Mystery of the White Gardenia
EVERY YEAR on my birthday，from the time I turned 12，a white gardenia was delivered to my house in Bethesda，Md.No card or note came with it.Calls to the florist were always in vain—it was a cash purchase.After a whole I stopped trying to discover the sender’s identity and just delighted in the beauty and heady perfume of that one magical，perfect white flower nestled in soft pink tissue paper.
But I never stopped imagining who the anonymous giver might be.Some of my happiest moments were spent daydreaming about wonderful and exciting but shy or eccentric to make known his or her identity.
My mother contributed to these imaginings.She’d ask me if there was someone for whom I had done a special kindness who might be showing appreciation.Perhaps the neighbor I’d help when she was unloading a car full of groceries.Or maybe it was the old man across the street whose mail I retrieved during the winter so he wouldn’t have to venture down his icy steps.As a teenager，though，I had more fun speculating that it might be a boy I had a crush on or one had noticed me even though I didn’t know him.
When I was 17，a boy broke my heart.The night he called for me the last time，I cried myself to sleep.When I awoke in the morning，there was a message scribbled on my mirror in red lipstick：“Heartily know，when half gods go，the gods arrive.”I thought about that quotation from Emerson for a long time，I left it where my mother had written it.When I finally went to get the glass cleaner，my mother knew everything was all right again.
I don’t remember ever slamming my door in anger at her and shouting，“You just don’t understand！”Because she did understand.
One month before my highschool graduation，my father died of a heart attack.My feelings ranged from grief to abandonment，fear and overwhelming anger that my dad was missing some of the most important events in my life.I became completely uninterested in my upcoming graduation，the seniorclass play and the prom.But my mother，in the midst of her own grief，would not hear of my skipping any of those things.
The day before my father died，my mother and I had gone shopping for a prom dress.We’d found a spectacular one，with yards of dotted swiss in red，white and blue.It made me feel like Scarlett O’Hara，but it was the wrong size.When my father died，I forgot the dress.
My mother didn’t.The day before the prom，I found that dressin the right size draped majestically over the livingroom sofa.It was presented to me—beautifully，artistically，lovingly.I didn’t care if I had a new dress or not.But my mother did.
She wanted her children to feel loved and lovable，creative and imaginative，imbued with a sense that there was magic in the world and beauty in the face of adversity.In truth，my mother wanted her children to see themselves much like the gardenia—lovely，strong and perfect—with an aura of magic and perhaps a bit of mystery.
My mother died ten days after I was married，I was 22.That was the year the gardenias stopped coming.
栀子花
