June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Merriam is the Happy Day Bouquet

The Happy Day Bouquet from Bloom Central is simply adorable. This charming floral arrangement is perfect for brightening up any room in your home. It features a delightful mix of vibrant flowers that will instantly bring joy to anyone who sees them.

With cheery colors and a playful design the Happy Day Bouquet is sure to put a smile on anyone's face. The bouquet includes a collection of yellow roses and luminous bupleurum plus white daisy pompon and green button pompon. These blooms are expertly arranged in a clear cylindrical glass vase with green foliage accents.

The size of this bouquet is just right - not too big and not too small. It is the perfect centerpiece for your dining table or coffee table, adding a pop of color without overwhelming the space. Plus, it's so easy to care for! Simply add water every few days and enjoy the beauty it brings to your home.

What makes this arrangement truly special is its versatility. Whether you're celebrating a birthday, anniversary, or simply want to brighten someone's day, the Happy Day Bouquet fits the bill perfectly. With timeless appeal makes this arrangement is suitable for recipients of all ages.

If you're looking for an affordable yet stunning gift option look no further than the Happy Day Bouquet from Bloom Central. As one of our lowest priced arrangements, the budget-friendly price allows you to spread happiness without breaking the bank.

Ordering this beautiful bouquet couldn't be easier either. With Bloom Central's convenient online ordering system you can have it delivered straight to your doorstep or directly to someone special in just a few clicks.

So why wait? Treat yourself or surprise someone dear with this delightful floral arrangement today! The Happy Day Bouquet will undoubtedly uplift spirits and create lasting memories filled with joy and love.

Amaranthus does not behave like other flowers. It does not sit politely in a vase, standing upright, nodding gently in the direction of the other blooms. It spills. It drapes. It cascades downward in long, trailing tendrils that look more like something from a dream than something you can actually buy from a florist. It refuses to stay contained, which is exactly why it makes an arrangement feel alive.

There are two main types, though “types” doesn’t really do justice to how completely different they look. There’s the upright kind, with tall, tapering spikes that look like velvet-coated wands reaching toward the sky, adding height and texture and this weirdly ancient, almost prehistoric energy to a bouquet. And then there’s the trailing kind, the showstopper, the one that flows downward in thick ropes, soft and heavy, like some extravagant, botanical waterfall. Both versions have a weight to them, a physical presence that makes the usual rules of flower arranging feel irrelevant.

And the color. Deep, rich, impossible-to-ignore shades of burgundy, magenta, crimson, chartreuse. They look saturated, velvety, intense, like something out of an old oil painting, the kind where fruit and flowers are arranged on a wooden table with dramatic lighting and tiny beads of condensation on the grapes. Stick Amaranthus in a bouquet, and suddenly it feels more expensive, more opulent, more like it should be displayed in a room with high ceilings and heavy curtains and a kind of hushed reverence.

But what really makes Amaranthus unique is movement. Arrangements are usually about balance, about placing each stem at just the right angle to create a structured, harmonious composition. Amaranthus doesn’t care about any of that. It moves. It droops. It reaches out past the edge of the vase and pulls everything around it into a kind of organic, unplanned-looking beauty. A bouquet without Amaranthus can feel static, frozen, too aware of its own perfection. Add those long, trailing ropes, and suddenly there’s drama. There’s tension. There’s this gorgeous contrast between what is contained and what refuses to be.

And it lasts. Long after more delicate flowers have wilted, after the petals have started falling and the leaves have lost their luster, Amaranthus holds on. It dries beautifully, keeping its shape and color for weeks, sometimes months, as if it has decided that decay is simply not an option. Which makes sense, considering its name literally means “unfading” in Greek.

Amaranthus is not for the timid. It does not blend in, does not behave, does not sit quietly in the background. It transforms an arrangement, giving it depth, movement, and this strange, undeniable sense of history, like it belongs to another era but somehow ended up here. Once you start using it, once you see what it does to a bouquet, how it changes the whole mood of a space, you will not go back. Some flowers are beautiful. Amaranthus is unforgettable.

Are looking for a Merriam florist because you are not local to the area? If so, here is a brief travelogue of what Merriam has to offer. Who knows, perhaps you'll be intrigued enough to come visit soon, partake in some of the fun activities Merriam has to offer and deliver flowers to your loved one in person!

Merriam, Kansas, sits just southwest of Kansas City like a parenthesis, a quiet enclave where the hum of interstate traffic fades into cicada song and the soft clatter of Little League bleachers. The town’s streets curve with the gentle logic of a place that grew incrementally, without grand design, its neighborhoods branching like capillaries around split-level homes and sycamores whose roots buckle sidewalks into abstract art. Morning here smells of cut grass and bakery sugar, Merriam’s oldest diner, a squat brick relic with vinyl booths, serves cinnamon rolls the size of hubcaps, their icing pooling in tectonic swirls. Regulars orbit the counter, swapping weather updates and high school sports gossip, their voices layering into a low-frequency chorus that underscores the fryer’s sizzle.

History in Merriam is less a monument than a lived texture. The community’s founders, 19th-century homesteaders who broke prairie soil into something fertile, linger in the limestone walls of the 1866 Walker Schoolhouse, now preserved as a museum where third graders press palms against glass displays, wide-eyed at inkwells and slate boards. The past here isn’t entombed but threaded through the present: century-old farmhouses flank modern dental offices, and the annual Fall Festival features Civil War reenactors sipping Gatorade between musket drills. Even the town’s name, borrowed from a railroad attorney who never set foot here, feels like an inside joke sustained across generations.

Same day service available. Order your Merriam floral delivery and surprise someone today!

What defines Merriam now is an unshowy commitment to the art of neighborliness. The Irene B. French Community Center buzzes with Zumba classes and pickleball matches, its halls echoing with the squeak of sneakers and the arrhythmic thwock of plastic balls. On summer evenings, families spread blankets at Campbell Park for outdoor concerts, toddlers wobbling to cover bands as fireflies blink Morse code in the oaks. The library, a sleek glass cube, hosts robotics workshops and story hours where librarians animate picture books with the zeal of Broadway understudies. Volunteers tend community gardens, coaxing tomatoes and kale from raised beds, while the farmers market transforms a parking lot into a weekly carnival of heirloom produce and honey jars labeled in careful cursive.

The town’s green spaces act as communal lungs. Merriam’s 15 parks form a verdant archipelago, connected by trails where joggers nod hellos and retirees walk spaniels with the urgency of postal workers. At Antioch Park, ducks patrol the pond’s edge, hustling for Goldfish crumbs tossed by children who later conquer the playground’s wooden castle, its turrets smoothed by decades of grip. Soccer fields morph into kaleidoscopes of jersey color on weekends, coaches shouting encouragement that’s 70% vowel sounds. Even the business corridors feel permeable: storefronts along Merriam Drive, a family-owned pharmacy, a bike shop with handlebar streamers, display handwritten signs and dog bowls, their proprietors waving through plate glass.

To outsiders, Merriam might register as another suburban annex, a blur of gas stations and stoplights. But its rhythms reveal a deeper code. This is a town that still holds Fourth of July parades where fire trucks crawl Main Street, candy raining from their grilles, and where the high school’s jazz band serenades seniors at the community center, their off-key notes dissolving into applause. In an age of curated personas and digital clamor, Merriam’s ordinariness feels radical, even profound. It insists that a good life isn’t about spectacle but the accumulation of small, shared gestures, the lending of lawn tools, the return of a stray mitt, the collective pause to watch the sunset gild a cul-de-sac. Here, the American experiment quietly thrives, one block party, one potluck, one “Hey, how’s your mom?” at a time.