My Great-grandmother's Christmas cactus blooms for the short, dark days

I know: I've told the story of this plant before. But when its blooms are out, the story's worth telling again. :)

My parents got married in the middle of "the War" (always said that way as if there'd be no more war, sigh). It was just before Christmas 1943: 81 years ago.

My mother's maternal grandmother gave to her as a wedding present this Christmas cactus. Her grandmother said to her, sotto voce, "I'd never give this to your mother -- she'd kill it!"

It was blooming at the time and my mother ensured that it bloomed every year at the time of her wedding anniversary.

As her grandmother knew, my mother had a green thumb and so did, as they grew up, many of her children, my sibs. Growing up, we saw lots of flowers growing in old tin cans on windowsills around the house. As we children got older and moved out, most of us took a slip of this plant, and there are many children of it in the family diaspora.

When my mother died, or rather, not long before that when she moved from her home to a care home, I was the one who inherited the mother plant. And for twenty-odd years, it has been blooming in my care as each old year turns into the new one, as the short, dark days get longer and brighter. And to commemorate brightly my parents' wedding anniversary.

Thus this picture, this afternoon, on the second day of this new year, as the days start to get longer. (At least in this half of the world. . . .)

Happy New Year to you.