A short Story
It began with a bride at our kitchen table as Mom took out her enormous disheveled photo album with every color, make, dress, and arrangement in it, and showed the bride. Mom and Pauline arranged wedding flowers in our basement most weekends for years. Mom would wake in the wee hours and drive to the flower market in Boston on Friday morning. She knew all of the flowers’ and peoples’ names. I was the assistant; taping roses, securing oasis, and cutting stems. On Saturdays we woke to a scramble of excitement. We packed the van and head to the church. I loved those weddings!