Keeping Things in Perspective
We were holding at New Carrollton Station. Ten minutes or so passed before there was an announcement. The first announcement said that there was a “medical condition.” The second, perhaps five minutes later, referred to a “medical emergency” and that we were waiting for medical personnel to arrive. The third announced a “medical situation” and that we were still waiting for “appropriate medical persons” to come, but that we would leave as soon as they arrived. The final announcement let us know that the medical personnel had arrived and that we were about to depart for the next station. That we were leaving immediately upon arrival made it most likely that the person who was sick was leaving the train to go to the emergency room
Sure. I sent a text to the friend scheduled to pick me up on the other end of my trip and wondered how late I would be. Mostly, I took the experience as a reminder to be grateful that I was merely going to be late to visit friends and family (who would be perfectly understanding) and was not suffering from an accident or sudden illness. I spent a few moments in meditation, holding this stranger and those human beings who lives were just shifted by being in relationship to a greater or lesser degree to this stranger. I contemplated how those 15 minutes of waiting may have been of extreme pain and fear.
A number of years ago, when he was moving from Capitol Hill to Denver, my friend and former neighbor Robert gave me this dendrobium orchid, which bloomed this year for me for the first time. The dendrobium was just an extra. If you know orchids, you can see that it is planted with a vanda. These orchids came from Robert’s mother’s garden in Florida. When she had to give up her place in Florida, Robert brought home some of the orchids, including the vanda. If I know Robert, he just saw a baby dendrobium in the garden and stuck it in with the vanda when he carried it back north to Capitol Hill. When Robert moved to Colorado, he left the vanda with me because he did not expect it to tolerate the Colorado climate. Even here, the vanda is not likely to bloom. Not enough heat, light, or humidity in DC (really!!!). But after five or six years of steady care, the dendrobium flourished and finally bloomed. Robert inspired my affection for orchids; he had a greenhouse and knew each one of his tropical plants intimately. We would go to an orchid show or nursery, and he would look with love on each and every plant, cherishing their individual traits, no matter how small or large. At the botanical gardens, he had different plants he visited and enjoyed. Now his yard has cactii and peppers. He has a few of his most faithful orchids, which are flourishing and which were delightful to visit, and I have this lovely reminder of a time when Robert was one of my local gardening buddies. This, I think is one of the extra joys of gardening, especially with houseplants that come from cuttings. They have a history with our family and friends that is passed on, cherished, and shared. I also have a night-blooming cereus that was a baby from a plant that started as a baby of one in his mother’s garden. The night mine first bloomed (just a single night in the year), the parent plant with Robert in Denver also bloomed.
