On the window sill behind my sink, I have a violet (and a scrubber brush and my drain cover, there was no editing for this picture!). I got the violet at a charity auction at least three years ago. The kids that the charity helps painted clay pots and they were about $10 at the auction. Seeing as how most of the other stuff started in the three digits we were happy to support the cause by buying a hand painted pot. In the pots were these violets that were barely hanging onto life. They were decrepit. I'm guessing they were donated but the nursery that donated them didn't remove their stickers from the plastic pots before they gave them away so we all knew which nursery had fobbed off their dying plants on the children's charity. Anyway, I brought home this little violet and totally expected it to die because I have a propensity to kill plants. But it didn't! In fact, as long as I watered it on a fairly regular basis it thrived! And it grew and it bloomed these beautiful purple flowers! Eventually it outgrew my hand painted pot and had to be transplanted to a bigger home. I love my violet because when I look at it I remember how sick it was and that somehow, I made it better. And that is just amazing to me!
Herman Melville and My Two Dads
5 years ago
1 comment:
What a dear little story illustrating the nurse in you in all facets of life - even botany!
I have a soft spot for African Violets. I even have a published short story about them - that no one will ever read.
My great aunt - who I was endeared to - had DOZENS of them. Later, when I thought about it, it seemed kinda weird - they covered an entire counter in a spare room. And then some. What was the point? I don't remember her giving them as gifts. But you know what? She was an R.N., too. Hmmmmm. This is all very fascinating all of a sudden. Off to write a new short story!
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