My mother grew orchids

My mother always had a Green thumb...

My mother has lived with me for about a year and a half now.  I have tried several ways of easing her path and making her feel at home.  Family photos are on the walls. Favorite foods are clustered at easy reach.  Treasured furniture passed down from my grandmother is scattered around the house.  Coffee in the morning, ice cream sandwiches at night are both favorite things.  Many of the things I remember from our homes growing up are there. However, it was not until we had a window full of plants that it looked like “our home” instead of “mine.”

You see, growing up it was never what we had; it was always what we did.  We ate family dinners. We attended church together. We sat up at night in pjs watching White Christmas (the movie) each December.  We always had some kind of sporting event on the tv. We argued about politics.  We fought about justice issues. 

My mother smocked our dresses and sewed our raincoats. My mother cultivated orchids; she didn’t collect things. It is what she did rather than what she had that mattered.What did my mother do in our houses growing up?  She cared for children.  She made the meals.  She grew over 100 orchid plants.  Once I stopped trying to make a home for my mother with things, and remembered that it is what we do that defines our spot in the universe…then an amazing thing happened. The place began to look like somewhere my mother was "doing."  For the first time, my orchids rebloomed.  They must know that they are in Alice’s house. Welcome home, Mother.