Love in the time of social media

They start the day networking on Facebook or updating their profiles on LinkedIn, and spend hours checking the latest nyaya on Twitter, or sharing their opinions with the world at large on a personal blog. Personal and professional lives either flourish or wither according to your mastery of gadgets, computers, mobiles and the internet.
Owners of the latest iPhone 4s can ask Siri to fulfil their every request – search the web for information, play the songs you want to hear, give directions to any location, remind you of important birthdays and wake you up in the morning. It can also write and send e-mails on your spoken command.
The downside to all this spectacular technology is that there may no longer be a demand for pens or ink, and that many children will never be taught cursive handwriting. Important conversations requiring explanations or detail may be reduced to the briefest of SMSes, such as “Im not good enough for you” or “This isn’t working – it’s over”.
Love affairs are started, sustained and ended on e-mail.
Should you sense that texting, tweeting and blogging are fixing you in a virtual world, that reality and the scent of roses are missing from your life, think back to the language of flowers and the significance of flowers, herbs and various plants in our day-to-day existence.
In Victorian times, understanding the language of flowers was as important as being well-dressed. Flowers conveyed messages of love or rejection, and dictionaries explaining these meanings were available to would-be lovers.
Small posies, known as tussie-mussies, were created to convey a special message. Thus a bunch of red carnations (my heart aches for
you) and geraniums (I expect a meeting) with a sprig of lemon blossom (fidelity, I promise to be true) sent a clear message. In response, a posy of jonquils (affection returned) could really get things going. But a bunch of rhododendrons (beware, I am dangerous) might put negotiations on hold indefinitely.
Horticulturalist, Dido de Swardt, whose love affair with flowers began in her grandmother’s garden at Bovey Tracey farm in Hatfield, understands the importance of flowers in our lives. Bringing the freshness and beauty of nature into our houses and offices can be more uplifting than buying the latest app for a cellphone: Sending someone a bouquet of special flowers laden with meaning is more effective than a free animated e-card, even if it comes with a flashing postage stamp and background music.
At Herbaceous, with branches at The Village Walk and on Churchill Avenue, Dido and her staff create beautiful bouquets of various shapes and sizes, and floral decorations for events such as weddings and themed parties. In an earthenware vase on the counter, a large arrangement of white and green carnations, white chrysanthemums, blue and white asters and soft green foliage spoke of fascination and devoted love, daintiness and thoughts of you, wisdom and respect.
In a silver bucket on the floor, a combination of yellow sunflowers, yellow chrysanthemums and golden rod were more beautiful than the cautionary message they expressed, suggesting false riches, slighted love and a warning to exercise care.
Zimbos always buy red roses (love, respect, beauty) and on St Valentine’s Day, demand often exceeds supply. Dido’s own preference is for brightly coloured flowers such as gerberas (innocence), nasturtiums (victory in battle) and zinnias (remembering absent friends). She would like to visit China or Tibet in search of rare and unusual flowers, to add to the wide variety of quality flowers available in Zimbabwe.
However, there’s always a possible compromise between the language of flowers and social media’s advanced technology. Because your wish is its command, Siri, the intelligent assistant on your new iPhone, will happily text Herbaceous with an order for roses, carnations and lilies – flowers that promise eternal love and devotion. Siri will even remind you to collect the flowers in real time, and to deliver them in person.