More tales from the crypt

Right on the heels of the entrancing Kingston pageant, we had another funeral to attend this week. The lovliest gentleman had died, the owner of Scrim's Florist. Many a petal was bought there and many a Christmas sheath. Scrim's enhanced our weddings and our funerals over many, many years. Very careful with a penny, my dear mother always said, "You never go anywhere except Scrim's." And this from a woman who taught me how to coax and conjure a gourment feast out of an onion and a potato.

Always dapper and perfectly turned out, his presence at the old-age home where my last surviving uncle resides shocked me. At first I thought he was visiting someone, but no, he had moved in. How quickly it all happens. One minute you're running the premier flower business in the city and the next you're sitting forlornly in the lobby of an old-age home, bored to death, waiting for the next meal. Bang. Just like that.

No soggy sandwiches and weak tea in the church basement for this wake. The reception was held at the Royal Ottawa Golf Club and it was perfection. Just like every bouquet and arrangement the man ever created. One Christmas, as I was purchasing yet another $100,000 natural adornment for the door (I exaggerate, but not by much), Paul said, "Why don't you get one of these gorgeous wreaths made of dried switches. It'll last for years." That's the kind of guy he was. He would rather a client save some money, but in the process do himself out of an annual purchase. I still have the wreath and it graces our door every season -- with a little help from an artistic daughter, who tarted it up a few years ago and gave it new life.

So, another Ottawa icon passes. Happily, his family still runs Scrim's so it will remain the only place to go for commemorative beauty.