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Writer's pictureCyndy Mamalian

Supermarket Flowers, Big Dreams, and Ukrainian Grandmothers who Walk Through Unmarked Doors

When my husband and I started dating 26 years ago and were both in debt up to our earlobes, I distinctly remember a conversation we had about “the future”. We were dreaming. And I remember one part of our discussion about what we would love to have in life if money was no object. I was surprised with my now husband’s simple response: he would love to have fresh flowers in his house every day. For whatever reason, in his young twenty-something mind, fresh flowers were clearly a sign of having made it; a privilege and a luxury. And he is correct. Even a small simple bouquet makes your space feel more beautiful and opulent, and fresh cut flowers are generally something we only purchase when we have the extra income to do so.


So, from the time we felt we could afford the $5.99 bouquet at the supermarket, I started bringing fresh flowers home in an effort to fulfill his dream, because that is what loving spouses do. Yet, every time I grab a bouquet of fresh flowers from the local supermarket, I actually think of two people: my husband and my Ukrainian grandmother who we affectionately called Buni.


My long distance telephone conversations with my grandmother who lived in South Boston were generally very predictable. She would tell me about her day: how she went down to the corner store to get her paper, donut, and cup of coffee (which she did every morning); how she “maybe” purchased a lottery ticket (because fully admitting she did shone light on a horrible addiction of which we did not speak); and how she sat in her recliner and watched soap operas and talk shows. She may have cooked, canned, or baked something. She may have talked on the phone with a friend or relative. Her routine was always deliciously the same. But I distinctly remember the day she went completely off script and told me she got a job!


It had been some years since my grandmother had been employed at a box factory and I don’t think it dawned on anyone in our family that Buni would work again. But on this particular day, she had been walking about her neighborhood (probably en route to get the coveted donut) and focused on a building she had passed regularly and about which she was always curious. So, whether because of the weather, a good night's sleep, a combined caffeine and sugar high, or because of the small voice in her head, she decided to open the unmarked door and she went inside. And what she found was what we all affectionately called “The Flower Factory”. It was a warehouse full of fresh flowers, with tables upon tables of workers wearing industrial aprons arranging fresh cuttings into bunches, putting on a rubber band or two, wrapping them with plastic, strapping them with tape, and getting them ready for the local supermarket or sidewalk flower stand. My grandmother was ecstatic! We weren’t sure if it was the idea of feeling useful and productive and finally working again after years sitting at home; whether it was the beauty and scent of thousands of flowers; whether it was the creativity involved in putting assorted flora together to make something special; whether it was the camaraderie she found with other female workers, being part of a wholesale floral sorority; or whether it was the free bouquet she was able to take home for special occasions, like when her family was visiting from out of town. After randomly walking through an unmarked door out of sheer curiosity, my grandmother happily worked at “The Flower Factory” for almost seven years.


So, when I grab a bouquet at the supermarket, yes, I am first thinking about what flowers I like, what colors will look best in my home, and the price. But what follows as I pull the bouquet up out of the black plastic tub filled with water, as I hold the stems in my hand and glance at the plastic wrap, tape and rubber bands holding it all together, are thoughts about my husband and my grandmother. I look at the bouquet and I think about how sometimes, like my husband, we need to dream BIG! Bouquet of flowers big! Twenty-six years ago, my husband's dream was having freshly cut flowers in his home, and many years of hard work and sacrifice allow us to finally often fulfill that dream (…for the record, however, I think my husband was probably envisioning a professional florist who would deliver exotic bouquets of incredible proportion to our home, not my supermarket variety arrangements. But fresh flowers are fresh flowers!). And as I glance at the stems, I also think about how sometimes we should, like my grandmother, walk through the unmarked door not knowing what is on the other side (but not like a Dateline episode, please). Metaphorically speaking, we should walk through the unmarked door. Stepping outside our normal routine and comfort zone takes courage and curiosity and it’s exciting at any age to embrace the idea that adventure still awaits. So, this week, grab the $5.99 bouquet at the supermarket, dream BIG, and walk through an unmarked door to find a new adventure! Sometimes, what is on the other side is beautiful, fragrant, fun, and amazing.

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3 comentários


maryebirkel
10 de nov. de 2022

Love this sharing and the stories. Ah, lovely Buni 🤗 Love walking through the unmarked door... be curious, act on curiosity. Never know what you may uncover, and a new journey that may lie ahead 💝

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stephanie.hampton20
stephanie.hampton20
31 de out. de 2022

Love the metaphor of taking a chance and walking through the unmarked door! Your grandmother sounds like an awesome lady, taking chances on the "wicked" lottery ticket and then the flower factory.

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Cyndy Mamalian
Cyndy Mamalian
31 de out. de 2022
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Thanks Stephanie! She was the coolest :-)

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