Recently, flowers have become an important fixture in my life. Every week, I buy a bunch and make my own arrangement. Right now, I am feeling straight up daisies, tulips or miniature roses. No crazy bouquets. Just simple, single variety blossoms. I like to talk flower arrangements because it makes me feel like Martha Stewart, or at least like a person who has their s**t together. Let me just say, “I wish.” If any of you want to come over and make my bed, organize my closet or figure out how to put this vacuum back together, do let me know. Having flowers in the house makes up for other domestic ineptitudes, brightens a room and my day. Not surprisingly, this all started because of my Grandma.
A few weeks ago, I was in a store that had a vase full of Anthuriums. All of a sudden, I was five again, staying at my Grandma’s house, admiring the bizarre plants in her living room. When I asked the store manager what they were called, I told him of my Grandma’s fondness for them. “Your Grandma sounds wild! She must have some sense of humor.” Maybe I am dense, or perhaps I was still looking at them through the eyes of a child, but I didn’t immediately understand what he meant.
HELLO! Talk about erotic! If I were as cool as my Grandma, I would definitely keep these in my house. Some day.
I started scouring flower shops with a mindset I normally reserved for bakeries. What could be the harm in looking? Late one afternoon, I encountered a gorgeous arrangement of Gladioli. As soon as I heard the name, I was transported back some years again. This time, I am thirteen years old, looking at my Grandma’s elegant, perfectly manicured hand. The color of her nails is a whispery pink, with a shine so glossy you’d think they’d be slippery to touch. “What kind of nail polish do you wear?” I asked. “Its called Gladioli,” she said.
LESSON: Keep flowers, get manicures, and be your lady-like self.
I felt totally justified in purchasing the beautiful Gladioli. I convinced myself it was a sign. Rather, a tribute! From that day forward, I would be the type of girl who keeps fresh flowers in her home. A voice in my head sang Britney’s lesser known ballad, ‘I’m Not a Miss, not yet a Ma’am’. Once a week, I’d give myself this gift with my Grandma in mind. When I called to tell her of the tribute, she liked the idea very much. “Do you still wear Gladioli?” I asked. “No, I get gel manicures now.” Of course she does.