Flower Mama

If I had a box of cigars, I'd be passing them out like a proud poppa (mama). We have lived in this house for fifteen years. The first year the hydrangea bush flowered, but every year after that, it refused to bloom, although the greenery was lush and beautiful. I don't know if my friend, Lynn, who is so thoughtful and spiritual, sent some good vibes this way, or if she had sprinkled fairy dust in the card she sent which included an article about why hydrangeas don't bloom. I went outside a few days later and, kid you not, the bush is flowering. I have not one, but three blossoms, and the one is a huge cluster of about five flowers. I am so happy. Every time I walk outside I get this goofy grin on my face and coo at my new babies. Last evening when I went outside, I didn't notice our new Bosnian neighbors seated on their patio, (literally, sitting on the the cement), but they sure saw me acting like a goofball holding that huge blossom in my hands and goo-gooing at it. I don't care. I am ecstatic, and indebted to Lynn for whatever she did. Photos: courtesy of my hubby, Bill O'Connell