When I think back to 1982, it truly does feel like a lifetime ago. That’s when I first met Audrey — though she didn’t have a name back then. She sat in my dear friend Phyllis’ living room, surrounded by thriving plants and towering cacti. But this one — a tired split-leaf philodendron with just three limp leaves — looked like she had lost all hope.
One day Phyllis asked, “Nancy, would you be willing to take this plant?”
I said yes. And so, Audrey came home with me — pot and all. She looked lonely and stagnant. But not for long.
The Revival
Just two weeks later, something shifted. New leaves began to emerge. Within a month, Audrey was thriving. My kids and I talked to her often. She became part of the family.
At the time, I had just seen Little Shop of Horrors. While that Audrey was a menace, the name stuck with me in a more loving way. My Audrey symbolized hope, healing, and the magic that happens when something is truly seen.
Audrey’s World Today
Now it’s 2025. Audrey owns a whole corner of our 1,200-square-foot basement. She’s six feet tall and wide, still growing, still sprouting babies, and still welcoming guests like an old friend. We installed special grow lights just for her. She gets fed well and spoken to often. She’s not a plant — she’s kin.
A Visit from the Next Generation
Not long ago, our grandson Cole — you may know him as @cosmiccord — asked if we could care for his snake plant while he traveled to Kosova to meet his soon-to-be fiancée. They’d be exploring Europe before returning to stay with us.
Cole is also a minister, ordained through our holistic church, Lightwing Center. Our mission is simple but powerful: To be harmless, honor informed consent, and stay conscious of what’s best for ourselves, our loved ones, all species, and Mother Earth.
Meet Gigi
I introduced Cole’s snake plant to Audrey (whom I lovingly call “Philly”). And something beautiful happened — Audrey perked up. It was as if she’d been waiting for a companion. Like a child with a teddy bear or a grown-up missing a partner, she felt whole again.
I sat quietly, asking what this new plant's name should be. The name “Gigi” came through — soft, elegant, and joyful. And just like that, she had a name and a home.
Watching them together, it was clear: Audrey and Gigi are bonded. So I told Cole we’d get him another plant when he returned. Gigi had chosen her home — and it was with Audrey.
The Bigger Picture
If this sounds fanciful, look up Findhorn in Scotland. In the 1970s, people grew roses and massive vegetables in infertile, sandy soil — simply by working in harmony with the spirit of the plants. That quiet connection — belief, love, attention — created miracles.
So whether it's a neglected plant, a dream on pause, or a relationship in need of sunlight — give it some love today. You never know what kind of Audrey it might become.
With love and light,
Nancy
