All of that trouble, and the florist blows it by putting them in one of those white plastic flower-holder thingys that they make bridal bouquets out of. I visited the florist at least twice, and spoke on the phone numerous times before the big day to review the details(no control issues here,)and was adamant about having the stems left on, and having them wrapped in ivory satin ribbon. I expressed my strong dislike for the flower-holder thingys with the plastic white handles every chance that I had. I guess I should have done it just one more time.
It's the big day...the flowers show up while I am otherwise engaged. Well, I just about flipped out. There were my roses...my beautiful roses...not long-stemmed, not wrapped tightly in a lovely ribbon of ivory satin in that criss-cross, braidy type design that they do. No, no. My 2 dozen deep, red roses were snipped short, and shoved inside a piece of florist foam that sat inside the dreaded white, plastic-handled flower-holder thingy. And to add insult to injury (pardon me, I'm getting all choked up), there was a big purple ribbon stuck in the side. Mind you, the florist foam had been soaked in water so that my lovely roses did not die, so this thing was heavy! I couldn't carry them...I wanted to put them in a stroller and push them up the aisle! Oh yes! If you don't believe me, ask my chiropractor, and the orthopedist who performed my carpal tunnel surgery.
But I digress...my Valentine roses...yes, that's what I was talking about. A couple of days ago, they were on the hutch in the dining room, and the way the sunlight was coming in inspired these next photos. I stood there for a long time shooting, impressed with how much they changed as the sunlight peeked in and out of the clouds. They appear so peaceful. You have no idea the chaos that was erupting while I was doing this. I can't remember specifically what it was, as God blesses mothers with the ability to forget, from one day to the next, the incidents that don't involve hospital visits, the police/fire department, or blood. Well, sometimes, I forget the bloody ones. It depends on how much blood was involved, how many band-aids said blood required, and whether the presence of blood was accidental, self-inflicted, or the result of brotherly love.
...Sigh...aren't they lovely? Cue peaceful music...preferably the theme song to Somewhere In Time.
