One Christmas, Erla was given a potted cyclamen.

On straight stems above a low mound of heart-shaped leaves, white flowers hovered like butterflies. To share this little vision, she placed the pot on a shelf outside her apartment.

Passers-by did indeed enjoy the display — until the blossoms began to droop.

Water! That’s what it needed. Making sure the flower pot rested on a saucer, Erla poured a glass of barely-warm water in the side of that pot. Slowly, the flowers stood up again.

In a few days, the blossoms sagged again.

“Your cyclamen needs bright light,” a neighbor suggested. She’d forgotten its importance. One must remember the plant’s needs. She returned the cyclamen to her apartment, setting it on a sunny windowsill.

As the blooms faded, new stems sprouted from the large tuber below the leaves. Looking like tiny, furled umbrellas, buds formed, then expanded into flowers.

For weeks, the cyclamen bloomed. Erla removed the spent blossoms by tugging each stem straight up from the tuber, so the plant looked fresh and young.

Cyclamen (pronounced “SIGH-clam-en” or “SICK-la-men”: take your pick) is a perennial house plant. Before botanists found DNA, it was classed as an exotic member of the primrose family; I believe they’re still arguing about that.

Flowers may be in many shades of pink or red besides white, and rise above their generous mound of dark green, marbled leaves. Sometimes, there’s a faint perfume.

For a bedside posy to raise a sick person’s morale, pluck one or three flowers and a leaf from that cyclamen tuber and stand them in a water-filled bud vase.

When flowering tapers off in a few weeks or months, move the plant into less light and water less, letting it rest. In the autumn, give it bright light and a cool room.

New growth? The cyclamen may be getting ready for another bloom cycle.

Try not to wet the middle of this tuber or it may rot. To her enjoyment, Erla’s plant lived for about three years in good health: white butterflies on her windowsill.