Category Archives: Flowers

The sun came pouring in the living room the other morning, the way it does only at the end of winter, when branches are bare and the air is crisp and clear. It illuminated a simple bunch of hydrangeas, which caught the sunlight and held it there, letting it warm the spirit and the room. 

Since we’ve had a decent supply of hydrangea blooms during recent summers, I don’t think of purchasing them as cut flowers at any other time of the year, but on this particular week I craved their simplicity and easy elegance. And they reminded me of happy summer days, so I indulged. 

This is a holiday cactus without a holiday this year, as it has decided to bloom with neither Thanksgiving or Easter nearby. (I absolutely refuse to call it a St. Patrick’s Day cactus.) I’m not mad about it – these blooms are a life-giver in these despondent last weeks of winter, made so much worse by snowstorms and plunging temperatures that would have been better-received in January or February. 

This stalwart plant has been with us for about two decades, becoming a cherished friend like so many of these cactuses tend to do, and throwing out these magnificently-colored blooms in two main shows per year – once in the fall and once in the spring. The last few years have changed just about everything we thought we knew, especially those things I thought would never change; this little plant is a welcome reminder that there are some things that continue no matter what else is going on, triggered by seasonal light and set into motion by nature herself.

It seems a silly exercise to complain or be bothered by anything in this charmed existence when so much is so terribly wrong in so many other places. There is a heaviness that seems to bear down upon us all now, at least among any slightly empathetic or feeling human beings, and it’s wearing on my heart as much as anyone else’s. I wish I had the words or the power to make things just a little bit better, but I don’t know if those words exist, and if there’s anything remotely real about power, it’s not something that one person can use to actually change anyone else. Not on the inside, at least. 

All I can do is post these photos of a bouquet of sunflowers I procured for a friend’s birthday many years ago. Born in the early days of May, she personified so much of what is good in this world, so much of what I most wanted to be. She loved sunflowers, so when we met in Boston for dinner I brought her these. I wish I could remember more of that night – what we talked about, where we went to eat, what was going on in her life at the time – but it has slipped away, barely rekindled by these photos. 

She is gone now, from my life and from this world, taken too soon by cancer, yet still haunting me because we never got to say good-bye. Sunflowers remind me of her, bringing back her quick and loud laughter, her keen intelligence, her steely vulnerability. In the nodding head of a flower, I see all the good that is somehow present amid this madness, even if my friend is somewhere else. I also feel all the sadness, all the loss, and all the ways we have failed each other. Even looking into the face of the sun, it is sometimes difficult to locate the light. 

When this website first went up in the winter of 2003, the world felt a lot simpler. After almost 20 ensuing years, much has changed, but the main tenets of it have remained the same – and as I determine where it goes from here, I’m drawn back to that simple beginning. 

To that end, I’m decluttering things a bit, reducing the posting schedule (three posts a day is just too much with everything else I’m doing these days) and simplifying those posts into shorter and more succinct bites rather than sprawling multi-course meals. No one has the attention span anymore, and that includes me. 

And so, enjoy these pink tulips on a Wednesday afternoon. 

That’s all.

Arriving at this second day of March, a simple bouquet comprised of a trio of tulip blooms and a riotous little bunch of ranunculus makes for a primary triumvirate of color when backed by a blue winter sky. Hints of the seasons to come, hopes for the last winter days to tick by quickly, but not too quickly, as there is wonder and some magic in the waiting. 

When so little of the outside world feels fresh or alive, a baby bouquet like this makes all the difference. The power of a single flower can still the most formidable winter day. All the sun seems to inhabit its bright face ~ all the warmth and all the glory. 

Andy takes care of all of my Mini-Cooper’s bang-ups and bruises, sometimes with his own hands, and sometimes with a skillfully-handled phone call with the insurance company after a stone dented the windshield on I-87 during a recent trip to Amsterdam. Such an act is always appreciated, because after being on the phone during a typical day at work, doing the same thing on my off-hours would prove too unhappily awful. As thanks, I put together this bouquet of flowers to greet the month that spring returns, as Andy is getting as antsy as most of us. 

