The obsession with fresh flowers began approximately twenty years ago.
I was living in NYC, working my weekdays in public relations and being an assistant. On the weekends, because the weekday job did not pay enough for me to have any cushion, I worked weekends.
Plus, a weekend job kept me out of trouble by giving me something to do for an additional 12 hours a week, at $15 an hour. And in 2001, that was a nice rate.
From 10am to 5pm on Saturdays, and noon to 5pm on Sundays… I worked as a shopgirl in a bridal and gift registry boutique. It was located in a townhouse on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a block from Central Park in the lower 70s.
Each weekend morning I would get up, shower, put my hair in hot rollers, throw on a black or red dress with a cardigan, put some black heels in my bag and throw on flats, I’d walk to the subway and head to the picture-perfect space.
I would spend the day running around the townhouse for the bridal consultants, fetching champagne, coffee, Diet Coke… And wrapping purchases. Answering the phones. Remerchandising place settings of china and flatware that had been taken down. I’d refold table linens that had been brought out to be styled into scenes that made brides want to register for their weddings with us.
But nearly every Saturday morning, when I first arrived, I would need to head down to the supermarche (French for “supermarket”) and pick up flowers.
In NYC, bodega or corner store flowers were always cheap. And usually I picked up tulips and roses. Unless their were peonies available (which they rarely were). I would never get lilies – as the orange stamens would stain the white linen tablecloths… And were unappealing to look at.
I’d bring them back to the townhouse, take then into the kitchen section, and begin pulling together arrangements to put throughout the house. Often they would get used in the table settings, as the vases I used were things the brides could register for as well.
(Pretty much everything you saw in the shop was something you could register for. Even the vacuum cleaner.)
I loved the flowers though. And until that point, I hadn’t given much thought to flowers on a regular basis in my apartment. It seemed like an indulgence that was silly. I was on a very tight budget, even with the weekend job. But they were cheap.
Like, $5 for a dozen roses cheap.
So I would occasionally – maybe one a month – pick some up on my way home back to Williamsburg (Brooklyn). And I would keep them in a simple glass cylinder vase I’d been by friends one time. (I couldn’t afford the intricately hand-etched crystal vases we sold at the shop.)
Now though, two decades later… I buy flowers every week. They’ve doubled in price. But I’ve acquired a number of those crystal vases we used to sell in the shop, and I can keep fresh flowers alive in them for two weeks usually. I buy a bouquet one week for my dining room, and then the next week one for my home office.
This week’s were a coral orange dozen roses.
It makes me happy to see them every day. And as long as I change out the water every few days, I can get them to last the two weeks.
As soon as I get them home, I chop half the stem off and then pull all of the leaves for them. I twirl each stem till the petals open up. And I place them in warm water.
It’s a Sunday ritual.
thepsychonautsjourney.com 