Laughter is the Best Medicine

By Lynn Ruth Miller

February fourteenth had always been a bleak day of empty mailboxes and broken dreams for me until I came West.  My very first Valentine's Day there, I found a tremendous bouquet of flowers waiting for me at my front door.   I had been waiting for a moment such as this for almost eighty years. I galloped up the steps and tore at the green wrapping paper to find the card that would tell me that someone I had met in my new hometown actually loved me.   I opened the little envelope and read, "Happy Valentine's day from Melvin."

I paused.  I couldn't think of one eligible man in my generation with that name. In fact, I was hard put to remember any  Melvin until I recalled the lovely young man who was the house manager at Cardogen Hall.  I had done a bit of ushering for him and he probably sent a bouquet to all the little old ladies who helped him.  I sat down immediately and wrote him an effusive thank you note.

Two days later, there was a knock at my door.  I opened it and Melvin stood on my front porch, his face red as a valentine heart and a dozen  roses in his hand. "I didn't send you flowers for Valentines' Day, Miss Miller," he said.  "But I should have.  You have been a wonderful help to me this year."

I thanked him. I hugged him.  I plied him with cake and coffee and swore I would usher for him until that building  crumbled to the ground.  I kissed him good by and leaned against my front door and searched my memory in vain. 

I didn't know another Melvin. 

Suddenly I remembered that cute carry out boy at Sainsbury’s .  We always made jokes together and I flirted with him shamelessly.  I hurried to the store and when darling little Melvin started to help me bag my groceries, I wrapped him in my arms and kissed him.  "Aren't you PRECIOUS!" I exclaimed.  "That bouquet of flowers was the nicest Valentine I have ever received!" and I was telling the absolute truth.

The trouble was I was telling the truth to the wrong man or should I say boy?  Melvin was twelve years old.

While I was paying for my groceries, Melvin disappeared for a moment.  He returned with an immense bouquet of daisies in his hand and a helium balloon that said BE MINE.  He thrust both objects in my arms and picked up my sacks of food to help me to the bus.  "I meant to get these to you in time," he lied.  "But I wasn't paid until this morning."

"I see," I said.

I returned home and I wept.  How could life could be so cruel?  Somewhere in this world there was a man named Melvin who loved me enough to send me flowers and I didn't have the faintest notion who he was.  I called the florist who delivered my valentine and asked who had ordered the mystery flowers.  He explained that he was not allowed to divulge that information.  "What's your first name? "I asked.

"Sebastian," he said.  "Sebastian O'Malley.  Why do you ask?"

I was too choked up to answer. I stared at my three bouquets and then I stopped crying. I sat back and admired them.  I inhaled their perfume and swore I would name my next dog Melvin.  I looked up in the general direction of heaven and I said.  "Oh thank you, all you Melvins of the world!  I will cherish the memory of my very first Valentine Triple Header as long as I live!"

And I do

JOKE OF THE MONTH

The day after Valentine's Day a policeman saw a little old man crying on a park bench.  `'Can I help you sir?" he asked. The old man wiped his eyes and sobbed "Oh officer! Yesterday I met a gorgeous woman in a coffee shop and she said, "Come home with me and I will make this the happiest Valentine's Day you've ever had.  We went to her place and she cooked me a beautiful dinner and then we made love all night.  This morning she sent me out for a walk and said 'Let's make it Valentine's Day every day.  See you after your walk, darling.' "

The policeman said "That sounds so lovely!  But why are you crying?"

The old man dissolved in tears,  "Because I can't remember where she lives."