“Can I offer you some love?” This sentence is how I greeted guests who entered my house in the fortnight leading to Valentine’s Day.
At the end of January, I’d attended a weekend writing retreat in New Norcia, a tiny monastery town 90 minutes north of Perth. Meals were included, which were the same wholesome but plain fare served to the monks. There was nothing wrong with the food, but it wasn’t what I was used to eating.
New Norcia is so small there isn’t even a store, but there is a tiny roadhouse that opens for a few hours every day. On the Saturday afternoon, I took myself over to see if I could find something that my tastebuds were used to, so I didn’t feel as unsettled. There wasn’t much on their shelves but amazingly on the front counter was a basket full of my favourite type of cinnamon scroll. The soft, slightly doughy sort are really hard to find so much as I try to avoid yeast, I decided not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth! I grabbed the tasty goody and a bottle of soda water since sparkling mineral water didn’t seem to be a thing out there.
As I turned to leave, I saw a stack of jars filled with hard-boiled rock candy. Oh, yum! I perused the offerings – custard and rhubarb, mint, barley sugar. Then a title caught my eye: Love Rocks. Through the clear glass, I could see red and white striped lollies. I thought my family would love them, so I grabbed a bottle to take home.
Safely home again a day later, I prised off the lid. They smelt divine, kind of minty but mostly like juicy strawberries. Looking inside the jar, I realised each lolly had either a letter or a love heart in its centre. I pulled a few out and put them in a line until I worked out all the letters. L-O-V-E. Fabulous! They really were love lollies.
I showed the jar to my son and quipped “I bought you some love.” He laughed, because he’s used to me. Then from somewhere in my always churning brain came the line “Can I offer you some love?”. I knew it was a weird thing to say but nobody seemed to mind when I said it. Everyone shown the jar happily took a piece of candy.
From their reactions, I got the idea to hold a Love Lunch for my family. We don’t really do the Valentine’s thing, but I absolutely relate to showing people you love them. I decided on Sunday lunch on February 16th and invited my husband and sons to share a meal with me. I didn’t tell them anything special was happening.
I was rostered for singing on Sunday morning, meaning I had to be out the door by 8 am at the latest. But before I left, I threw a black tablecloth over the dining table whose upper surface still bears the large scorch mark from when I almost burned the house down two Christmases ago. After scattering tiny pink and red love hearts, X’s and O’s and little lips across the cloth, I posed two reflective red hearts that are really lidded cups in the middle of the table. In front of them, I placed four rolls of Love Hearts lollies (the ones where each says something like Hug Me) which I’d wrapped with a red or pink pipe cleaner shaped into a heart that could be worn as a ring if the recipient so desired.
I’d also found a lolly grabber in Kmart, conveniently coloured pink, and filled it with wrapped sweets. Then I ordered any heart-shaped confectionery I could find to go on the table. And of course, I put out the Love Rocks, in a fancy, etched glass, footed container with the lid left off so everyone could see the word ‘love’.
The final addition was four parcels wrapped in gold paper. I didn’t add name tags. My plan was once everyone had eaten, each guest would randomly choose a gift, say who they thought it would be for, then open it and see if they were right. I’d bought everyone a construction kit. My husband and youngest son received mini brick coffee machines. My oldest son’s gift was a Lego camera. My box also contained a camera but in pink.
The faces of my family when they realised what they’d been invited to were wonderful. The lollies and the roast dinner and the candy grabber and the tease of the unnamed gold gifts were greatly appreciated. But the truly love-filled part of the lunch was when we all sat together, making our creations.
My oldest finished first and then helped me organise my mixed piles of coloured bricks. My other son and husband worked together to get their coffee makers built, explaining to each other any bits of the instructions they found confusing. As we toiled, we laughed. We also complained, blamed the instructions for our ineptitude, retracted our statements almost apologetically to the picture sheet, and noticed all over again who sticks their tongues out while they’re concentrating. (Hint, my sons don’t do it).
The eating part of the lunch was over in less than thirty minutes. But the sharing of time while working on our gifts took hours. The son who visited for lunch also stayed for dinner, meaning my heart was as full as my stomach.
I wanted to show my family I loved them. But the afternoon was spent sharing in our love for each other. All from an inspiration sparked by a jar of red and white lollies with a cute title in a tiny petrol station in the middle of nowhere.
Love rocks.
A Glorious Mess 