Blue Vanda
"I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it..." you sang delightfully as you rose from bed, stretching your arms up, relieving the tension at the lower back.
After splashing your face with a handful of cool water, you looked at the post-its stuck on the mirror with the to-do-list. There were just two items there - the cake and the flowers. You smiled at why you still had to write those down.
In less than ten minutes, you were out of your room and heading downstairs. The grandfather's clock in the living room said 9:00 and you fear that your grandma may already be up in her nursing home room anxious at your absence. You rushed to the 150 square foot greenhouse at the back of the house beside the shed. Upon entering the sliding glass doors, on the multistep plant racks, sits about 60 pots of lilies on both opposite sides of the wall followed by 40 pots of red roses and to the far end were your grandma's prized ornamental flowers sitting in full vibrant bloom. They were the blue vandas. The color was so dreamy to the eyes like the navy blue sky or the distant ocean of the Atlantic. Using the pruning shear lodged in between two pots, more than a dozen of the blue vandas were cut and held in a fistful. A lungful of those orchid's aroma always reminded you of Grandma Lucy.
Carrying the cake and the flowers to the car in front of the lawn, you turned to look at the house where you and grandma spent a lot of time together during your childhood years. Through the windows you could see clearly in your mind's eye the happy moments together playing tag noisily upstairs and down, the days spent indoors lazily looking out the window as the rain falls with her warm gentle thin fingers combing your hair while telling you fairy tales, or see yourself with her by the kitchen throwing icings at each other after an attempt at baking a cake failed.
You turned around putting her favorite chocolate cake on the passenger seat next to you then drove off towards the nursing home for this special weekend visit to her.
After an hour-and-a-half you arrived at your grandma's vacation home as you often called the place. This helps your grandma feel at ease with the place. Often, she smiles at it when you bring up the thought that she is on vacation.
You approached the building. Graciela, the upbeat receptionist, welcomes you at the door, helping you push it open as your elbow was not powerful enough to budge the steel framed glass door. Both of your hands were not available for they were busy balancing the box of cake and the bouquet of blue vandas.
"It's mamita's special day, isn't it?" she asked with a wide grin.
"Yes, it is. It's her 88th year. Where is she?"
"She's still in her room," she answered closing the door behind her.
You walked nodding at the orderlies and staff who were either at their stations or walking around with their clients at the spacious white-walled common room with black ceramic tiled flooring. Some of the elderly sat in the couches, or by the cherrywood dining tables either finishing their meal or playing chess. They looked at you a big smile or approached hurriedly for a brief warm hug. The facility smelled very clean as if the floors were kept bacteria-free with a permanent coat of alcohol and your nose felt pleased by what smelled like sanitized air emitted by the electric air purifiers mounted on the walls near the security cameras and emergency lights.
As you walked along your grandma's hall, you could smell a faint touch of perfume like that of a fresh cool ocean breeze at dawn. You remember that it should come from Mrs. Peters room. She adores perfumes. In fact, in one of your weekend visits, she led you to her room filled with her dark wood cabinets and two wooden chests containing dozens of oddly-shaped and colored bottled fragrant perfumes which she had collected for years from different parts of the world.
When you went past Mrs. Peters' room, her door was ajar. The scent indeed emanated from her room. Her back was to the door. She was humming the Moon River tune, a dress in her arms, dancing with it in front of her chest, looking at herself with admiration on the full body length mirror. You smiled and continued walking.
A few more steps and you were at your grandma's room. Her door was wide open too. You can see her from outside. Her eyes were closed. Hands peacefully resting on her abdomen with a dried vanda petal sticking out in between her index and thumb; the ones you gave her a week ago. She looked paler than her usual best.
The box of cake dropped to the floor along with the fresh blue vandas. The sugary sweet contents splattered out of the cardboard edges. The blue vandas were unconsciously stepped on. Your rubber shoes made sharp squeaking noises and your throat made noises you didn't want to hear.
