Happy Daisies

In the early 80's a girlfriend, recent college grad like all of us, was on a motorcycle and hit head-on.  I was living in a garage apartment, working full time at a bank, paying for starter husband's masters degree, not eating dinner many nites, to save money.
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Talking with the local florist on the phone, trying to choose the perfect flowers, was tedious.  Hydrangeas were out of season said the florist.  My imagination blanked with that information.  She gave a stream of ideas.  No, no, no.  Finally, I thought how happy daisies are.  Plain daisies with their brite white petals and a plain solid yellow center, not any of the new fancy spooner daisies or etc.  Plain daisies.
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As little money as I had, it was still embarrassing to send only a pot of daisies.  But they were so happy, and spending more money for something 'appropriate' felt too depressing, compared to the happy daisies.
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Walking into her viewing, at the funeral home, the next day, well, still, I can feel it, even now typing.  But there was a brite spot.  Dozens of large expensive floral arrangements, in big wicker baskets, some on tall wire stands were arrayed as in a floral fantasy.  Yet there was 1 pot of flowers, so happy, like she always was.  The single pot of daisies I sent had been put on an antique wood plant stand, next to the coffin inches from her head.  
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Glad I listened to my heart, and not lizard brain.
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This week, talking with a friend, her 90 year old mom with Alzheimers is in a care home, probably within the past 6 months, she said, there is nothing behind her mother's eyes, no one is there.  Then she started talking about the kind of woman her mom was,  and she seemed so much like my friend, above.  I asked what her name is.  Daisy, she said.
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Immediately remembering, a few days ago, below, another amazing photograph matched to poetry, from Enclos*ure Take Refuge, by Cindy Goodson.

"See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness. . ."

— Marjorie Pickthall, from “Daisy Time“

Pic, Floe Sallows Saunders, Floe Sallows, Emma Combs Fillman, Lottie Green Langell in a field of flowers in Bayfield, Ontario, date unknown, by Reuben R. Sallows, via Huron County Museum & Historic Gaol Commons on flickr.

Garden & Be Well,   XO T

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Finishing college, Engineering degree, Jimmy Carter had just left office, interest rates 21%, jobs hard to find.  Worked at a bank, knew I had to leave, bored beyond measure and thought my head would explode, brains flying to the wall, dribbling slowly down.  Within a month a nursery along the 30 minute drive to work had a 'Help Wanted' sign.  Hired, gave notice, started 5 years of nursery work.  Gained another degree, Horticulture, by the time those 5 years were done, and started my own Garden Design business.  A terrible economy created my career/life path.  I would have eaten dirt off the sidewalk instead of living at home again, it was the era.  During leave taking, after 30 years with starter husband, I thought back to the several years of not eating dinner, to save money.  They added up to about a year.  A year without dinner.  Worth every meal missed, getting here.