The Christmas cactus have been blooming for a month now. Their shocking pink three-tiered blossoms that end in a fountain of stamens cheer up the dining room table.
My friend Linda has her grandmother's red Christmas cactus--a stately plant that requires its own plant stand to gracefully drape its capacious green skirt over. My sister, who has 12 pairs of peach shoes, likes orange Christmas cactus.
My own straggly Christmas cactus have to endure the indignities of having a mother (me) with too many plant children. In the summer i shoo them all outdoors for rain showers and sunbaths. Then in September, i troop them all back in to their one-room solarium where they obediently sit until the time comes for them to bloom as star pupils.
Very soon now, the Christmas cactus will cease blooming and return to the back row of plants. Some other bloomer will draw my attention, as i skim over the main lesson, the salient point not really sinking in.
All around me, everything is changing.
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