A Summer’s Morning

I am sitting at the kitchen table on a late July morning sipping a cup of coffee with milk. My kids are not awake yet and I haven’t walked the dogs. It’s raining. There are garlic scaths I cut a few weeks ago and put in the clear glass Simon Pearce wine decanter that was left on my studio stoop in a box with other miscellaneous pre-used vases in the hopes that I can give them another chance for use. The heavy hand blown glass decanter was a welcome surprise to the typically tacky red and cobalt blue vessels that I usually find in these surprise boxes that show up at my doorstep from time to time. The neighbors know why my studio lights are on late at night, and they are right, I will repurpose those outdated containers that were once filled with fleeting messages of love and hope from other florists or friends. The garlic scathes have grown up and out reaching towards the ceiling and the window light. The bending lines of their stems stretch up wiggly like active bug antennae resembling more of an alien-like creature than a vase of cut flowers. 

“What am I going to do today?” is one of the questions on my mind, and also “how?” My kids will want breakfast, pancakes probably, and my to-do list is already quite long. Many days start like this in the summer: deep contemplations of what, how, and why. I find purpose in motherhood and as a floral designer but sometimes it’s not all so clear. When I swallow the last sip from my cup the studio phone rings. “My mother turns 94 today, I’d like to send her flowers….” and the day begins just like that, I have work to do. 

I made this arrangement for the mother turning 94 today, from a son who is far away and missing her. “She can’t hear very well, so just text her before you deliver.” he explains “You don’t turn 94 without adapting in this modern world and she’s still going strong.” he says. And with that I feel a little boost of confidence, I can do it, and I will. Before I know it the day will be done, and what I’ll have to show for it will be sitting on someone else’s kitchen table reaching and stretching for the light of a new day. My kids will be fed and tired, my dogs will have been walked, and a fresh sip of coffee will be only a short sleep away.

Make the most of today, flower friends. The miracles and gifts you’ll give and receive may be small and unexpected but they are where the magic is that gets us through the day and keeps each other growing and reaching out for what comes next.  

Carpe Diem, 


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