This afternoon, as I was doing my dishes, I noticed on the far end of the window sill, my African Violet was blooming. Many times, I have bought one
but without fail, after a few months they died. This time I also bought a special pot, actually a pot within a pot, water goes in the outer pot, the plant in the other, and you just check the water when you think about it. I purchased this plant while I was displaced from my home when it flooded last October. As long as it lived, it was a symbol to me that I would be o.k. I packed it around with me until finally I was back home.
It reminds me of my Grandma. She always had African violet plants, sitting on little white doilies and they were always blooming. I remember the violets, and purples, and even white blossoms.
My Grandma had moved around quite a bit. Originally from Latvia, she lived in Baltimore, Philadelphia, then Montana, and finally Utah. She was an old-fashioned lady in every way. So this old fashioned flower is a tribute to her.