Ash Molina LMT

04/23/2026

04/23/2026

04/23/2026

The same man ordered a dozen white roses every Monday for eleven months, and when I asked him yesterday why he never had them delivered, he told me about the apartment.
I work at Bloom & Petal Florist on Hastings Street in Vancouver.
Small shop. Corner location. Glass cooler full of arrangements. Workbench in the back where I do custom orders.
Been here for thirteen years. Bought the business from the previous owner in 2018. It's just me and one part-timer who works weekends.
Flowers are seasonal work. Valentine's Day is chaos. Mother's Day. Funerals. Weddings in summer.
Rest of the year it's steady. Birthday arrangements. Get-well bouquets. Anniversary flowers. Corporate orders for office lobbies.
Most customers order once. Special occasion. Pick up or delivery. Done.
Regular customers are rare. Maybe someone who buys flowers every month for their spouse. Every few weeks for their mother's grave.
But weekly customers are almost unheard of.
David Nguyen started coming in last February.
Late fifties. Average height. Graying hair. Always wore the same navy jacket. Carried a worn leather messenger bag.
First Monday he came in around 10 AM.
"I need a dozen white roses."
"For delivery?"
"No. I'll take them with me."
"Any card? Any special wrapping?"
"Just the roses. Simple wrap is fine."
I put together a dozen white roses. Standard green tissue paper wrap. Tied with twine.
"$48."
He paid cash. Exact change. Took the flowers. Left.
The next Monday. 10 AM. Same man. Same order.
"Dozen white roses. I'll take them with me."
Same routine. Same price. Cash. Left.
Third Monday. Same thing.
By the fourth week I had the roses ready when I saw him coming. Recognized him through the window.
"Your usual?"
"Yes. Thank you."
This went on for months. Every Monday. 10 AM. Dozen white roses. Cash. No delivery.
After about three months I got curious. Started paying attention to details.
The roses were always fresh. I made sure to give him the best ones. Tight buds. No browning on the edges. Good stems.
He always handled them carefully. Like they mattered.
But he never seemed happy when he left. Never smiled. Just a polite nod and out the door.
Month five. June. I tried making conversation.
"These must be for someone special. Every week for five months."
"They are."
"Anniversary? Birthday?"
"Just flowers."
He didn't elaborate. Paid. Left.
Month six. I noticed he was losing weight. His jacket hung looser. Face looked thinner.
"You doing okay?"
"I'm fine."
But he didn't look fine. He looked tired. Sad.
Month seven. August. I decided to ask directly.
"I don't mean to pry. But you've been buying white roses every Monday since February. That's a lot of flowers. Are they for a grave? A memorial?"
He looked at me for a long moment. "No. Not a grave."
"Then what?"
"They're for my wife."
"That's sweet. Weekly flowers. She must love them."
"She does. Or she did."
"Did?"
He picked up the roses. "It's complicated."
Left before I could ask more.
Month eight. September. I noticed the flowers weren't getting picked up on time some weeks. He'd come Monday morning. But the roses would sit on my counter until Tuesday or Wednesday before he returned.
"Forgot them yesterday," he'd say. Take them. Leave.
Month nine. October. He came in on a Wednesday instead of Monday.
"Sorry. I know it's not Monday. Can I still get the roses?"
"Of course. You want the usual dozen?"
"Yes."
I made them up. Fresh roses. He paid. But this time he didn't leave right away.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Sure."
"Do you think flowers matter if the person can't see them?"
"What do you mean?"
"If someone's not there to appreciate them. Are they still meaningful?"
"I think so. Flowers are about intention. About showing you care. Even if the person isn't there, the gesture matters."
He nodded slowly. "That's what I thought. What I hoped."
"Is your wife traveling? Away?"
"Something like that."
He left with the roses.
Month ten. November. He missed two weeks. Didn't come in at all.
I worried. Wondered if something had happened. If he was okay.
Then the third Monday he was back. Looking worse. More weight lost. Dark circles under his eyes.
"The usual?"
"Yes. Sorry I missed the last two weeks. Things got complicated."
"Everything okay?"
"No. But it will be."
He took the flowers. Left.
Month eleven. December. Last week.
David came in Monday at 10 AM. Right on schedule.
I had his roses ready. Same as always.
But this time when I handed them to him, he just stood there holding them.
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"My wife has advanced Alzheimer's. She's been in a memory care facility for three years. She doesn't recognize me anymore. Doesn't know who I am."
My chest tightened. "I'm so sorry."
"I visit her every Monday. Same time. 11 AM. I bring white roses because they were her favorite. I put them in a vase in her room."
"That's beautiful."
"But she doesn't know they're from me. Doesn't know they're roses. Doesn't know what flowers are half the time."
He looked at the bouquet in his hands.
"Last week the care facility said she's declining. Might not have much time left. Weeks maybe. A month."
"David—"
"And I realized I've been buying her flowers for eleven months. Spending $48 every week. That's over $2,000 on flowers she can't appreciate. For someone who doesn't know I exist."
"But you know. You remember."
"Is that enough?"
"I think so."
He was quiet for a moment. "The staff at the facility told me I should stop visiting so often. That it's hard on me. That she doesn't know the difference."
"What did you say?"
"I said I know the difference. Even if she doesn't remember our forty years of marriage. Even if she thinks I'm a stranger. I remember. And I'm not ready to stop showing up."
"So you keep bringing roses."
"Every Monday. I put them in the vase. I sit with her. I tell her about my week even though she doesn't understand. I hold her hand. Then I leave and come back the next Monday."
He looked at me. "Do you think I'm foolish? Buying flowers for someone who can't remember them?"
"No. I think you're honoring her. And honoring what you had together."
"Even though it costs money I could be using for other things?"
"Money buys flowers. Flowers represent love. You're buying a way to show love when everything else is gone. That's not foolish."
His eyes filled with tears. "Thank you for saying that."
"How long will you keep coming?"
"Until she's gone. However long that is."
Yesterday. Monday. David came in at 10 AM.
But his order was different.
"I need two dozen white roses this time."
"Two dozen?"
"My wife passed away Saturday night. Peacefully. In her sleep."
"Oh David. I'm so sorry."
"The funeral is Thursday. I want white roses everywhere. On the casket. At the service. Filling the room."
"I can do that. I'll make sure they're perfect."
"And I want one bouquet. A dozen. Wrapped the same way you've been wrapping them for eleven months. Simple green tissue. Twine."
"For the casket?"
"For me. To keep. To remember."
I made up two dozen roses. The best ones in the shop. Tight buds. Perfect stems. No brown edges.
And one bouquet wrapped exactly like every Monday for the past eleven months.
David paid. Cash like always. But this time he tipped me $100.
"For eleven months of caring. For making sure the roses were always beautiful even when my wife couldn't see them."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. You were part of our story. Part of how I said goodbye."
He took the flowers. All of them. Walked to his car.
I watched through the window as he carefully placed them in the back seat. The two dozen for the funeral. And the single wrapped bouquet for himself.
That was yesterday.
This morning I opened the shop at 9 AM.
At 10 AM I looked at the door. Waiting for David to come in.
But he didn't come.
The Monday routine is over.
No more dozen white roses at 10 AM.
No more quiet man with the leather messenger bag and the sad eyes.
Just the memory of eleven months of flowers.
For a woman who couldn't remember them.
From a man who refused to forget.
That's what flowers are really for.
Not just for celebrations.
Not just for people who can see them and smell them and appreciate them.
But for the people who need to keep showing up.
Who need a ritual. A routine. A way to say I still care even when everything else is lost.
David spent over $2,000 on flowers his wife couldn't remember.
But they weren't for her memory.
They were for his.
A way to keep loving her when loving her meant visiting a stranger.
A way to hold onto forty years of marriage when she could only hold onto the present moment.
A way to say goodbye slowly over eleven months of Mondays.
One dozen white roses at a time.

