Wellcome!
A Promiss of Flower
For my life and me,money isn't available as it used to be.I switched to a more interesting job that paid less.Then baby James came.
You find ways to house and feed yourself for less,but the bigticket stuff is over;vacation in France or Mexico,Friday-night dinnersin nifty new restaurants.Even our long holiday weekends are now spent at home.
Through all the downsizing,though,one thing hasn't changed;the flowers.Starburst lilies still crowd one another on the antiqu-eblue sideboard.White tulips in a pitcher on the kitchen butcher block,freesia and daffodils on the plank dining-room table,sunflowers on the sill--they're all there.And on Janet's night stand,always a single pale pink rose restsin a cut-crystal vase.It smells perfect.Over the course of a week,as each new rose opens,a mystery is played out.For three dollars,that mystery is the world's best bargain.
It is my job to buy the flowers.When the sprays begin to droop and scatter petals,I hie to the florist.I ask which floers will last the longest,wonder which willlook best.Sometimes when money is especially tight,the kitchen goes without.Still,whenever Janet's rosebegins to brown or petals dorp away,a replacement is quickly bought.Every now and then,I keep a runing tab of the weekly cost :so for,the most it's come to is $17.We can still swing that.
In the beginning ,I broughtmy wife flowers because they surprised her, and she's smile.After the bouquet and roses became more commonplace,she'd still have that brief astonished expression when she unwrapped them--which counts for something.I've seen her step out of hotshot restaurants with a lesser glow on her face.
Now there are other reasons to buy flowers.Because we've always had them.Because they've become a touchstone against bad things.Because their small,bright presence helps our life smell a lot more like joy than hardship.
Plato believed such small beauties were a privilege of nature.All I kown is that by spending a few squeaky dollars each week to make Janet smile,I smile.Among her flowers,late at night,I sometimes find calm.And in the quiet house--listening to my wife and baby sleep,suspended in the still-waiting promise of a future built around a woman and the few things you can love and hold--the flowers still seem beautiful.And,minutes later,more beautiful still.
You find ways to house and feed yourself for less,but the bigticket stuff is over;vacation in France or Mexico,Friday-night dinnersin nifty new restaurants.Even our long holiday weekends are now spent at home.
Through all the downsizing,though,one thing hasn't changed;the flowers.Starburst lilies still crowd one another on the antiqu-eblue sideboard.White tulips in a pitcher on the kitchen butcher block,freesia and daffodils on the plank dining-room table,sunflowers on the sill--they're all there.And on Janet's night stand,always a single pale pink rose restsin a cut-crystal vase.It smells perfect.Over the course of a week,as each new rose opens,a mystery is played out.For three dollars,that mystery is the world's best bargain.
It is my job to buy the flowers.When the sprays begin to droop and scatter petals,I hie to the florist.I ask which floers will last the longest,wonder which willlook best.Sometimes when money is especially tight,the kitchen goes without.Still,whenever Janet's rosebegins to brown or petals dorp away,a replacement is quickly bought.Every now and then,I keep a runing tab of the weekly cost :so for,the most it's come to is $17.We can still swing that.
In the beginning ,I broughtmy wife flowers because they surprised her, and she's smile.After the bouquet and roses became more commonplace,she'd still have that brief astonished expression when she unwrapped them--which counts for something.I've seen her step out of hotshot restaurants with a lesser glow on her face.
Now there are other reasons to buy flowers.Because we've always had them.Because they've become a touchstone against bad things.Because their small,bright presence helps our life smell a lot more like joy than hardship.
Plato believed such small beauties were a privilege of nature.All I kown is that by spending a few squeaky dollars each week to make Janet smile,I smile.Among her flowers,late at night,I sometimes find calm.And in the quiet house--listening to my wife and baby sleep,suspended in the still-waiting promise of a future built around a woman and the few things you can love and hold--the flowers still seem beautiful.And,minutes later,more beautiful still.
