the vanda

A few weeks ago, I posted about Mimi's orchid, the one I chose from her greenhouse after she died. I had almost given up hope that it would ever bloom in our house, but five years since its last flowering, here it is, Mimi's Vanda Rothschildiana:

Whenever Mimi's orchids bloomed, she gave me credit, insisted that the blast of fuchsia or yellow or deep purple was all my doing. I always smiled at her insistence, even when I knew I couldn't take credit for her orchids' glory. All I had done was wait.

If Mimi could see this Vanda, her Vanda, she would give me a big hug and tell me I was a genius. My first instinct would be to shake my head and tell her I had done nothing. But that wouldn't be true. I have cleaned and watered this plant, cared for it in her absence. And I have waited. I have been patient. Maybe this--patience--is worth more than I realized. Maybe this is what she had been congratulating me for all those years ago. Oh Mimi, I do miss you.