
Once
again, Day of Books and Roses, Día de San Jordi (St. Gerorge's Day). I
needn't mention it again that it's a romantic day in this part of the
world where I am, Spain. It's a day of culture, leisure, pleasure and
more than anything else, day of culture and romance. Or, at least
romantic gestures, when men receive gifts of books, and ladies are
presented roses.Nowadays though, ladies too are often given books as
well as the roses.
Not only this is done amongst friends and family either. In better times, many good class restaurants, hotels, cafes too, and even some shops would give a rose to their regular guests or customers on this day, small investment for public relations. It's not unusual a lady would get a rose from a total stranger in the street.
Not only this is done amongst friends and family either. In better times, many good class restaurants, hotels, cafes too, and even some shops would give a rose to their regular guests or customers on this day, small investment for public relations. It's not unusual a lady would get a rose from a total stranger in the street.
With the crisis of recession and prices of books and roses, I think most people would go for the singular rather than the plural, a book and a rose, not stacks of one and enormous bouquet of the other. Not sure how to present one book to make it look romantic, but one single rose always seems to me even more elegant than a bunch of them, if not exactly appearing to be more romantic to some.
To me yes, especially coming from a special or significant someone. If it's presented in the right location and at the right moment. Or on any day of the year. Not everything is better in quantity in my opinion.
The only thing is, the day makes me reflect on another reality. The people who don't get even just one book or one rose and know they never will. The day just seems extra sad amongst the other sad days. Even though the sun is shining, birds are singing, the temperature is pleasant, the atmosphere is festive, faces everywhere are smiling, but you feel as though you don't belong, as though you are watching from outside a private window. Forlorn and invisible. You almost feel as though you are intruding.
If I could afford it, or if I could influence the authorities, wouldn't it be nice to send books and roses to those who are in geriatric residences or asylums, those in institutes for formerly wayward women, battered wives or single mothers, now under protection and reeducation? And hospitals, and your neighbour maybe whom you know to be all alone ...
Current Mood:
Awake
Awake


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