There's simply nothing like flowers in the house to brighten the spirits when you're not feeling good. For me, the flowers can be real, silk, or the ones I crochet into afghans. Going through a string of nonserious, but aggravating maladies for the past couple of months -- ranging from vertigo that needed treatment to resolve itself to a doggone nasty first cold in years -- my spirits can rise when I've bought a nosegay at the local supermarket.
Most of my life, I didn't care much for roses, because the ones I saw were a depressingly dark burgundy color. But after drawing a rose in a drawing class, I've learned to appreciate their sculptural attributes, and now I especially love white, peach, and yellow roses.
The half-dozen creamy roses from Trader Joe's have graced our breakfast room table for at least 10 days or so. When I first brought them home, I left the stems fairly long and had them in a green glass vase. Per a friend's advice, I crushed the stems with a hammer, and that seemingly destructive measure seems to prolong the lives of flowers. After about a week, I decided to cut the stems short and place them, more fashionably, in a small, square vase with glass pellets. They're still perky -- certainly perkier than I feel.