Uh, yeah. My BFF's and I have annual photoshoots. We may or may not be infamous (famous?) in Montgomery for this.
For about a week, the scent of flowers has started midway up the staircase, snaking downward from my room. Despite the rather bizarre aroma-limbo caused by intermixing with the downstairs Christmas tree/cinnamon/yuletide scent, it been most enjoyable. I have become rather attached to a room harboring five arrangements.
Sidenote: Flowers are the way to my heart for the following reasons.
1. They're a blessing God didn't have to make gorgeous but He did.
2. They don't last forever (Thus keeping with my newly adopted You-Only-Live-Once [YOLO] mantra).
Alas. That is, I was attached until they died today.
So with the girliest-girl, domesticated notion in me I promptly went outside and hacked away at mother's camellia bushes and climbing roses until I created this beauty. Now, with my quality of life enhanced, I can ignore my next two story deadlines for a moment and read the January Southern Living that arrived today.
Though I really should sign up for one of those flower arrangement classes.