Saturday, 13 April 2013

More flowers on my windowsill

As I have commented before, I think, my dear husband does not buy me flowers. I think the cost of those my mother expected him to pay for on our wedding day (55 five years ago) discouraged him for life! For a long while, I was hurt by this - though he did pick me a beautiful little posy from our Spring garden when I lay near death in hospital around 2001. I have never forgotten it - primroses, polyanthus, forget-me-nots and the bluest blue gentian which I grew in my greenhouse. He lay them on my pillow and kissed me awake.

Of late, I have thrown caution to the winds and bought bunches of flowers for myself when there is nothing in the garden. He does not seem to mind (he does not berate me for spending money on them, though I only buy the cheaper sort). These were a modest £2.00 and I just loved the vibrancy of them against the view from the kitchen window over the wet and misty village green.

I may have written of the flowers on my pillow before; the memory is still so vivid, even if my recollection of very recent events is not!

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