Bring in those flowers and put them on the windowsill where you wash the dishes. You pass them every day, but you’re so busy and there will be new blooms tomorrow. My mother once said she felt sorry for flowers picked and put in a vase and didn’t need them. She said this because she knew that flowers were an expense my father could not justify when they were poor and young. My father never bought her flowers again. He took her at her word. But we don’t need to justify joy, do we?