My glamorous life of doing laundry most of Monday was unexpectedly rewarded with a bouquet of flowers!
It was 4:59, and I hear Mr. A coming in the back door, a bit early for him during Daylight Saving Time. The days are long in more than one way when his work days stretch into early evening hours.
It wouldn't be like him to raid the funeral parlor, my birthday was last month, our anniversary is a couple of months away. He was all smiles when he handed them to me.
"July 7th?" Leave it to me to question why I received this beautiful bouquet chock full of daisies, carnations, alstroemeria, lavender, and more.
"For no reason?"
It's not like he's never given me flowers. I could never fault him for not giving sweet gifts on all the appropriate occasions. He's fabulous at it! But there always seems to be a reason.
And there was. He tweaked a sign at a floral shop and the owner asked what Mr. A was owed and he charged him...some flowers.
Long ago, more than 30 years actually, Mr. A gave me a bouquet of red roses he picked up from a starving artist sale by a painter named Robert Cox. I dust them at least once a week. I thought I'd capture the two together.
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| Isn't the doily pretty? It's an antique store find. |
My late mother said I asked more questions than anyone she ever knew. I haven't stopped. Presently I am wondering why the blog host thinks alstroemeria is misspelled. I've checked two sources and they agree on the spelling I used.
Anyway, I wanted to share my joy. Happy July 7th to you, too!
Love,
Mrs. A