He recently floated out the idea of an early pool-opening, mostly I think to keep our minds and thoughts buoyed with the hope of a warm spring and summer, especially after last year. I’d be happy with a couple days of sun and warmth, and not ask for the moon and stars just yet. But I won’t say no to it if it happens, and as we enjoy the sun coming into the bedroom in the afternoon, we feel it linger, throwing rainbows up onto the ceiling and walls from the crystal lamp finial by the window. 

I added some bright yellow lilies to this arrangement to signal that the first month of spring is at hand, and in about twenty days we will officially be in the swing of things. Until then, let’s have a few more flower bouquets to pass the time in prettiness and gratitude. 

Flowers for Valentine’s Day are over-priced and overly-familiar, two things that should be avoided at all costs. But flowers on any other day are welcome and adored, appreciated for their beauty as much as the unexpected delight they produce. I was reminded of that when Andy returned home from a trip to the market with this beautiful bouquet of lilies and irises, two favorite flowers that transformed the entire house with their cheery visage and intoxicating perfume. 

It wasn’t just the happy connotation with summer and sunnier days that they produced, but the unexpected pleasure of their appearance on an otherwise-unremarkable and ho-hum day. That’s the mark of a good husband: anyone can check the boxes off for a holiday – it’s the ones who check the boxes on all the other days that are to be cherished. 

The soft pink and purple color palette at work eases these mid-February days, when the whole world feels constricted and bothered by winter. Andy and I have been mostly keeping inside, cozy ensconced near the hearth of our home, quietly marking and inhabiting each day as it passes. We watch the elongating light, the way the sun begins making rainbows for longer periods in the bedroom as it passes through the crystal-topped finial of a lamp. Spring feels closer now, almost within grasp. 

A hint, perhaps, of what magic is yet to come, and very much a reminder of much magic that has been before, these little roses may very well be the scent of the season, or the year. While Tom Ford works his enchantment with this classic floral base in his current trio of Private Blends, let’s look back at the wonder of the rose. 

The effervescent offering of ‘Rose & Cuir’ from Frederic Malle’s line is a fresh and summery take on the classic June rose, even as it lacks some of the leathery cuir aspect a few expected from such a name. For that more complex combo, Malle’s collection also has a darker rose scent for evenings, ‘Portrait of a Lady’, one that really only works in the more bewitching hours. 

Back to Tom Ford, he’s been in the rose garden before, with his gorgeously smoky ‘Oud Fleur’ which is one of the fragrances that brought me into how exquisite, and modern, the rose can truly be. Such modernity moves into a timelessness that deserves celebration. We could use some of that indulgence this year. 

‘February Gold’ narcissus don’t come anywhere near to making it out by February in these climes, so only the indoor blooms as seen here stand a chance. Such tiny blooms carry such a great burden of hope. Yes, hope can sometimes be a burden, even when it’s as beautiful as this. 

Direct counter-programming to this wintry entrance into February is found in these photos from a recent foray to Faddegon’s. F-this and f-that in a fiery floral foundation of alliteration! Yes, we are at that point in winter where we all go a little mad. I remember a trip to the Cape to see JoAnn and her crew several years ago – actually, well over a decade ago, which feels like more than several years – and on that trip her brother Wally took me out and about and described how people survived a winter on the Cape, a place well-renowned and beloved for its summer enchantments, and not known for winter thrills. Basically, it was a lot of drinking and some cozy dinners. Back then, it was exactly what I wanted and needed, and we passed many a winter weekend in such happy tradition.

These days the manner in which we trudge through the winter has evolved and matured, with warmer resonance found in subtle and quieter joys, such as the simple appreciation of the earliest spring blooms that recently appeared at the local greenhouse. For the first of February, this is a very good sign. 

There will be jonquils and tulips and hyacinths soon in every supermarket, their delicate fragrance a delicious reminder that we are well on our way through the winter – over a third of the way done in fact. Do I seem anxious? Well, I am. We are craving the longer days, the extended period of light, and we are starting to feel the gentle elongation of the brightness. 