04/16/2026

Zola April Newsletter 🌱
See what we have brewing for you 🫖🍵
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SAVE THE DATE!

04/16/2026

🍵 from Rebecca 🫶🏽

I agree with all of it! LMTs are tired of being underpaid and exploited and thats why many of us have decided to go out on our own or job hop until we find a community and clientele we can co create a sustainable container with.

Just my OPINION ——

but *I HATE IT* when employers fail or refuse to publicly disclose pay in the job description or a post.

Vague as f**k.

Literally every other professional discloses the salary.

 Why do people have the scavenger hunt and play Nancy Drew just to find out whether they’re possibly getting paid and at a massage job is even worth applying to or spending your time talking to the employer to begin with?

This could very well be a legitimate job, and a great place to work. I wouldn’t know. There’s literally no other context.

She only posted that she’s hiring, and the location. I simply asked what the pay was and to be transparent.

 When employers get defensive and justify not posting about the pay, that’s the first red flag.

 I can only assume that the number that she will give people also “includes gratuity”

Again:  this could very well be legit, but I swear to God employers do not know how to write a proper job listing or find high-quality employees.

Just my soapbox. Nothing more. This s**t exhausts me.

 Why does nobody know how to write a legitimate job posting?

Sigh.

Oh, and then I got called negative for asking a simple question.

(I have a job, I’m not looking.  I just called these things out as I see them because I am not the only person in the world wondering what the f**k the pay is!)

🙄🙄🙄

04/04/2026

🍵

03/24/2026

🫠

03/23/2026

💚💚💚🍵

I posted in my neighborhood app asking if anybody had fruit that they would like to trade since I started juicing and have an exploding lemon and grapefruit tree  and within a week all the neighbors have set up a distribution schedule so that everybody gets everybody’s fruit right to their front door and today is Miss Pam’s tangerines! 

One of the senior neighbors wanted to join so badly and doesn’t have any fruit trees so instead she requested fruit so she can make everyone weekly marmalade’s instead🥹❤️‍🩹

Even the avocado neighbor said yes!!!

I’ve never been so excited for porch drop offs.

All from one little post.

If you don’t know your neighbors….this is your sign you should!!

03/22/2026

🫖🍵👏🏽