Money may not grow on trees, but it seems like “value” certainly does. From store shelves to Sunday circulars, the word is used so often, I feel its worth is slipping. This isn’t an effect of deflation, or of the Chinese. Not of insider trading or an old expiration date. Just of being thrown about like a meaningless compliment way too much.

By definition, value is the “importance or preciousness of something.” Monetary worth is listed secondarily, like an afterthought or fine print. Sure I know this; after all I communicate it every day. But it took a very personal incident to feel it.

It was in Savannah, GA by the harbor. I was walking along, saying something perfectly nonsensical to my then boyfriend when he stopped me and opened a small, black velveteen box. Words were exchanged and a yes rung out into the night air, harmoniously blending with the strange and gravely sound of a man asking, “Excuse me sir, wouldn’t ya like to buy that pretty girl a rose?”

Now this wasn’t a living rose, but one made out of a palm leaf, dry and supple. Before my fiancé’ could grab his wallet, the man realized what he had just interrupted. Struck, he looked at me, then looked at Joe and asked him eagerly (regardless of the obvious answer on my finger), “Did she say yes?” Without waiting for a reply, he handed me the palm tree rose and said this was for me, no charge.

I didn’t shut up about the rose for the next half hour. And when I think back, it’s still one of the first things I remember about that night. Money-wise, a dead tree leaf isn’t worth anything next to a diamond. Value-wise, it’s right up there.