It’s time for a few bouquets in the house, and more flowers on this website. Let’s go full Mrs. Dalloway and buy them ourselves. 

“Hygge is a celebration of the spontaneous and honest, a step toward a life that is real and uncontrived. It can’t be summoned by the arrangement of a perfect scene or engineered by a carefully styled table. The essence of hygge is contained in the seeds of our intentions, and it will flourish or wither according to how generously those seeds are planted. Hygge is a fragile bloom that can’t be forced. It often thrives in the unpredictable and imperfect conditions on the margins, where there is space for it to grow unhindered and unobserved – the scruffy restaurant in a back street, or a friend’s quiet apartment.” ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits

Early-to-mid-winter is when I find myself longing for flowers more than any other time of the year, which coincides with the dearth of flowers outside. And so we turn to the greenhouse and the market and the florist, and this beautiful bouquet that cousin Randy sent for Mom’s birthday. The power of the flower is a wonder indeed. In keeping our greenery simple with evergreen cuttings and the bare red branches of the coral bark maple, I’d been going for a more rustic and natural look this season – seeing the colors and beauty here makes me want to incorporate some blooms into our home. 

“In our deeds we can structure our lives so that the simple things that we do every day, from bathing to cooking, have resonance and ritual.” ~ llse Crawford

Winter is the ideal time to simplify, and often a single bouquet makes the necessary difference to turn a typical day into something special. Merely walking by beauty raises the soul and the spirit. It is enough to exist beside it, to take it in, to honor its transient nature, and its lasting effect. 

“”Just living isn’t enough,” said the butterfly, “one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.”” ~ Hans Christian Andersen

A wee bit early this year, this ‘holiday’ cactus (which manages Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter depending on its mood) is blooming right now, which may signify a quicker winter. Not that such a thing ever really exists. Winter will be winter, and for as long as it will be – as long as the dates tick away, and time cannot be banked or fooled in name or mission. But this cactus, blooming now on the other side of the New Year must sense a shift in light, meaning we have ticked up to where we were when last it bloomed, which was in October.

That doesn’t quite work out with where the sun is at, but this year it bloomed early, so maybe this re-bloom will follow that tracking. Upon checking the archives, it looks like this one usually blooms its repeat bloom in February. We’re not quite halfway done with January, so it is indeed early, but I’m not complaining. 

We need color and light and life, and this gorgeous little plant is putting on the show so desired. This is the time of the year when I start making weekly pilgrimages to Faddegon’s to simply walk through their greenhouses and marvel at their Australian tree ferns or olive branches, neither of which we could ever grow in our shaded and dry home. Instead, this cactus will have to do, along with a few other standard specimens like a Norfolk Island Pine, a spider plant, a philodendron, and a couple of ZZ plants. 

This cactus is the only thing we have that blooms, and so it’s highly prized and cherished. It’s about twenty years old, and I can no longer remember where it came from or how it came to live with us. Most likely it was a gift in a smaller pot, a throw-away supermarket find that I may have been gifted at some Secret Santa in some far-away and long-ago office world. Strange how much time has passed, and how little this little guy has changed. Strange and comforting – the way the world is when it’s feeling somewhat kind and generous.

It makes sense in a strange way, when you think about it, as the tumultuous weather rollercoaster we’ve had of late mimics those days of later winter and early spring. Such it was that the last time I was in Boston there were Japanese cherries and witch hazel – two early spring bloomers – dangling their flowers in the almost-December air. 

As charming as it was to see these blooms greet the holiday season, it was also a bit of a mind-fuck. They aren’t designed to bloom right now. Will this ruin their spring show? Have they spent their beauty and energy now, when we may have needed them most, with only winter ahead? Only time, and the arrival of next spring, will tell. 

Rather than worrying about what may or may not be, it is best to simply enjoy these strange out-of-sync bloomers – a boon or casualty of climate change or a freak blip in the weather. 

They’re also a cheerful reminder that we are closer to the start of spring than we may think we are. After next week it’s only one more season away…