Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. I received exactly one valentine, courtesy of FB Messenger, from my one and only grandson, Aidan. His wish for a happy day touched my heart.

These days a valentine sent with love is priceless.

When I was a child, Valentine’s Day was a serious red-letter day. My whole primary school looked forward to it with happy anticipation.

On Valentine’s Day, each child brought a valentine for every student in the class and gave them to the teacher. Near the end of the day, she, with a student helper or three, handed the valentines out to the class.

If there were twenty kids in the room, each one would receive nineteen valentines plus a special one from the teacher. And believe me, we adored our teachers.

The valentines, sold at the Five and Dime on sheets of stiffened paper, weren’t expensive: perhaps twenty cents for a sheet of twenty. We’d punch them out and write a classmate’s name on the front of every card and our own on the back.

Love sent, love received. No tears, no competition, no problem.

We made fancy valentines at home, too, covered with hearts and paper lace, and proudly handed them to the people we loved. It never entered our minds to buy them in a store.

These days, valentines aren’t kid stuff. Every card costs real money.

America’s special days have been a huge windfall for the greeting card industry. Today it’s hard to find a decent card for less than four dollars, and the cheap ones really look like crap.

I remember when a Hallmark card only cost a quarter.

Is it only in America that marketing deforms love and friendship? Before moving to Sydney, I never asked myself that question. I took Valentine’s Day and all the other Days entirely for granted.

When I first met Ron, I thought Australians were Americans with sexy accents. Half of what I heard was Greek to me. Say, for example, the boy next door asks to see your cozzie. Do you slap him in the face and march out the door?

Do you have any idea what a cozzie is? I didn’t, either.

The differences between Australians and Americans are many and deep, and they don’t announce themselves all at once. Buying—or refusing to buy--cards to celebrate a special day is only a trivial example.

Picture this: We live in Paddington, an inner suburb of Sydney. Ron works what feel like twelve-hour days, and I’m home alone with an irritable baby.

It’s past our bedtime, and, as usual, the baby refuses to settle. She finally screams herself to sleep, but wakes up an hour later to start the game all over again. I take her into our bed, hoping to pat her back to sleep and get a little sleep myself.

I’ve never been so tired and depressed in all my life.

That’s when my husband tells me he hasn’t bought me a Mother’s Day card.

I didn’t purchase a ticket for New York the next day, but only because I didn’t have the money.

The same scenario plays itself out the night before every holiday, including the Valentine’s Day just past. I take bets with myself on when he’s going to tell me, but it’s always the night before. After the shops have closed.

It no longer makes me crazy.

We’ve been married forty-four years and counting. I’ve learned to do without valentines, mothers’ day cards, Christmas cards, and sometimes even Christmas gifts.

Do I care? Not really. When a crunch comes, he always shows up.

I’ve finally learned that actions speak louder than greeting cards, and True Love doesn’t need a fancy card to prove it’s true.

So I’ll hang on to my own True Love. You can have the valentines.

I’d love to hear from you. Leave comments in the box below.

Happy Valentine’s Day?