How many times have you heard the story that the face of Jesus appeared on someone’s grilled cheese sandwich?  Absurd, I know.  Twist it a little this way and a little that way and sure enough–with a lot of room for interpretation–there he is.

My story isn’t nearly so dramatic, but when I made a Chestnut Pear Soup from the Dorie Greenspan book last night, I poured in a little heavy cream for a lovely garnish.  Then my husband made a few sweeps with his spoon and had a delighted look on his face.

He turned it around to show the rest of the family and voila- there was the most amazing image of a mushroom (which is not part of the ingredients I might add).  He quickly whipped out his camera, took a shot for the record and then joined us for dinner.

The value of Valentine’s Day has varied for me over the years.  In my elementary school years, my teachers would have the class decorate shoeboxes with red, pink and white hearts; then cut a slot in the top so all of us could excitedly give small valentines to our fellow classmates.  The teenage years held unfulfilled longings for a valentine of flesh and blood.  Newlywed years were exactly what you expect.

When the children arrived, my husband and I just hoped for a good night’s sleep after days filled with play, diapers, high chairs, and nightly bath routines.

Now the kids are adults or “almost” adults and Valentine’s Day is a hoped for respite to gaze at one another 25 plus years later and proclaim “it is good.”  A special dinner, a bottle of wine, and good conversation while the other “adults at home” watch the Olympics in another room pre-occupied with their own romantic thoughts.  Valentine’s Day is special again, complete with flowers, cards, and dessert.  Viva la Valentines!