Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, February 14, 1992 TAG: 9202140232
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-3 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: DONNA ALVIS-BANKS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
BOUQUETS ROLLED IN AS NEW LOVE BLOOMED
I'm trying to find myself. Have you seen me anywhere?That's the message on a button I have fastened to the fuzzy stuff surrounding the cubicle where I work. It's squeezed between a Simpsons button a co-worker gave me and another button bearing two blunt words: "Watch Out!"
There are certain days when I should wear the latter button as a favor to the people who love me.
But back to the first button.
Lately, I've been staring at the words on that button.
I'm trying to "find myself" for a good reason. I keep forgetting who I am.
Today is my anniversary. Two months ago today I changed my name, not to mention my life.
I married the flower man.
My friends at this newspaper dubbed Rick Banks "the flower man" two years and many roses ago.
That's when I met this big guy who sent flowers for absolutely no reason. No rational reason, that is.
At the onset of our courtship, the bouquets came rolling into this office at least once a week.
"He must be having an affair with the florist," a reporter named Cathryn McCue would quip as she passed my desk. Nose in the air, she inhaled the rosy redolence and rolled her big blue eyes.
Another reporter, Madelyn Rosenberg, just sighed - loudly.
After a year, the flower deliveries still hadn't stopped. They had slowed a bit, however.
Rick sent flowers on the second day of each month - a reminder of the day we met.
My editor, Beth Obenshain, always had the same comment when the flowers arrived. "How lovely!" she exclaimed. "You're so lucky."
My other editor, Jack Chamberlain, was characteristically cynical.
"Not again!" he moaned. "Just wait - if you marry him, you'll be lucky if he remembers your name."
On Dec. 14, I married him.
On Jan. 2, the flower truck stopped here. A few minutes later, Brenda Farmer (everyone's favorite receptionist) carried a beautiful bouquet into the newsroom and handed it to me.
"He could have bought a new car with the money he's spent on these," she said.
I grinned, used to the teasing.
Then I noticed the name on the little card attached to the flowers: Donna Banks.
Jack was wrong. He remembered my name.
So much for cynical editors, eh?
Well, one editor was right anyway. I am lucky.
I think I finally found myself.
Donna Alvis-Banks, formerly just plain Donna Alvis, is an editorial assistant in the New River Valley bureau. Since the wedding, the flowers have slowed to a trickle.