I always thought iris blossoms were poignant reminders of Penrose and the row of flowers that trailed out our back door toward the barn. So here is an iris in memory of our mother. Timothy Egan, writing in the New York Times on May 10 2012, wrote these words:
[mothers are] the true keeper of your memories, your triumphs, your losses. Your mother is a scrapbook for all your enthusiasms. She is the one who validates and the one who shames . . .