Swordlings

This morning Mom knocked on our door with a forsythia bush in her arms.  And a stylish haircut to match!  She was such a sight with those long sticks darting every which way.  She always wears sunglasses, even when speaking at the church at Gram's (her mother's) funeral.  It's quintessential mom.  Red hair and sunglasses.

Anyway, she handed the swordlings to me, and I pulled them into the house and tried to fit them into our pint sized kitchen.  Really, the bush takes up the whole table, but Mom says you have to be dramatic in small rooms.

She had been down to the other apartments she owns and trimmed her forsythia and very kindly brought me the clippings.  I put them into a pitcher with some rocks, trimmed them down, and hopefully we'll get some blooms soon.  The kids think it's great.  I just hope no one pokes their eyes out.

Some time after Mom's thoughtful gift I called her to say maybe I'd try to transplant them out into the yard in a few weeks. 

Me:  "I'll watch the blooms, then inspect the bottoms for roots.  After that I'll plant them outside and they'll die of shock."

Mom:  "That's a great idea!  It'll be like a symbol of hope lost!  A twig memorial!" 

Until then, then!