Flowers only bloom  when they are planted in the right soil. That is also true for me. I first moved to Foxboro, Massachusetts, as a single mother with my baby daughter, Darcy. I was drawn to its New England beauty, friendly people and rich history. It happened that there were a lot of forsythia  bushes around the house in which I lived just like my childhood home. I joined St. Mark's Episcopal Church where I taught the Sunday school. At church, I met my second husband, Dean. For more than 25 years, I bloomed in Foxboro, and I had another two children. Then, when Darcy was a few years out of college, she moved to Alameda, California, to be near friends. I missed her badly. A year later my beloved husband Dean had deadly cancer. He only made it eight months. My heart was broken. Later I moved to Alameda with my children. It was a beautiful Victorian island, and I was grateful to spend more time with Darcy. I even attended a church and made a few friends there. Still, I couldn't help but miss Foxboro. It had everything and everyone I loved. One spring day, when I was walking by a school, something yellow caught my eyes. Forsythia bushes! They made me homesick and I kept back my tears. "I miss you, Foxboro," I whispered. Then I went into a shop and looked at some ceramic  pots lined up on a shelf. A large white one seemed to catch my attention. "That'll be perfect in my living room," I thought. I turned it over to look at the price. Instead I found these words: "New England Pottery, Foxboro, Massachusetts." A piece of artwork, from my second hometown, was right here. It was able to spread across the country and so were forsythia bushes. I took it as a sign that I can bloom, right where I am. When the author saw forsythia bushes at a school she   _  .
wanted to buy a ceramic pot to put them in thought of her life in Foxboro felt they would look great in her living room believed they were real art work