times and you have a handful of Valentines. The moment you have been waiting for has finally arrived. There it is modest in size, the most beautiful red that you have ever seen, with double hearts and arrow completely through both.

The verse says "We are a pair of hearts". Your heart pounds like you have been doing push ups. You safely tuck it inside your literature book next to Elizabeth Browning's "How do I love thee, let me count the ways". You have never handled your literature book so fondly before. Mama's picture box is much too public for your prized possession.

In the weeks that follow, he sometimes stands behind you in line when you march in for books. He lets you drink from the dipper first and sometimes throws the ball directly into your hands, on the playground. When you are playing Red Rover, in spite of how hard you hold, he breaks through the line and nods that you are the one he wants to take back to his side.

Ah! spring and young man's fancy turns to love. Your true love acts a little smarty on the baseball field and is a show off. He is still wearing his long underwear and it is a little dirty around the neck. He shares a piece of licorice with your best friend. The final break comes when you see her name printed in ink inside his dirty palm, with hearts and arrows all over the place.

It was not too hard to give him up. His Valentine found a final resting place among the hot coals in the fire that your daddy had built for the cool spring nite, and no one will ever know, besides there is a new guy in school, who sits in the desk behind your own, and he ain't "bad lookin'".

Originally written just prior to the 1982 World's Fair in Knoxville, TN.

I have had a few experiences in my lifetime that I do not care to repeat. The second trip to Carlsbad Caverns held no excitement for me. The Grand Canyon was not as exciting on a return trip.

We covered every mound and confederate memorial at Vicksburg one summer, fought it like work. We pass through there now and say we have been there. I don't care to go back to Yellowstone. My excitement of Yellowstone has been overdone. The mystic of those little hot springs and waiting for an hour for Old Faithful to erupt again in the wind and dirt, roped off so far away you could not see, was the really big thing there. There was a lot of natural beauty. The snow was on the mountains. We saw bears and antelope but I don't need to to again.

We went to the top of Pike's Peak on that same trip. The trip up was treacherous and coming down was no better. We thought, "When we get on top, we'll relax and see the beautiful scenery." It was on Pike's Peak that the author of "America the Beautiful" was inspired to write the song.

When we were finally there, the wind was blowing forty miles and hour, the temperature was below freezing, and we were light-headed, we were 'typsying' around like astronauts. It was nothing short of miserable. We lacked sufficient clothes. The way you felt you could have flown away from there. The only haven was a pressurized gift shop to get yourself back together again. We were on John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High", as tipsy as Mrs. Minerva.

We were told to stop on the way down and cool our brakes.

We hauled out the picnic baskets and had a picnic in outer space, hiding behind rocks and heavy growth to stay warm. The scenery was majestic when we dared to look. We threw snowballs at one another and drained the coffee thermos.

I never tire of the big redwoods. That, I do want to do again. I never tire of the Navy tied up in San Diego or Norfolk. Touring one of those ships is strenuous. However, it makes you feel more like a sailor.

I do like the mountains. I like to look at the snow on top through binoculars and by peeking outside my motel window at them at sunrise. I like mountain laurel from the window of the car. Climbing mountains holds no intrigue. I stood on the side of one when I was a child and picked cotton and thinned corn, balancing my six-year old body to stay there.

Knoxville is getting ready for the big World's Fair. I marvel at their gusto. Imagine spending all of that money to tear up and reset your town. People will come from all over the world. Some make a hobby of going to a World's Fair. Some people never miss one. The Smoky Mountains will never be the same. Folks in our area can go conveniently. No one should miss it.

We were disappointed with the United States pavilion, when we went that time. The point of interest was the movie industry. Hopefully, since it is in Knoxville, the country music industry will be highlighted.

Space and natural resources, education, and the field of medicine are other fields we have excelled in. I hope the people in charge will show us in reality instead of the make believe world.

The arts should be something to see, with present trend toward crafts. The Tennessee hill country should exhibit their best. Ham, biscuits, and red eye gravy should be staples on the menu.

Knoxville is so accessible from Ashville, Atlanta, Chattanooga, and Nashville, tourists should really get their money's worth.

The Indians in Cherokee will need new garb and Maggie Valley will to grease the merry-go-rounds.

A World's Fair never makes money. I am told, however, there will be some floating around. Maybe, it will be a boost to the Southland.

I intend to go. Blistered feet, chapped lips, and little miseries will not keep me away.