The tales of a florist, stylist, and photographer keepin' it simple in San Francisco, California. This is the home to my stories, inspirations, photography & (when I get really lucky) travels.

amandavidmar.com

As the end of the year approaches, I find myself looking back and finally gaining perspective on how fast life happens.  Sometimes when you’ve got your eyes so set on the prize, it’s hard to take a moment to really just enjoy what has happened instead of thinking about what’s next.  

As I cherry-picked through little forelle pears and looked at which ones had the cutest bottoms, I finally had a moment where I couldn’t even believe I’d even gotten this far.  But, I am really happy that flowers found me this year.   I have the faintest idea of what’s in store for me for the coming year, but the monkey-puzzle that life gave me this year is a good indication that I shouldn’t ever expect anything normal.

I am, however, thankful.  For everything that has happened to me this year, for the good people who held me up, and for you; still reading the jibber-jabber I have to say when life throws colossal lemons.    

Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  
Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  
I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   
I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  

Springtime in the Pine Street Studio  

I’m at the point where I’ve been completely blind-sighted that the dark days (in the flower world) of winter were even here to begin with.  What I’m learning, though, is that you need to have the bad to see the good—life wouldn’t be so wonderful if it were just bubbles and cakes all of the time.   

I have continued to be inspired by the new people around me recently, and am excited for the next few months of (possible) dress-wearing, creating, and growing.  

I hoped and hoped and hoped for a better year this year—and by golly my wishes have been granted.  Perhaps it’s that the wisteria is blooming, or the lilac, or the tulips.  Or perhaps it’s all of the light treading, early mornings,  hot coffee, or warm sunshine.  Whatever it is, I like it. Good things are happening.
I’ve made early morning flower market trips part of my ritual the past few weeks, making sure that I’m getting the creme de la creme of the fleurs to work with.  Sure, it’s taken a bit of a toll on the friday night life—most twenty somethings aren’t getting up at 4:30 or 5 to begin working—but I’m always searching for any excuse to stay in on a Friday night anyhow so this is all working out for me.  
A quarter of the year is already over, and I can only hope that the next three are just as eventful and happy.  I’ve got the peak of the growing season and weddings to look forward to—and a trip to Hawaii in the queue.  
I hoped and hoped and hoped for a better year this year—and by golly my wishes have been granted.  Perhaps it’s that the wisteria is blooming, or the lilac, or the tulips.  Or perhaps it’s all of the light treading, early mornings,  hot coffee, or warm sunshine.  Whatever it is, I like it. Good things are happening.
I’ve made early morning flower market trips part of my ritual the past few weeks, making sure that I’m getting the creme de la creme of the fleurs to work with.  Sure, it’s taken a bit of a toll on the friday night life—most twenty somethings aren’t getting up at 4:30 or 5 to begin working—but I’m always searching for any excuse to stay in on a Friday night anyhow so this is all working out for me.  
A quarter of the year is already over, and I can only hope that the next three are just as eventful and happy.  I’ve got the peak of the growing season and weddings to look forward to—and a trip to Hawaii in the queue.  

I hoped and hoped and hoped for a better year this year—and by golly my wishes have been granted.  Perhaps it’s that the wisteria is blooming, or the lilac, or the tulips.  Or perhaps it’s all of the light treading, early mornings,  hot coffee, or warm sunshine.  Whatever it is, I like it. Good things are happening.

I’ve made early morning flower market trips part of my ritual the past few weeks, making sure that I’m getting the creme de la creme of the fleurs to work with.  Sure, it’s taken a bit of a toll on the friday night life—most twenty somethings aren’t getting up at 4:30 or 5 to begin working—but I’m always searching for any excuse to stay in on a Friday night anyhow so this is all working out for me.  

A quarter of the year is already over, and I can only hope that the next three are just as eventful and happy.  I’ve got the peak of the growing season and weddings to look forward to—and a trip to Hawaii in the queue.  

