THE FLOWERS THAT BLOOM IN THE SPRING  tra-la

 

Eileen Cichello

 

One of the most seductive things that will ever enter your house is that first spring flower catalogue.  You look out the window and see grays and browns, everything drab and bare. There on your kitchen table sits pictures of glorious flowers, one more vivid than the next. "I can do that," you think. "I can grow flowers like that." Pictures of vases filled with sweet smelling reds, yellows, pinks, whites, greens, all the colors of the rainbow, fill your mind.

Each year when the catalogues started coming, I would set them aside thinking, "I'll look at them again tomorrow and order some," but tomorrow never came. Then, several years ago, the stars must have been in the right alignment. I sat at the kitchen table and said, "I'm going to do it!"

I went back and forth through the catalog, marking anything that appealed to me. It must have been a particularly dreary day because I put at least one check mark on most pages.

Now to be sensible and narrow the list, no easy task. (After raising seven, I'm still in the quantity-mode of buying.) I agonized and debated which to get, which to pass up. I reluctantly cut some of the ones I liked in favor of those I liked better. Then came the bait. As I filled out my order, there was a little notice telling me if my order exceeded X-amount of dollars, I'd get all these other flowers for free. I was off to the races. A mood of madness came over me. I ordered and I ordered and I ordered, for each further expenditure led to another offer for free flowers. I dismissed my husband's warning, "It takes a lot of work to grow flowers." Hey, I could do this and every room in my house would have its own flower filled vase.

The catalog assured me that the flowers would arrive in timely fashion for planting. I went on about my life, gradually forgetting all about them. Until the packages started to arrive. Day after day, they came and I stuffed them in the spare refrigerator, befuddled by all the different directions and not sure what flowers I would put where. The refrigerator was getting crowded and I was getting desperate. It got so I was considering letting the air out of the tires of the UPS truck that was delivering so faithfully.

I made diagrams laying out what I would plant where.  There is only one spot in our yard that gets a lot of sun. Then I labeled and diagrammed where I planted each group, since I knew the chances were good that I wouldn't know what they were when, or if, they came up. It wasn't exactly a glorious garden that resulted. The big winner hands-down was the gladiolas. The only reason I had them was they came for free with the order. I had thought I didn't like them but as they blossomed one after another in a marvelous array of colors, I became nuts about them.

   What finished me ordering from this to-be-unnamed catalog company was an announcement that arrived with yet another catalog, while I still had plants left in the refrigerator. It told me I would win $500 if I had certain numbers in the letter I would receive in a few days. "Yeah. Right," I said. The letter came. The right numbers were there. I had long had mouthy things to say about people's gullibility. I scrutinized the letter over and over. No one was going to dupe this woman, no sir. I spent HOURS rereading it, including all the fine print. What really lulled my suspicions was the amount. It wasn't huge. It seemed logical.  The crowning blow was…yes, I have to admit it, I ordered some more flowers. Ah, greed!

After several weeks, I called the company.  "Where is my prize money?" A very apologetic, possibly-even-frightened-before-I-finished-woman said the letter didn't mean I had won. She was sorry if I had interpreted that way.  "There was no other way to interpret it," I said. "Are you listening to me?" I asked. "Yes, yes," she assured me. "This is a case of total fraud. I want you to tell the powers-that-be in your company that I will NEVER, NEVER order anything from your company again." She assured me she would pass on the message. I felt a little better. I never did order from them again.

As I said, I didn't get much return from that ordering spree but for that I don't blame the flower company. My erratic gardening had more to do with the dismal results. But I did get hooked on growing flowers. In a small way. Last fall, I planted tulips and daffodils for the first time, after saying for countless springs, "Gee, I wish I'd planted some bulbs last fall." They've bloomed and, as I write this, there's a vase full of tulips on my kitchen table.  I smile every time I look at it.