1987. Saskatoon. 6 years old.

My tough-guy mother pushed my siblings and I through the crowd so we were at the front.

We brought flowers we picked from my grandparent’s garden. My little brother pulled the stem off his flower.

She already had an armful of beautiful bouquets when she got to us. I remember thinking that our little flowers were a bit measly compared to the ones she was carrying.

When my little brother handed her his flower she looked at it and said “Where is the stalk?”

At least that’s what was explained to me later. I’d never heard an accent in real life before, and had no idea what she was saying.

I also had no idea what a stalk was.

It’s called a STEM, Queen. 😉

Pictured: That’s me with the blue and pink jacket in the corner.


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