Amidst a last minute order in your 11th hour, as your receptionist has stopped answering phones to run down and help clean your tulips and frantically strip roses and mint for you to equally as frantically plug in to your arrangement—the smell of lilac overwhelms you. And if only for a second, you stop to realize why ever the hell you are in the event business.  And then, back to finishing this piece. That is spring as a florist.
Lilac is still forever my favorite, though I may tell you from time to time that it’s something else. If I do, I’m lying, or I’ve just forgotten how many sweet memories I have attached to the scent, since you can never quite recreate the smell of lilac unless it’s actually spring—In the same way that faux gardenia scent never quite smells like gardenias, but somehow falls into an “old lady” perfume category every time.  Dyptique has gotten pretty close (props), but there’s nothing quite like the real deal. 
The flower market mornings have continued, except now I’m realizing that the good stuff is gone by 5, so I’ve done my best to be out of the house, coffee in hand by 4:20am and have somehow succeeded in this mostly every time. The things a florist will do for some gosh darned local lily of the valley.  I think my next plan is to stay up with friends until two in the morning, and then have a field trip to the flower market to really see what’s first available. I’ll let you know how that one goes. 
Flower ranting aside, I find that I’m so hyped after three or…ahem…four cups of coffee in the day, that I’ve mustered the energy after a long day to be in the presence of lovely people and experience San Francisco a bit more. Tonight, though, it’s me and my Aimee Bender book, alone in my apartment.  I think the city is finally growing on me, and I’m growing within it.  It’s a mutual thing.
Amidst a last minute order in your 11th hour, as your receptionist has stopped answering phones to run down and help clean your tulips and frantically strip roses and mint for you to equally as frantically plug in to your arrangement—the smell of lilac overwhelms you. And if only for a second, you stop to realize why ever the hell you are in the event business.  And then, back to finishing this piece. That is spring as a florist.
Lilac is still forever my favorite, though I may tell you from time to time that it’s something else. If I do, I’m lying, or I’ve just forgotten how many sweet memories I have attached to the scent, since you can never quite recreate the smell of lilac unless it’s actually spring—In the same way that faux gardenia scent never quite smells like gardenias, but somehow falls into an “old lady” perfume category every time.  Dyptique has gotten pretty close (props), but there’s nothing quite like the real deal. 
The flower market mornings have continued, except now I’m realizing that the good stuff is gone by 5, so I’ve done my best to be out of the house, coffee in hand by 4:20am and have somehow succeeded in this mostly every time. The things a florist will do for some gosh darned local lily of the valley.  I think my next plan is to stay up with friends until two in the morning, and then have a field trip to the flower market to really see what’s first available. I’ll let you know how that one goes. 
Flower ranting aside, I find that I’m so hyped after three or…ahem…four cups of coffee in the day, that I’ve mustered the energy after a long day to be in the presence of lovely people and experience San Francisco a bit more. Tonight, though, it’s me and my Aimee Bender book, alone in my apartment.  I think the city is finally growing on me, and I’m growing within it.  It’s a mutual thing.
Amidst a last minute order in your 11th hour, as your receptionist has stopped answering phones to run down and help clean your tulips and frantically strip roses and mint for you to equally as frantically plug in to your arrangement—the smell of lilac overwhelms you. And if only for a second, you stop to realize why ever the hell you are in the event business.  And then, back to finishing this piece. That is spring as a florist.
Lilac is still forever my favorite, though I may tell you from time to time that it’s something else. If I do, I’m lying, or I’ve just forgotten how many sweet memories I have attached to the scent, since you can never quite recreate the smell of lilac unless it’s actually spring—In the same way that faux gardenia scent never quite smells like gardenias, but somehow falls into an “old lady” perfume category every time.  Dyptique has gotten pretty close (props), but there’s nothing quite like the real deal. 
The flower market mornings have continued, except now I’m realizing that the good stuff is gone by 5, so I’ve done my best to be out of the house, coffee in hand by 4:20am and have somehow succeeded in this mostly every time. The things a florist will do for some gosh darned local lily of the valley.  I think my next plan is to stay up with friends until two in the morning, and then have a field trip to the flower market to really see what’s first available. I’ll let you know how that one goes. 
Flower ranting aside, I find that I’m so hyped after three or…ahem…four cups of coffee in the day, that I’ve mustered the energy after a long day to be in the presence of lovely people and experience San Francisco a bit more. Tonight, though, it’s me and my Aimee Bender book, alone in my apartment.  I think the city is finally growing on me, and I’m growing within it.  It’s a mutual thing.
Amidst a last minute order in your 11th hour, as your receptionist has stopped answering phones to run down and help clean your tulips and frantically strip roses and mint for you to equally as frantically plug in to your arrangement—the smell of lilac overwhelms you. And if only for a second, you stop to realize why ever the hell you are in the event business.  And then, back to finishing this piece. That is spring as a florist.
Lilac is still forever my favorite, though I may tell you from time to time that it’s something else. If I do, I’m lying, or I’ve just forgotten how many sweet memories I have attached to the scent, since you can never quite recreate the smell of lilac unless it’s actually spring—In the same way that faux gardenia scent never quite smells like gardenias, but somehow falls into an “old lady” perfume category every time.  Dyptique has gotten pretty close (props), but there’s nothing quite like the real deal. 
The flower market mornings have continued, except now I’m realizing that the good stuff is gone by 5, so I’ve done my best to be out of the house, coffee in hand by 4:20am and have somehow succeeded in this mostly every time. The things a florist will do for some gosh darned local lily of the valley.  I think my next plan is to stay up with friends until two in the morning, and then have a field trip to the flower market to really see what’s first available. I’ll let you know how that one goes. 
Flower ranting aside, I find that I’m so hyped after three or…ahem…four cups of coffee in the day, that I’ve mustered the energy after a long day to be in the presence of lovely people and experience San Francisco a bit more. Tonight, though, it’s me and my Aimee Bender book, alone in my apartment.  I think the city is finally growing on me, and I’m growing within it.  It’s a mutual thing.
Amidst a last minute order in your 11th hour, as your receptionist has stopped answering phones to run down and help clean your tulips and frantically strip roses and mint for you to equally as frantically plug in to your arrangement—the smell of lilac overwhelms you. And if only for a second, you stop to realize why ever the hell you are in the event business.  And then, back to finishing this piece. That is spring as a florist.
Lilac is still forever my favorite, though I may tell you from time to time that it’s something else. If I do, I’m lying, or I’ve just forgotten how many sweet memories I have attached to the scent, since you can never quite recreate the smell of lilac unless it’s actually spring—In the same way that faux gardenia scent never quite smells like gardenias, but somehow falls into an “old lady” perfume category every time.  Dyptique has gotten pretty close (props), but there’s nothing quite like the real deal. 
The flower market mornings have continued, except now I’m realizing that the good stuff is gone by 5, so I’ve done my best to be out of the house, coffee in hand by 4:20am and have somehow succeeded in this mostly every time. The things a florist will do for some gosh darned local lily of the valley.  I think my next plan is to stay up with friends until two in the morning, and then have a field trip to the flower market to really see what’s first available. I’ll let you know how that one goes. 
Flower ranting aside, I find that I’m so hyped after three or…ahem…four cups of coffee in the day, that I’ve mustered the energy after a long day to be in the presence of lovely people and experience San Francisco a bit more. Tonight, though, it’s me and my Aimee Bender book, alone in my apartment.  I think the city is finally growing on me, and I’m growing within it.  It’s a mutual thing.

