I was deeply moved by your responses to my last post, especially those in which people told stories about their own parents, whether passed away or still living. It was amazing to hear your stories and memories, each one so particular in its details and yet so universal in the emotions it captured. James Joyce calls that phenomenon the particular universal--those details that make each story unique and yet somehow make it touch the minds and hearts of nearly all those who read that story. You all touched my mind and my heart (and many others', too, I suspect), and I thank you.
Today I thought I'd haul myself up out of melancholy and show you a few photos of the amazing terrarium my friend Marlowe gave me last April. I've mentioned it more than once before, so I decided maybe it was time for a progress report.
These first two shots are from the early days, when it was a sweet jar housing two respectable plants and some marvelous little figures Marlowe had tucked into it: a bisque girl preparing to toss a ball, a park bench, and a shiny red bicycle.
Well, through months of benign neglect--a sprinkling of water every now and then--the pretty little plants have grown into a monstrous jungle that spills over the top and down the sides of the jar. I know that I should transplant them, but I really kind of love this jungle as it is.
Dozens of buds bloomed on the African violet this week, most of them happily opening deep under the canopy of the jungle, hidden away from all but the most intrepid of explorers who are willing to part the vines and leaves in search of the blossoms.
You may be wondering about the little figures. I took the girl out a few months back. She is at home back in our loft in Massachusetts. The bicycle and bench are still inside the terrarium, completely hidden by the growth of the plants. I love that they are there. xo