Tag Archives: Valentine’s Day

A Sweetheart for Me and a Simple Jam Tart for You

<img alt="Simple Jam Tart"/>

Simple Jam Tart

I looked over at my husband a few evenings ago as we sat in our usual places after dinner in front of the television — he in his chair, ever present laptop casting a blue white glow on his handsome mug, and I pressed into a corner of the sofa, pillows wedged beneath me, iPad screen black and lacking my attention.  I’m not sure what urged me to bring it up, but I told him to not worry about Valentine’s Day, to not bother with running to the store for a card or flowers — that I didn’t need a day created to sell cards to remind me he loves me.  And then I had to confess I’d forgotten I had already purchased a card for him last week and watched him fake a pout and I laughed over the whole thing.  We’ve celebrated “us” quite a bit in the last couple of months and I’m currently planning our trip to Paris and Germany for later this spring, so Valentine’s Day seems to have been lost in the shuffle.

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Sweet Heart Pies

My husband rarely calls me by my given name — a boy’s name my mother decided upon after she heard a woman in a grocery store call her dog.  A big dog.  I’ve always thought it would be a great name for a dog since they’re more like people than animals anyway.  It was going to be Deborah, like so many of the girls born then.  Deborah Ruth, I think, after my mother’s mother.

No, my husband has instead come up with quite a few other loving endearments over the years I’ve been happily attached to him, but none of them come close to sounding like Kelly.  I’ve tried to remember the first one, but getting caught up in the order of it all misses the point:  that I’m deserving of these little jewels of lovey-doveyness from him.

I could have a completely different attitude about them, mind you.  Someone who looked a gift horse in the mouth instead of considering the lovely source that my husband is.

These little somethings usually come with a smile or tone that suggests nothing too important will follow.  He’s just getting my attention.  Sometimes they appear on the cards he gives me instead of the giant heart with a capital “K” filling the inside.  Other times, they appear as greetings in occasional emails sent, reminding me of something I said I’d take care of because he knows that I’m easily lost in my day on most days, so might never quite get around to doing whatever it is I said I’d do.

Sweets.  Can you look around for my checkbook?  It’s not in my car. You know, because doesn’t everyone keep it there?

Or arriving home at the end of a long day, he’ll ask,  How was your day, Pear? Yes, he always asks, and then when I forget to ask about his, he continues to tell me what it was like.  I need better manners.

More recently, I have been Pear Petunia when he’s lounging in his chair on the weekend and caught up in a football-soccer-basketball-hockey game or two on television.  He absent-mindedly extends a hand for me to grasp in passing and squeeze once or twice.  I seize the opportunity to remind him that Petunia was a pig and that being shaped like a pear isn’t exactly ideal, but being a pear-shaped cartoon pig is a bit much.  We laugh.

He’ll disagree, but I think it all started with Pie.  Yes, he called me Pie all those years ago, and I know I’m in good company when it comes to this because pie is always good, isn’t it?  Especially when the crust is oh, so flaky and the filling a perfect combination of tart and sweet.

And so I made him little fruit pies the other day with blueberries and sugar plums I’d frozen.

He liked them with or without the powdered sugar, but you decide.

Perfect as Pie.

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Dark Chocolate Tartelettes

Tart Pans

I know I’m not alone in having had the experience of finding something long forgotten — if noticed missing at all.  The purses sitting just beyond a comfortable reach on the top shelf of my closet are veritable treasure troves when I finally decide one or two should be sent to the Good Will.  I recently found a gift certificate to a local book store dated June, 2000, ink smeared and dog eared. Cleaning out a junk drawer usually turns up a few movie passes, that button that popped off a favorite sweater I vowed to sew back on, and a recipe for margaritas torn from the local paper years ago.  One never knows when a truly excellent margarita could come in handy.

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