Two Asian flower stands had gorgeous bouquets at the Salem Saturday Market today, of peonies and lilies, all sorts of gorgeous.
But I just can’t bring myself to buy flowers when my garden is exploding in them. The woman who lived in my home before me had a rose fetish and planted them all over my yard — along with poppies, columbine, hyacinth (now gone), lilac, and all sorts of wonderful color explosions.
I’ve always thought of roses as an older woman’s flower – scientists have actually confirmed this — but in yet another sign of my getting older (and now I’m even older, and now I’m even older), I can’t help but bring them indoors.
So I put together this small bouquet of roses, columbine and buttons. It is one equal parts grandma and grandma’s attic, and I kind of love it.
And though I have vowed never to start blogging or tweeting about my cats, one of them, DeKooning, 2, kept inserting himself into the frame.
I’ll admit it. My husband and I were among the people who had Portland in sight when we moved to the Pacific Northwest. We went there seeking home brewers and odd-ones and rapid readers, fierce nomads and constant gardeners. We’ve actually found all of those things in Salem.
