Flowers adorned my home growing up. The two front bay windows were flanked with beautiful color, African violets of vibrant purples, pinks, and whites. Mom pampaered them. She fed and nurtured them as prized cherubs. Mom had a green thumb. Recollecting, my memory-picture scans the 20, no 30, probably 40 violets in those window gardens. I can visualize Mom examining each leaf, pruning when needed. Whispers of growth and good will flowed from my mother’s lips. These were her joy!
As traits go, the green thumb inhertance was not willed to me. Oh, I’ve tried. The beauty of flowers definitely invites me to try. I love the colorwheel blended in nature. I like them. I want them. I do not have the patience or persistence for them like my mom. My plant rearing skills are considered a black thumb.
Like the blue sky enveloping the Earth, I’m a blue thumb. I notice. I observe. I reflect. Knowledge and nuggets blanket my students. Love enduring covers my family. Listening and laughter spread to my friends.
I may not grow plants, but I’m observant. I grow minds. I grow encouragement. I grow words. These are my joy!