#91, Diane Morse

Diane, you were so maney.

i had never heard anyone use that word before and, quite frankly, had never met anyone as bursting with life as you. You called weed nuggets 'Percivals' and it was impossible not to laugh in your presence. A smirky grin, mohawked mop of bleached curls, dimples and tight jeans with a studded belt, we worked together at the flower shop while rocking out to such '80s greats as Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys and New Order. It was always a rollickin' good time when you were on the schedule the same day as me, and i looked forward to it. You smoked a lot of pot and fell in love with someone else's boyfriend, who fell back. You two caused more than a bit of a commotion, and then moved to New Orleans together, where you and i quickly fell out of touch. Except once, a few years later, when i heard through the grapevine (maybe you'd called the flower shop?) that he had died, of a stroke, at the young age of twenty-something. You had never left his side at the end and said it was beautiful and pain-full, the hardest thing you had ever had to (and would ever have to) do. A couple of phone calls after that, and you were gone. i don't know where you are or if you're happy, but i hope life has evened out and opened up for you.

#60, Melissa.

We worked together at the Meadows. you were almost ten years my senior, with a warm, inviting smile, skin that had seen lots of (but not too much!) sun, lots of laugh lines. You were sort of a down-to-earth, bicycle-riding dog lover (Greta!) who knew how to work hard. Very even, pleasant personality, and we discovered that we had a lot in common musically, one day when we started talking about Patti Smith. You burned me a couple of her albums, and months later we found ourselves driving down to Santa Cruz (with another girl from work, more your friend than mine) to see a PJ Harvey concert. That night was so, so much fun... your boyfriend was smaller than you and always seemed cranky when i would see him at the bike shop, until he found out that i knew you, and soon we were chattin' it up all the time. Eventually it turned out that you had developed breast cancer, at a very very young age (mid thirties). i moved away shortly after that, and looked you up online to make sure that you had made it through.. and you had... Best of luck to you, Melissa. Hope you are still riding your bike.

#54, Ananda.

The tiny, self-confident, ultra-blonde girl who worked part-time at the Meadows for a couple years. Ananda was definitely more interesting than anyone would've ever guessed. She had lived for some years in the U.S. Virgin Islands, where she collected rainwater on her roof to shower with (awesome!). Then she lived in Minneapolis, and when i knew her she lived near Lake Merritt in Oakland with her boyfriend Todd, who worked in the music recording biz. This was great because she gave me a promo CD for the (then-) new Massive Attack album, 100th Window. And once she gave me a Jane's Addiction t-shirt that slowly became one of my favorite articles of clothing. Her eyes were bluest blue, and every time we got Monkshood in at the shop (which wasn't very often), Ananda would remind me of how poisonous it was. "Just remember Heather- you need to wash your hands after you touch it." It was so cute! One of her favorite stories is one of mine to remember: Once while in the Virgin Islands, on the beach, she witnessed a fat (probably American) tourist in a Speedo walking along the shore with a boombox up to his ear, blasting the song "Hot Hot Hot" by Buster Poindexter. Oh, it's so bad it's good!! Thanks, Ananda.

#53, Prima C.

Prima was a ballerina. And no, i'm not writing a rock song here, people- it's the honest-to-goodness truth. She came to work at the flower shop a few months before i left, all coltish and pretty, brimming with energy and smiles. She was 16 going on 17, carried herself quite precociously but with a twinge of self-doubt that broke that whole wall down. She wore lipstick, and her brown hair was always back in a bun. She had a very grand, idealistic way of speaking, and i would definitely say Prima was starry-eyed, but i loved that about her. It was very endearing to someone as jaded as i was. Turns out her house had been lost in the Oakland Hills Fire in 1991, when she was just a few years old (i was eleven when it happened, and it shaped me forever). My bf and i went to see her dance in a ballet performance once, and she was so amazed that i showed up. It was adorable, and she was fantastic. Truly has a career ahead of her; if not in ballet, then in any damn thing she chooses. She's that girl. Go Prima!

#19, Rob.

Rob. You were so good at making my best friend sad. You would bounce around the corner, with your big smile squinching up your eyes, blonde curls springing and sproinging. Your tiny (deaf) dog Rosebird, was always right behind. You knew everyone, and everyone knew you. You were everybody's friend. Only, you didn't know how to treat people who actually cared about you, and it would hurt them to hell. I watched, time and time again, as you broke her heart. But you were so damned nice to the rest of the world. Apparently, you were an excellent painter, and a recovering alcoholic who finally fell off the wagon. Sometimes you still call her in the middle of the night, and i wonder who the hell you really are.

#18, Oscar.

