Two words…mini carnations. Oh, and one more…white. After I spent the morning hours arranging and selling gorgeous, full, colorful roses and bright gerber daisies, this is what my husband hands to me on Valentine’s Day. He asks, “Aren’t they pretty?” Then he sees the word “carnations” on the package and says, “Oh, man! I though they were mini roses!” I smile and say thanks, and I really mean it. The idea of flowers is almost good enough for me, and I know he would not have bought carnations on purpose. I do the only thing I can do with those long, straight stems: whack the bottoms off and stick them in a cylinder vase. And there they stand like petrified pole beans with a white-haired crew cut, because the petals have not even started to open. He kindly mentions that they will last for several days and will be very pretty when they do open. And he’s sort of right.
Later in the evening, after we drag ourselves out on a date, we acknowledge the facts that we are deliriously tired and have no idea what we want to do. As we pull in the parking lot of the mall he says, “I’m sorry I’m not more romantic.”
“Honey, I’m wearing sweat pants here!”
“You are?”
“Yep. I think I’ll be okay if you just crank out a good Valentine’s day every three or four years. But I gotta say something about the flowers.”
Of course I do, because I never just leave things alone.
“What?!”
“Sweetie, if you’re gonna buy flowers, you gotta learn a few things about them first. Carnations are an accent flower, not a main flower.”
“What?” I can see that I’ve just spoken in a foreign language and need to rephrase.
“In arrangements you have a main flower, like roses or hydrangeas or lilies. The other flowers are just there to show off the main flower. Carnations are like a backdrop, not the star of the show.”
“Okay.”
“But thanks anyway. I was surprised that you even had time to pick them up! And there’s no telling what they cost on Valentine’s Day.”
That was four weeks ago. After two weeks my petrified pole beans loosened up a little, and their crew cuts transformed into frilly bonnets. And they ran their course until today, defeating every other flower I can think of in the battle of longevity.
And they were given to me by the man who has blossomed from the skinny bean he was sixteen years ago to a relaxed late bloomer who stands every test I throw his way. I love him.
