Blooming

It is still a winter-y mix of snow and slush in the big apple, and as I made my way home, dodging deep puddles and dark rain clouds, I decided to duck into Whole Foods on a whim. As the double doors opened, a huge display of yellow daffodils pulled me in. I instantly felt better. Like a sugar rush from eating too many jelly beans, the daffodils screamed spring and gave me a surge of vitamin D.

As I made my way home I couldn’t help but think of spring in Portland. I always knew it was getting close to my birthday when my grandfather would bring big tin cans full of daffodils to dinner. Year after year the bulbs would multiply like bunnies, until eventually the whole side garden turned into a sunray of yellow.  Rusty cans filled with fresh flowers are one of my very favorite things and a telling sign that spring is just around the corner.

Earlier this week my best friend from childhood sent me a picture of us holding hands in my front yard. It was taken on my fifth birthday. We are dressed to the nines, donning bright floral dresses, complete with sparkle headbands and white gloves. It made me nostalgic for the days of sparkle plenty accessories, not a worry in the world, and spring play dates outside. I smile every time I look at this picture. It reminds me of the simple things–flowers and friendship.

I finally made it home, soggy around the edges; I couldn’t help but feel a little bit homesick for Portland and old friends. As I shed my layers and headed for the kitchen, I noticed a large vase on the dining room table, bright yellow, the smell of fresh daffodils filling the air. 

This cup is for Granddad: for all the tin cans of daffodils, love and support

And Mary Claire: for the memories