Her name was AnnaBelle.
She was gorgeous (they often said she looked like Liz Taylor), generous, a tad clumsy and hysterical.
She was my mother.
I know that many of you know her, and for those of you who don’t it won’t take but a minute to visit her here, here and here. (I’ll just grab a cup of coffee while you do.)
When I stumbled upon this house, I knew in my heart that she was guiding me. Frankly, I’m sure she said to my father, “Jesus, do we have to do EVERYTHING for her?”
After spending the winter months enjoying lovely fires and shoveling snow, I was excited about what surprises the spring might bring. In the early morning hours I take my cup of coffee and make my garden tour. I’ve been happy to see such old friends like bee balm, gooseneck loosestrife and lily of the valley.
I was thrilled to discover that there were two hydrangea bushes growing around the house. I’ve always loved hydrangeas but for some reason never had one in my own yard.
There are two different bushes here- one that grows from the ground up and one that appears to be bush that simply goes to sleep in the winter. The lovely white one that is flourishing near the house is peppered with gorgeous white flowers.
I’ve been cutting them and placing arrangements around the house and on the front porch, finding comfort in the beauty of fresh flowers.
My friend, a gardener by trade, was taking the garden tour with me last night. We discussed many flower possibilities, and stopped to admire the incredible hydrangea that was loaded with white blooms.
“That is gorgeous. You know what that is, don’t you?” she asked with a smile.
“Sure. It’s a hydrangea! I’ve always wanted one!”
“Yes, it is. But its name is AnnaBelle.”
And so she wraps her arms around me once again, and I know that I am home.
