I have a favorite florist in Cambridge, MA. And by that I mean both a place and a person.
I’ve been to this florist, and communicated with the florist since I was a high schooler a few decades ago now.
The place has the aroma, the scent, the smell of fresh flowers and fresh plants - the same one all these years! It’s refreshing and very much a trigger to my senses. Even with my eyes closed, a whiff of it would be enough of a clue. I would be physically transported and could possibly feel like I were 18 again.
Do you have that kind of place/ aroma?
Each time I do get to return to this place, the florist who works there, Stephen, greets me with a “welcome home.” It doesn’t matter if it’s been a week, a year, or a few decades.
“Welcome home,” he would say with a warm smile. Sometimes he adds a pat on my shoulder as a bonus. I don’t know if he truly remembers me, and I don’t need to know.
This last time was no different. Stephen was busy with another customer while I looked around the store. I didn’t have any agenda that day - I just wanted to get that whiff and that pat to remind me that I was home.
As my eyes wandered around the store from flowers to plants to pots and bouquets, I saw a framed water color drawing of flowers hanging on the wall. It looked mis-placed as it was the only thing of that sort. I could not stop looking at it.
“Do you like that? A customer drew it for us a few years back.” Stephen eventually caught me and my locked gaze at the drawing.
“I love it! Would you sell it to me?” I blurted out without much thought, eyes still fixated on it. There was a loud whisper inside of me telling me that I needed to have the drawing in my possession.
Then I quickly tried to back track.