Once upon a time, many years ago, a young woman pressed her senior prom corsage in a book of Shakespearean love poems. She placed the book on her dressing table next to a framed photo of her with her prom date, the wrist wearing her corsage, playfully displayed. And yes she may have had a crush on the young man who gave it to her.
I don’t know what happened to the photo, but the book traveled through life with her, eventually coming to live in the library in her home in Southern California, 3,000 miles across the country from its original Virginia home.
Recently, I was browsing through my bookshelves looking for a particular Shakespeare quote. Of course, I could have Googled it, but then why have books? Besides, I love the smell of printers’ ink and information I find in books stays with me longer than the information that pops up on my computer screen. As I opened the Bard’s book of love poems, a long-faded rose, pressed in cellophane, slipped out onto my lap activating an entire replay of my prom on the movie screen in my mind.
This scene was freshly in place when I admired my daughter’s birthday bouquet sent to her by a special friend. When she mentioned that she would like to keep one of the roses, I sprung into action.
“Let me press the rose for you,” I suggested to Sara.
“Press? Um, OK, Mom,” she replied giving me one of her “There she goes again” looks.
I asked her to select the flower she wanted to preserve and I took it home and carefully wrapped it in cellophane before searching for just the right book in which to press it.
Initially, I was tempted by “The Witch in the Cherry Tree,” one of her childhood favorites, but I could hear her saying, “Mom, I’m not five years old.” So I continued searching until the perfect choice called out to me, one that encompassed her youth and adulthood.
For my unicorn-loving daughter, I selected Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s “Bring Me a Unicorn.” Soon, Sara’s rose was pressed between the book’s eagerly accepting pages.
When I think about the young woman from Virginia pressing her prom corsage in a book of poetry, I’m happy I can pass on her romantic notions.
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