It's been unusually cold in central Florida this past weekend. Nighttime temps plummeted into the low 30s, prompting neighborhood gardeners to cover their fragile foliage. We don't cover our plants, though; we've adopted a gardening philosophy that the plants themselves can choose if they live or die. Apparently the straggly rosebush beneath my kitchen window opts for the former; it is full of pink blooms. I have to smile when I catch sight of it.
I appreciate creatively arranged flowers and greens in both landscaping and vases. I also enjoy looking at wildflowers along roadsides and randomly gathered blossoms (or blossoming weeds) plunked into containers with no obvious intentions of theme or arrangement. I'm attracted to photos and sketches or paintings depicting dramatic posies, and floral fabrics that hint of days long ago. There is something about flowers that speaks to the inner me.
I don't consider myself a romantic in any traditional sense. My favorite present from my beloved is a gift certificate - or several - for massages. Perfect date night? Order-in, comfy "TV-watching clothes," wine, and a good flick. High-quality chocolate is not a romantic offering; it's a daily necessity - like vitamins. I do, however, appreciate being surprised by having my stash unexpectedly replenished. I choose citrus or green scents over floral, don't wear or decorate with lace or floral patterns, and eschew Nicholas Sparks-like books and movies. Yet if G bestows upon me a gift of flowers for no special occasion? Well, let the date night begin!
I appreciate creatively arranged flowers and greens in both landscaping and vases. I also enjoy looking at wildflowers along roadsides and randomly gathered blossoms (or blossoming weeds) plunked into containers with no obvious intentions of theme or arrangement. I'm attracted to photos and sketches or paintings depicting dramatic posies, and floral fabrics that hint of days long ago. There is something about flowers that speaks to the inner me.
I don't consider myself a romantic in any traditional sense. My favorite present from my beloved is a gift certificate - or several - for massages. Perfect date night? Order-in, comfy "TV-watching clothes," wine, and a good flick. High-quality chocolate is not a romantic offering; it's a daily necessity - like vitamins. I do, however, appreciate being surprised by having my stash unexpectedly replenished. I choose citrus or green scents over floral, don't wear or decorate with lace or floral patterns, and eschew Nicholas Sparks-like books and movies. Yet if G bestows upon me a gift of flowers for no special occasion? Well, let the date night begin!
The fact is, my delight in flowers has little to do with being a romantic. I have no desire to read seed catalogs, wear wide-brimmed hats, and plunge my hands into the soil, but admiring someone's well-tended garden is viscerally pleasurable. Any gift of colorful blooms, whether artfully arranged by a professional or in a supermarket's cellophane sleeve, brings me moments of pure joy. Even gifting myself with a bouquet lifts my spirits.
For all their beauty, flowers have visual imperfections, don't age well, and will eventually die. When they're gone, the memory of their power to make me smile and appreciate remains. I like that. I hope I do for others what flowers do for me.
For all their beauty, flowers have visual imperfections, don't age well, and will eventually die. When they're gone, the memory of their power to make me smile and appreciate remains. I like that. I hope I do for others what flowers do for me.
