W is for White

My mother grew gardenias on the fire escape of our Bronx apartment. Every June our home filled with the intense and gorgeous perfume wafting from the crystal bowl where she floated the clipped blossoms.

I have not inherited her green thumb, and all of my attempts to grow the flowers, much less keep the plants alive have failed miserably. Until this summer.

Two Mother's Day ago, my daughter gave me a lovely little gardenia plant (one more chance) and somehow this one not only lived, but thrived, and low and behold, one year later, bloomed. This is one of the beauties that resulted, preserved now in memory and photograph,

On this day before Thanksgiving, this white flower helps me remember all of those I am thankful for.