从12岁时起，每年我生日那天，都会有一朵白色的栀子花送到我在马里兰州贝塞斯达的家里。上面既没有卡片，也没有留言条。询问卖花的人吧，也总无结果，因为那是用现金付账的。过了一段时间，我不再四处打听赠花的人是谁，而是尽情欣赏着那朵用柔软的粉红色纸包着的纯白无比的栀子花，欣赏它的美丽，陶醉于那浓郁的香气。
然而，我一直在想像谁有可能是那不知名的赠花人。我最快乐的时光，有些是在奇妙和兴奋的幻想中度过的，但羞怯和孤傲却使我无法搞清他（她）到底是谁。
妈妈的关心引起了我这些想像。她问我，是不是我给过什么人什么特殊的帮助，人家在向我表示感激；或者是由于我帮邻居卸过一车食品杂货；抑或是住在街对面的那个老人吧，冬天我帮他拿过信件，他就不必战战兢兢的走下自家门前那结冰的台阶了。但作为一个十几岁的姑娘，我更喜欢推测赠花人是我迷恋的某个男孩子，或是我不知晓但已对我感兴趣的男孩子。
17岁那年，一个男孩让我的心都碎了。那天晚上他最后一次打电话给我，我哭着睡着了。早上醒来，我发现有人用口红在镜子上写道：“我们知道，该走的走了，该来的会来。”我把爱默生的这句名言想了好一会儿，后来我明白了，原来这是母亲写的。我终于去拿玻璃清洁剂了，此时，妈妈知道一切已恢复正常。
我不记得我曾当她的面愤然“砰”地关上门并冲她大吼：“你根本不了解！”那是因为她确实了解。
我中学毕业前一个月，父亲死于心脏病。我百感交集，悲伤、失望、恐惧，甚至非常气愤，因为父亲再也不能参加我一生中的某些最重要的活动了。我因此对即将到来的毕业典礼、高年级演出和班级舞会完全没了兴致。但妈妈忍住了悲伤，她决不让我错过这些事情。
父亲去世的前一天，我和妈妈去买参加班级舞会穿的服装。我们看到一件引人注目的薄洋纱服装，上面印着许多红、白、蓝色的点子花。穿上它，我觉得就像郝思嘉一样漂亮，只可惜尺寸不合适。父亲的去世使我忘了衣服的事。
可母亲没有忘。舞会的前一天，我看到那件服装挂在起居室沙发的上方，端庄高贵，而且尺寸正好合适。这是专门给我的——漂亮、高雅，惹人喜爱。我并不在乎有没有新衣服，可母亲很在乎。
她希望自己的孩子感到招人喜爱，讨人喜欢，富有创造力和想像力，深深地感到世间的魔力和面对逆境时的美。实际上，妈妈想让她的孩子觉得自己像栀子花一样的可爱、顽强和完美，带点儿魔力，或许还有点儿神秘吧。
我结婚10天后，妈妈离开了人世，那年我22岁。从此，栀子花不再来了。
Prayer for My Mother
Dear God，
Now that I am no longer young，I have friends whose mothers have passed away.I have heard these sons and daughters say they never fully appreciated their mothers until it was too late to tell them.
I am blessed with the dear mother who is still alive.I appreciate her more each day.My mother does not change，but I do.As I grow older and wiser，I realize what an extraordinary person she is.How sad that I am unable to speak these words in her presence，but they flow easily from my pen.
How does a daughter begin to thank her mother for life itself？For the love，patience and just plain hard work that go into raising a child？For running after a toddler，for understanding a moody teenager，for tolerating a college student who knows everything？For waiting for the day when a daughter realizes her mother really is？
How does a grown woman thank for a mother for continuing to be a mother？For being ready with advice （when asked）or remaining silent when it is most appreciated？For not saying：“I told you so，”when she could have uttered these words dozens of times？For being essentially herself—loving，thoughtful，patient，and forgiving？
I don’t know how，dear God，except to bless her as richly as she deserves and to help me live up to the example she has set.I pray that I will look as good in the eyes of my children as my mother looks in mine.
为母亲祈祷
亲爱的上帝：
如今我已不再年轻，一些朋友的母亲已经去世了。我曾听这些子女们说过，他们从没有向母亲充分表示过他们的感激之情，而待到要告诉时为时已晚了。
幸运的是，我亲爱的母亲依然健在。我对她的感情与日俱增。母亲没有变，而我却变了。随着年岁的增长，我越来越懂事了，我认识到她是个非常了不起的人。这些话在她面前我难以启齿，但在笔下却可以轻易地写出来，这令我感到多么难过。
一个女儿该怎样开口感谢她的母亲所给予的生命？感谢她在抚养孩子时所付出的爱、耐心以及无私的辛勤劳动？感谢她跟在蹒跚学步的孩子身后奔跑，对情绪不定的少女的理解，以及对一个自以为是的大学生的宽容？感谢她等待女儿认识到她真是一位好母亲的这一天？
一个成年女子该怎样感谢母亲依然如故的角色？感谢在被问到时她会及时提供良言，而在不需要时她会保持沉默？感谢她没有说：“我告诉过你，”而她本来可以说上许多次？感谢她始终不变的爱心、体贴周到、耐心与宽容厚道？
我不知道该怎样来表达，亲爱的上帝，除了请求你好好地保佑她——她该得到的——助我朝她做出的榜样看齐。我祈愿在孩子的眼里我会如同母亲在我眼里一般好。
Can I Buy an Hour of Your Time
A man came home from work late，tired and irritated，to find his 5year old son waiting for him at the door.
“Daddy，may I ask you a question？”