A Special Flower Delivery

I work for a local florist delivering flowers. Most days are the same: multiple deliveries to the front desks of hospitals and funeral homes, deliveries that I bring to secretaries for their bosses at downtown offices, and baskets and vases ending up in the hands of confused neighbors when their neighbors aren't home. Today, though, I had a special delivery. Its almost December now, and the weather is reflecting that cold reality. A freezing wind whipped frozen rain through my hair as I carried a poinsettia across Harrison Boulevard to a large home that was deemed 'historical' by the City of Boise (it proudly stated so on a plaque nailed next to the front door). The door opened to a wispy thin and frail old lady who was bouncing with excitement that didn't quite match her appearance. I handed the poinsettia to her, but before she had taken hold of it, I pulled it back, realizing that the weight might be too much for her. I offered to bring it to wherever she wanted, and she directed me to the kitchen table. The home was warm and colorful, and had a distinctively 'old person' scent to it. That is, the room smelled comfortable, like any given grandparents' home during the holidays. It smelled like a place one might remember as warm and welcoming, despite the weather outside. An old man sat in his pajamas on the couch reading the paper. I don't know if anything was cooking in the kitchen, but it seemed there should have been. Some cookies or soup or something warm and soul-satisfying. The bouncy, excited lady marveled as I removed the plastic covering from the plant, and with a smiley 'happy holidays!', she ushered me back into winter, which felt considerably warmer.

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