For February 13, 1997 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 704 words

Guys, tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Don't forget, for goodness sake. This has been a public service announcement.

If I were to forget Valentine's Day, I would surely remember that for months and months, maybe years. So, I took care of it early.

I stopped over at the Nourot/Smyers glass shop on East H today and picked up a beautiful amber perfume bottle. I can't wait for Susan to open the box so I can look at it again.

And now that I've told you, she won't be able to proofread this column for me. If you find any typos, they're probably mine.

To assuage her burning desire to slog through yet another weekly rough draft, I'll whip up a phony column about ducks or magic keys. That will keep her happy.

Also, if you see her today out on the street, or in the hall, don't mention the gift. It's a surprise. She won't get it until tomorrow.

It's hard to walk through the Nourot/Smyers store if you've settled on a budget before you go in. It was hard for me. I kept seeing something a little nicer that cost a little more. I almost bought a vase and some wine glasses and another vase.

My wife is funny and smart. She's smart because she began hinting about Valentine's Day a month ago. She's funny because her hints are as transparent as a mountain lake. She bought cards for our kids, cards for our mothers, and set them out prominently on the kitchen counter. She talked about what she would buy Kristi, our daughter, until I've almost memorized it. The words "valentine" and "day" have found their way into many of Susan's sentences.

Last weekend we drove up to Sacramento to visit Kristi and Chad. We all went wine tasting through Amador County. At one point, Kristi pulled me aside and asked point-blank, "What did you buy Mom for Valentine's Day?"

Ever honest with her I said, "Nothing yet, but I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah, right," she said. "I'll tell you what she wants. She wants some Benicia glass. Maybe some wine glasses or a vase."

I don't know if Susan pulled Kristi aside beforehand and said, "Go over there and remind Steve that Valentine's Day is coming," but the thought crossed my mind. Either way, they both know how to handle me in these situations. Pound it in. Pound it in. I went shopping.

Interlude: We drove into the foothills to see the American River and check the flow. We stood next to Troublemaker Rapid and considered the water darn high and mighty cold, but doable. We're going rafting next weekend. Chad and I just bought a new boat at the Annual Friends of the River Festival in San Francisco.

It's hard to walk through a rafting supply exhibition with a pre-planned budget. We intended to buy a few paddles, maybe a lifejacket. Then we saw her sitting in the corner, inflated and clean, the little used ten-foot "Red - EE." We checked her out thoroughly: no big scrapes or gouges, no loose seams, a few patches, and a great price. We ran away. It was too good. Our women would kill us if we came home with a boat, especially this close to Valentine's Day. We paced around the perimeter of the market. We averted our gaze from the pretty "Red - EE." Then we went back. Then we went forth. End of Interlude.

I have a problem with certain holidays, particularly birthdays, Valentine's Day, and Mother's Day. I have an unfounded chronic aversion to buying chocolates and flowers. They seem like such obvious, standard, uninspired gifts; I shun them as an offense to my creativity. I think vainly that I must buy something original, something unexpected to show my thoughtfulness. What usually happens is that I never shop for that special, unique gift and end up empty-handed and red-faced.

I should heed the words of both Susan and Kristi: "Buy the freakin' chocolates and flowers. We like them."

I can't help myself. I like to surprise my loved ones. I should say, I intend to surprise my loved ones. They're seldom surprised, but this holiday, at least, I think I've pulled it off.