Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
123
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
(No Title)
The dozen long-stemmed roses arrived on time, delivered to the door by a man with the distinct air of one who knows he is the bearer of glad tidings. "Have a nice Valentine's Day!" he said, and I smiled and thanked him cheerfully, but wondered later if he caught the hint of sadness in my eyes. For every dozen roses, it seems, there's always one that's IOA-"iffy"-on-arrival. Its bloom, which has not yet fully opened, is already starting to droop at the neck, as if the other eleven have been teasing it on the ride over for being just a tad less than perfect. Receiving a gift of roses is a process for me. The first day, I concentrate on their amazing beauty and on pretending I don't know what's coming next. I wish I could exclaim uninhibited joy and surprise and delight over them, without seeing the end from the beginning, but I can't. Each morning after they arrive, for as many mornings as it takes, I carefully examine those that remain, removing the ones that are irreversibly bent and hanging them upside down by their thorny stems. Most often, the bent ones-if they haven't been offered hope in the water too long-will straighten remarkably while drying. I keep my dozens of dried roses forever-I can't help myself. In most of the bundles, after drying, it's impossible to tell which flower among them had been the last-or the first-to die. Death has become their great equalizer. Every once in a while, though, I happen upon a certain rose in a decades-old bouquet, and I remember just which one it was among the dewy blooms that arrived that long ago morning. It was the one that made me cry.
Posted by Katy on 02/20/02 at 09:07 AM
Fallible Comments...
- Regan--Wow--it really does pay to know someone! Thanks. My roses this time came in three colors--four ivory, four red and four pink. The ivory and red ones completely "lost it" in two days, and the pink ones lasted 12 days beautifully! I will hang on to your advice. Also, I visited your site and enjoyed it. Don't be afraid of text--you have a lot to say.
Posted by Katy on 12/31/69 at 12:00 PM
- roses that are not "blown" or opened and are drooping can easily be saved. Just fill a bowl with water and dip the bloom into the water and kinda slosh it around, then cut the end again, let it sit for an hour or so, and 90% of the time it will look good as new. I worked in a floral shop for the week of Valentine's and learned that little trick. never thought i'd have an opportunity to tell someone!!
-----Posted by regan on 12/31/69 at 12:00 PM
Page 1 of 1 pages
Next entry: (No Title)
Previous entry: (No Title)
copyright 2011, ngenius media inc.
