This is the memory pass.

I'm Nate DeMoeu.

There was the time when Francis was seven

and told her mother that she wanted to plant a garden

behind their big brick mansion in the woods outside Boston.

And her mother said, of course,

gardening was a fine pastime for a girl,

but Fron, she said, the girl's name was pronounced

with the moneyed mid-Atlantic accent

of a Catherine Hepburn or George Plimpton

or Mrs. Howell from Gilligan's Island.

But Fron, her mother said,

the staff will dig the holes.

Your job as somebody who will someday run a household

is to instruct the help as to where you'd like

to plant the flowers and how.

And then later, if you'd like to cut some of those flowers

for an arrangement, to brighten up the parlor

to bring some cheer to the landing in the grand staircase.

Why by all means, enjoy.

Just be sure to wear a proper pair of white gloves

to keep your hands free of dirt.

...