I’m hesitant to admit to something so girly, but don’t we all like getting a bouquet of flowers? An impromptu batch of roses can make my heart swell, and I kind of hope for it on Valentine’s Day, which is usually a pipe dream. It’s a beautiful, sweet nothing of a gesture, the ultimate cure-all symbol. All year round, flowers are the go-to for new love and lost love. They commend success, births, and sympathize with sickness and death. Giving flowers is so deeply engrained in our sense of occasion that we often don’t think about how odd it really is. Congrats/Sorry! Here, have some nature. Cut and wrapped in cellophane with a bow. Just for you.
I wonder about this while I stand outside my house shivering at five AM. I never, ever get up this early unless it was for a plane ride to a warmer place than Vancouver, and I’ve missed those kinds of flights on more than one occasion. But I had got to chatting with a local florist named Heather a while ago, and she’s picking me up to take me to the second largest Dutch-style flower auction in North America. Not many people know that this kind of thing is tucked away in our suburbs. I didn’t know until Heather told me.