a bucket of flowers.

It doesn’t happen all too often.

But every once in a great while, I get this sudden itch to take out a shovel and dig up some dirt.

I find that the older I get, the more I enjoy the simple things of life.  Like taking my time in selecting just the right flowers for just the right arrangement.  Not caring if something was “right” or “wrong” or what Martha Stewart might think, might do.

None of that.

No primping or prepping (or obsessive Type A planning!)  This afternoon, I plunged my hands into the damp, earthy soil and found myself elbow deep in the most incredibly simplistic joy of flowers.

Of course, you should know, this is a yearly tradition of mine, of dad’s.  Every mother’s day.

We briefly look over the pre-planted buckets of flowers in the florist shops, as if observing our yearly competition.  It doesn’t matter if each and every pot looks beyond perfect (because, you know, they usually do.)  We have other ideas and plans, and we always find ourselves patiently foraging our way through each and every individual plant.

I used to be of the opinion that flowers served no purpose (you can at least, after all, eat a vegetable!)

But then.

Flowers make me smile.

And I have a (not so secret) obsession with quaint little florist shops.

AND, this is the one time I have a good excuse to get my hands dirty.

The secret to putting together your own arrangement is to choose the flowers that make you smile the most.

Throw together a wide selection of flowers with varying colors, sizes and attitude (yes, flowers have attitude!)

And then, as with cooking, just have fun with it.