I love flowers. I think I get that love from my grandmother, MomMom. MomMom spent hours working in her flowerbeds and formal garden. In the backyard the boxwood hedge of MomMom's formal garden sheltered several pink peony bushes. The lush pink peonies framed the two back corners of the garden, one on each side behind the fountain.
When we moved to our little blue house in Vermilion, MomMom gave me a start of one of her peony bushes to add to my flowerbed. We planted the tiny sprig in the flowerbed under the windows of our back porch. That first summer it didn't bloom. However, the next year numerous purple peony sprigs peeked up through the soil. It's been seven years since we first planted MomMom's little peony sprig. Now my pink peony, luscious and sweet, bursts with beautiful pink blooms. I love the smell of peonies. When the blooms begin to open, I cut some to bring in the house.
This year I placed them in MomMom's blue pitcher that used to sit on top of the cupboard above the oven. It was one of the mementos I brought home. I just love fresh flowers, especially in pitchers.
Last night, after washing the dishes, I snuggled under my blue and white blanket on the couch next to the glass topped table where the pitcher of peonies sat. I sipped my chamomile tea, smelling the aroma of the flowers, thinking of MomMom and remembering her fondly.
What a nice way to wrap up my day.