Amidst a last minute order in your 11th hour, as your receptionist has stopped answering phones to run down and help clean your tulips and frantically strip roses and mint for you to equally as frantically plug in to your arrangement—the smell of lilac overwhelms you. And if only for a second, you stop to realize why ever the hell you are in the event business.  And then, back to finishing this piece. That is spring as a florist.

Lilac is still forever my favorite, though I may tell you from time to time that it’s something else. If I do, I’m lying, or I’ve just forgotten how many sweet memories I have attached to the scent, since you can never quite recreate the smell of lilac unless it’s actually spring—In the same way that faux gardenia scent never quite smells like gardenias, but somehow falls into an “old lady” perfume category every time.  Dyptique has gotten pretty close (props), but there’s nothing quite like the real deal. 

The flower market mornings have continued, except now I’m realizing that the good stuff is gone by 5, so I’ve done my best to be out of the house, coffee in hand by 4:20am and have somehow succeeded in this mostly every time. The things a florist will do for some gosh darned local lily of the valley.  I think my next plan is to stay up with friends until two in the morning, and then have a field trip to the flower market to really see what’s first available. I’ll let you know how that one goes. 

Flower ranting aside, I find that I’m so hyped after three or…ahem…four cups of coffee in the day, that I’ve mustered the energy after a long day to be in the presence of lovely people and experience San Francisco a bit more. Tonight, though, it’s me and my Aimee Bender book, alone in my apartment.  I think the city is finally growing on me, and I’m growing within it.  It’s a mutual thing.