HOWEVER OLD-FASHIONED AND out-of-touch this sounds now, one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me was, “Isabel, you would be such an easy wife to have—all one needs to do to keep you happy is give you a good meal and fresh flowers.” My dear old friend Robert, who was visiting me in college, said it as we were walking through the Village, home to my ground-floor studio on Thompson Street. We had just eaten spaghetti carbonara. Now, we were not in a romantic relationship, nor had either of us been married, so what did he really know? I’m sure my first and second husbands would do spit takes and guffaw uproariously at how much more it takes than spaghetti and peonies to get through a marriage with me, but on principle, I think Robert was on to something. Having flowers around you, especially inside, is cozy. Of course, beauty plays a part, but the bigger idea is that even a single daisy stem connects you to the great outdoors.
In the 1980s, there was a rise in Korean delis in New York City. Seemed like there was one on every corner. They were well organized, clean, packed with paper towels and instant coffee. In the middle of it all, there was usually a hot-food buffet with rows of sticky fried drumsticks, bright green stalks of broccoli, and oily glass noodles flecked with red pepper. Outside, big black plastic buckets filled with flowers wrapped around the corner of the store; roses, tulips, hydrangea, sunflowers, bright blue carnations, and curlicue bamboo stems in rows waiting to come home with you. These delis made it possible for a young city girl to bring nature, color, fragrance, and beauty right into the apartment for not too much money. And as it happened, there was a particularly great Korean deli right on my corner. Every once in a while, for a treat, I would spring for a bunch of freesia for my bedside table. Well, they would be on the bedside table when I slept, but they would move to the desk while I wrote papers, to the sofa if I was reading, and even the bathroom to take a bath. Flowers don’t have to stay in one spot; my friend Bess hauls vases of lilac around with her everywhere she goes in her house. The thinking is lilac blooms for such a short period in the spring, you can’t waste a minute while they’re available to be in one’s home. Some people (like my mother) find it cozy to have a bouquet dependably in the same place, like a Bible in a drawer, or the pair of reading glasses one keeps by the stove. I’m now thinking of all the places my mother keeps a small arrangement of flowers from her garden. The biggest display is on the front hall table; in the summer, this could be black-eyed Susans or cosmos. A very small vase that would fit a child’s handful of nasturtiums is always on the 1950s enamel kitchen table, and a nosegay of roses or even a single huge sunflower is next to where my father sits on the sofa. These are her constant floral companions, and if I think of those vases empty I feel heavy-hearted.
Flowers are reminders of the great outdoors, of movies and romance. They cheer you up—they are pleasures. They make me feel like I have my act together, that I won’t fall off the edge. Flowers aren’t only for you, but also for others—they bring happiness so easily. My designer friend Miles says, “Something green or alive is essential for a cozy apartment. This can be so simple. Go in the yard and cut one sprig of something, a fern, a magnolia, just a branch with a few green leaves that you like, and stick it in a simple clear bottle. This can be an empty wine bottle (with labels removed, please) and placed on a bar or mantel or hall table. You will be surprised how just something green can warm a space right up.”
At my grandmother’s funeral, years and years ago, we all read sections of letters she had written. In my piece, she described a vase of lilies on a piano “slurping away thirstily.” Her personification of the flower made me think that flowers inside the home were important to her, although she never said that to me, but every time I fill a mason jar with tap water to plunge thirsty daffodils into, I think of her.
It’s not easy maintaining plants and flowers in your home. Fresh flowers like to have the water changed every day. Certain plants are easy to kill. If you let the flowers die, well, that can be disheartening. They take some doing, but even if you don’t have them around constantly, it’s good to keep flowers in mind for certain times. Whenever there is a big snowstorm coming, I make sure to get flowers. Emptying all the vases around the bedrooms and living room, giving them a good scrub, and setting out to the deli is my version of battening down the hatches, controlling what I can’t. If the kids have exams, or if I’m on deadline, I think flowers send the message to keep going. When anyone comes home from a business trip or a tough time away, I try at least to have daisies on the kitchen table, as they are welcoming. Flowers will aid in healing, I am certain. Most of the time people give flowers when they are being thoughtful and generous, so even if it’s one flower in a small cup by a bed, it will be an aide-mémoire of those positive human instincts.
