When Jesse was a baby thirty-odd years ago, my neighbor gave me a cutting from her orchid cactus. It has hung in some window of every place I have lived since then. It used to bloom off and on in the hall on Parkview Avenue, but after I left there in 1996 it has been irritatingly barren. It's gone through many stages of what I thought was impending death, but always revived enough to limp along to see another year. Now, it has suddenly found a reason to blossom again in the bay window of the living room, it's leaves shiny and glossy and fat.