So people hanging out at cafes in Studio City do accept free flowers. Which is a good thing. Especially since my friend, m, kept envisioning people running away from me and me chasing after them screaming “Take the damn flowers!” The other scenario that came to m’s mind was “They’re gonna think there’s a bomb in them.” Good thing a) I wasn’t trying to push them through LAX security and b) it was a trusting group.
And they were, I have to say, all fabulous. All five people that each got a bouquet of flowers this morning. Visual moments from each encounter stick out in my mind, like the elderly woman sitting down to her bran muffin and coffee, moving as slowly as my grandfather used to move. And then looking up at me with her glassy blue eyes after looking down at the bucket of flowers and then back to me in wonderment saying “Well what would I do with these?” I reassured her that she could take them home and just enjoy them. “They’re so pretty.” She concluded as I walked away.
The woman with the seemingly Carribean accent kept telling me how much she loved flowers and insisted on giving me her card and getting my information. The words randomblooms are written on each card that accompanies the bouquets and I told her that she could find me that way. I’m pretty sure that 80 year old woman won’t be googling me anytime soon.
When I walked into the next cafe with a bouquet of flowers, a man reading the paper and lounging on the vintage couch inquired “Are you here for Charles?” I must have looked like a professional delivery. I played the game. “I don’t know, who’s Charles?” I responded. Turns out, he’s the owner who happened to be about five feet away from me. And it turns out his father was just getting out of the hospital, so he thought someone had sent him flowers. Those flowers were definitely meant for him.
The last delivery went to two very pretty, hip-looking women sitting outside. They got the first arrangement I made that morning. There’s usually one flower arrangement that makes my heart sing it’s so beautiful. That was the one. They were both thrilled to have the flowers and, unless they were a couple, I wondered who would end up taking it home.
I get very attached to my little creations. The blond woman in a beige, trench coat meeting some man at the cafe, whom I had given the third arrangment to, was telling the man “Help me put these in the car.” I had to let go and let god, but inside I was like “Don’t leave them in the the car too long, they’ll melt. They’ll suffocate. Roll down the windows for crying out loud.” But I didn’t say a word. I had already moved on to the very appreciative Carribean woman and it was out of my hands. They’re free to care for them or neglect them as much as they want.
Huge success this morning, I’d say. Aside from the self-consciousness factor which was there a little bit. Not as much I’m sure, as my friend in college who had her pants down while putting a seat cover on the toilet, when the door swung open to a waiting crowd. Not that self-conscious, but aware that there’s always a little vulnerability when you reveal your true spirit, period. Hey, just because this feels like something fun for me, doesn’t mean I want to be chasing you down the street yelling “Take the damn flowers!” either.
Well, until the next 5:30am drive to the downtown flower mart, keep the stems clipped, water fresh and enjoy the ride.
Posted by petal pusher 
Posted by petal pusher 
Posted by petal pusher 