Oscar was a "homeless" man who always sat on a couple of milk crates next to the flower shop, smiling and saying "hi" to people as they walked by. Every day, when i got to work, Oscar would say "how are you" in his particular way, always the same. He made a lot of money, just sitting there all day, and sometimes during the holidays he would guard the shop for us overnight, when we had too much on display to bring inside. Turns out he had a house, a car, and a wife! Strange.

#17, Leslie Rose.

Leslie was our "manager" at The Meadows. She was the best person we could have asked for for that particular job. Sweet and accommodating, with a warm smile and quick to laugh. She was somewhat big-boned, but very feminine, and had a funny way of rolling her eyes and being just the right amount of dramatic. plain hair always back in a ponytail, and jeans... Leslie bought us special cups in the winter to keep our constant cups of tea warm, and even a space heater one particularly cold holiday season (we worked outside). She was caring and generous, and just an all-around lovely person. She ended up marrying a modern-day professional silver prospector named Stuart, and moving to Winnemucca, Nevada, to a street named Moon Lane, then later all the way to Indonesia. Leslie! We were so happy for you.

#16, Felix.

Felix! You were so rad. Skinny skinny, with dark skin and glasses, and sort of bad teeth that made your face absolutely adorable. You always wanted irises, with some solid aster and eucalyptus. One day you found out i liked Station To Station, and you were ecstatic! Then we talked about Siouxsie Sioux, and you jumped up and down while turning in a circle and singing "Spellbound". This is one of my absolute favorite memories. Later, we found out that your aunt was a famous(ly barefoot) blues singer-Cesaria Evora-and you didn't want to talk about it! Maybe it embarrassed you. You were too cool for words, Felix. I miss ya.

#15, Ani.

You made custom cakes, and came by to visit us girls at the flower shop quite often. We were always thrilled to see you. One day you went to the doctor and found out your heart had a missing beat, which was why you were always sighing. Your husband was a jazz musician, and actually had an extra heartbeat! This was kismet for sure, we all decided. You were short and wore pretty fabrics; always had eyeglasses on and usually a big pair of lovely elephant earrings; a curiously low and strenuous voice. Sometimes still, when i sigh for no reason, i think of you.

#14, Jamie.

You were a flower shop customer. Tall, genteel, coffee-colored skin and glasses. Usually wearing a dress shirt and slacks, carrying shopping bags of some sort. Always smiling and polite, maybe just a little bit reserved. Eventually we got to the point where you would wait for me to be ready (or just give me the look when i was helping someone), and tell me "you know what to do", heading off to put your bags in the car. Fifty bucks tops, something big and beautiful; colorful. I always enjoyed making your arrangements. One night Nat and i went to see Hilary Hahn perform at Zellerbach Hall on campus, and i saw you there! We were both waiting for our dates to come back from the restroom. You seemed so astonished to see me there! I guess you never know who's gonna like classical music. A few weeks later, you came to me at work and offered me two tickets to see Baaba Maal perform (again at Zellerbach), because you couldn't make it. "Senegalese pop music?" i thought. "Hm, why not!" We went, and had an fantastic time. So, thank you.
I miss you Jamie!

#11 (Mama) Erika.

You were the senior lady at the flower shop when i started. You wore cowboy boots, overalls, and a cowboy hat with (i think) a snakeskin on it. You were a reformed woman; a former party-er and now a Christian and a mother of 3 lovely little girls. Tall and thin. Your husband was somewhat unimpressive, and we all wished better for you. But that was the thing about you: better was not an option. You always made the best of what life gave you. You worked hard. You were honest, and one of the nicest people i'll ever meet. We had a lot of the same tastes in music. You were glad that i liked '80s music, and would listen to Tom Petty. You taught me a lot of life lessons, even if you don't know it. I know money was always tight for you, and sometimes i want to send you money anonymously. I may even do that one day. Always enjoy seeing you when i visit Berkeley, and i hope that you never leave the flower shop, even though i know someday you will.

#10, Barbara.

Barbara. You and your husband (Joe) actually stopped to offer me a ride when i was late for work one day. I was a sweaty, angry, "goth" girl, and you were a pleasant, plump, older couple with the nicest smiles i had ever seen. Completely taken aback, and disarmed, i climbed in. You said you'd recognized me from the flower shop and were heading up that way. I was so grateful, and from then on we were great friends. You would often come by and see me while Joe parked the car, with your somewhat struggling gait, wearing color-coordinated outfits and smelling of powder and perfume. You always had such lovely lapel pins, and one day i complimented you on a particular one, a bee. You immediately began to unpin it, to give it to me. I protested, but you were firm. I wore it all that day, and in the days since, i have worn the dozen or so others that you gave to me over the few years we lived in the same city. You always said that you saw a kindred spirit in me, and i couldn't agree more. I hope you are well. Thank you (both) for everything.