After splashing your face with a handful of cool water, you looked at the post-its stuck on the mirror with the to-do-list. There were just two items there - the cake and the flowers. You smiled at why you still had to write those down.
In less than ten minutes, you were out of your room and heading downstairs. The grandfather's clock in the living room said 9:00 and you fear that your grandma may already be up in her nursing home room anxious at your absence. You rushed to the 150 square foot greenhouse at the back of the house beside the shed. Upon entering the sliding glass doors, on the multistep plant racks, sits about 60 pots of lilies on both opposite sides of the wall followed by 40 pots of red roses and to the far end were your grandma's prized ornamental flowers sitting in full vibrant bloom. They were the blue vandas. The color was so dreamy to the eyes like the navy blue sky or the distant ocean of the Atlantic. Using the pruning shear lodged in between two pots, more than a dozen of the blue vandas were cut and held in a fistful. A lungful of those orchid's aroma always reminded you of Grandma Lucy.
Carrying the cake and the flowers to the car in front of the lawn, you turned to look at the house where you and grandma spent a lot of time together during your childhood years. Through the windows you could see clearly in your mind's eye the happy moments together playing tag noisily upstairs and down, the days spent indoors lazily looking out the window as the rain falls with her warm gentle thin fingers combing your hair while telling you fairy tales, or see yourself with her by the kitchen throwing icings at each other after an attempt at baking a cake failed.
You turned around putting her favorite chocolate cake on the passenger seat next to you then drove off towards the nursing home for this special weekend visit to her.
After an hour-and-a-half you arrived at your grandma's vacation home as you often called the place. This helps your grandma feel at ease with the place. Often, she smiles at it when you bring up the thought that she is on vacation.
You approached the building. Graciela, the upbeat receptionist, welcomes you at the door, helping you push it open as your elbow was not powerful enough to budge the steel framed glass door. Both of your hands were not available for they were busy balancing the box of cake and the bouquet of blue vandas.
"It's mamita's special day, isn't it?" she asked with a wide grin.
"Yes, it is. It's her 88th year. Where is she?"
"She's still in her room," she answered closing the door behind her.
You walked nodding at the orderlies and staff who were either at their stations or walking around with their clients at the spacious white-walled common room with black ceramic tiled flooring. Some of the elderly sat in the couches, or by the cherrywood dining tables either finishing their meal or playing chess. They looked at you a big smile or approached hurriedly for a brief warm hug. The facility smelled very clean as if the floors were kept bacteria-free with a permanent coat of alcohol and your nose felt pleased by what smelled like sanitized air emitted by the electric air purifiers mounted on the walls near the security cameras and emergency lights.
As you walked along your grandma's hall, you could smell a faint touch of perfume like that of a fresh cool ocean breeze at dawn. You remember that it should come from Mrs. Peters room. She adores perfumes. In fact, in one of your weekend visits, she led you to her room filled with her dark wood cabinets and two wooden chests containing dozens of oddly-shaped and colored bottled fragrant perfumes which she had collected for years from different parts of the world.
When you went past Mrs. Peters' room, her door was ajar. The scent indeed emanated from her room. Her back was to the door. She was humming the Moon River tune, a dress in her arms, dancing with it in front of her chest, looking at herself with admiration on the full body length mirror. You smiled and continued walking.
A few more steps and you were at your grandma's room. Her door was wide open too. You can see her from outside. Her eyes were closed. Hands peacefully resting on her abdomen with a dried vanda petal sticking out in between her index and thumb; the ones you gave her a week ago. She looked paler than her usual best.
The box of cake dropped to the floor along with the fresh blue vandas. The sugary sweet contents splattered out of the cardboard edges. The blue vandas were unconsciously stepped on. Your rubber shoes made sharp squeaking noises and your throat made noises you didn't want to hear.
Comments
Post a Comment
I thank you for the time in posting your comment. We hope that the content was engaging to you, and any upsetting contents were not intentionally done. We would like to get your direct message if there are parts that upset you so we can have it for editorial review. Again, Thanks for helping us build a community of positive and loving people.