Please Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore

You're giving me a chore

Yes, they’re pretty and fragrant but I have issues:

1. The bunch from the market are tucked into a plastic sleeve. (More plastic? Hello? A bouquet of nature stuck inside a fold of crude oil and polymers destroying our oceans is an oxymoron.) I have to then find my crappy scissors probably from 1982 and make sure I tear open the pollution over the sink otherwise flower petals and twig crumbs drop everywhere and make a sticky mess.

2. I need a Cardie B nail to pick at the twisty-tie wire and unravel it.

3. It was probably my step MIL who taught me to trim the stems. While I knew how to cut coupons, my MIL had her florist cut stems and design fresh arrangements for her fancy apartment. I had heard of Book of the Month Club but never Orchid of the Week. Now where did those dull scissors go?

4. There’s always that one stem that’s as thick as my thumb and impossible to trim. And so it remains as is. Trim be dammed. It’s a big f-k you to anyone receiving flowers. And if there’s a hidden thorn? Better have a Band-Aid ready.

5. An old friend who was a gardening queen taught me to peel off any leaves that would otherwise soak in the water. This apparently prevents bacteria although my flower water tends to stink by day two.

6. I have the perfect vase but of course I didn’t trim the stems enough.

7. Now where did I put the crappy scissors?

8. As I read the directions for the plant food packet I miss a call from Paul Feig; he wants to direct my comedy screenplay. Well, it was a spam call. But still. I pour in the powder and realize the water wasn’t the right temperature. F-k it.

9. Flowers in vase. Now where do I put these beauties? Do they need full sun? Part shade? There wasn’t an information tag. They end up on the kitchen island next to the mail, bill pile and car keys.

10. Within three days there are petal droppings on the mail, bills and keys and I’ve already cleaned out the vase and given the bunch fresh water 28 times.

11. There’s always that one flower that crashes first. It folds over like it’s bowing to the others. You prop it up or try leaning it against a spray of green filler. You leave it there thinking maybe his friends will cheer him up.

12. When flowers no longer have roots, they will inevitably expire. A few have already begun the process. You manage to toss those but there’s a couple of carnations left. They outlive the opened jar of olives in the fridge. But well, you stuff the whole load in the garbage (or compost ) and feel guilty about the carnations, even the green fillers.

13. Cleaning the vase is disgusting. It’s slimy and smells worse than rotten eggs. You grumble under breath at the friend who gave you these flowers in the first place.

Warning: the sad part of flowers

Hubby and I recently moved across country after living in WA state for 10 years. While it’s glorious to be near our kids I’ve been having a tough time with this relocation. I feel like I’m the daisy that was oh so happy minding its own business, blooming in a tall bush, then suddenly plucked and shoved into a bouquet with strange flowers. Luckily there are a few other daisies in the bunch I know well, but I’m sad about leaving my daisy-friends, and the earth where my roots were strong. There’s also an unknown in a new environment. I am a proud Jewish Zionist and worry about the lack of sun, water and knowledge of local “gardeners.”

I know I’ll find roots here and like-minded people. In the past when I’ve made new friends it was always the “transplants” who were the most willing to accept a new bud into its spray. And after all, one things flowers do well, is grow – we just need to get plenty of nourishing sun and water and friendly pollinators around us.

Me and my daisies.

Final thought for my list

14. Of course, I appreciate any gift given, flowers included. A smile is my favorite, but if you must bring a splash of color or greenery, make it a potted plant. Foliage needs a home otherwise it dies.

Thank you for reading. Apologies for not bringing my usual comments and camellias to your Substacks of late.