My First Job

My first job was in a flower shop. I never really applied for, or interviewed for it. I had the good fortune of living next door to a friend of someone who worked at the shop, and basically that's how I got the job. I kept the job because I was a pretty good worker. I showed up on time, ready to learn and work.

I learned how to do all sorts of floral creations from boutonnieres to bridal bouquets, to regular arrangements, I learned to make bows, corsages, how to receive flowers and prep them for storage. I learned how to “green” containers for arrangements, fill mylar balloons, take phone orders and Teleflora orders. I learned how to use a cash register, straighten displays, and make mixed bouquets. There was one duty, however, that I never did quite master. That was taking care of the plants.

They had the most beautiful Boston ferns. They were hanging all over the store. We had a special hose that connected to the sink, and it reached everywhere. I'd drag out the ladder, go plant to plant, and water them. There were also rubber trees scattered throughout the store. I had to be careful when vacuuming because if you bumped them, you could send them into trauma, and they would die. They would look healthy, then you'd see a big, beautiful leaf on the floor. Then another. Until one day, you would walk in to find a bare stalk of a rubber tree that would eventually just shrivel and die. The Boston ferns were a sight to see...all lush and green, like majestic crowns hovering over us. One day, I noticed some brown leaves on a couple of the plants, so I brought scissors up the ladder to trim the dead leaves. Of about 12 Boston ferns that were there when I started, I killed roughly 100% of them. I just could not acquire the skill needed to keep plants alive. I dreaded Christmas when we would get tons and tons of poinsettias. I had to keep them alive for a month!

I probably cost my boss a pretty penny in plants. He probably could have, or I guess even should have fired me for that. He didn't. I guess he saw all the other things I could do adequately, and even well. He knew I was reliable. He kept me on until I left to find full-time work. I really didn't want to leave, but I didn't have a choice if I wanted to make more money. After I left, I even went back to help at Christmas for a few years. I guess he didn't mind all those plants that much.

So, what does this have to do with MS, you ask? Good question. I'm working on the connection as I type. For now, please enjoy this photo of a Boston fern:

I suppose an analogy would be that I used to be vibrant and healthy (but not green and leafy). Another would be that maybe my boss kept hoping I'd get better at it, much like I keep hoping I'll get better. Perhaps the most obvious is that I JUST KILL HOUSEPLANTS, and there is no connection to MS.

Maybe, it's accepting some things that cannot be changed. Or appreciating strengths and overlooking flaws.