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This bit, about Freud's grandson (the author's father) is hilarious:

On one occasion when he appeared on the Johnny Carson chat show in the US, he had it written into his contract that he wouldn’t answer questions about Sigmund. Carson obviously sensed a story and asked the grandfather question, so my dad answered at length about his mother’s father, who had been a banker in Berlin.

...my sister once came home from school saying: “The nuns mentioned someone called Sigmund Freud and said I should know who he is.”

“Ah,” said my father in a serious tone (his only tone) . “That’s awkward. He was my grandfather; he invented the flush toilet. If anyone mentions his name again, change the subject.” My sister believed this for years.

Fun fact, I guess: I acquired a cutting of that same Sigmund Freud begonia that was successfully propagated into three big plants that live in my house. My fiancee worked at the Freud Museum / house for a while in London, and the plant was gifted to her when she left the job.

I’d be so neurotic about watering it I would probably kill it just for catharsis.

Seems a little fitting to over-mother it to death

[dead]

I have a number of plants that I inherited from my Mom. Some I remember from as far back as my early childhood (and I'm over 65!).

Maintaining these living legacies has a lot of meaning for me.

These same living plants were nourished and loved by my Mom through her life.

What a great remembrance...

Sometimes a begonia is just a begonia.

I have dappled morning begonias, one of which is in bloom while another is … not doing so well. The cuttings idea is interesting, though, especially because it produces clones — maybe I'll start propagating the best ones!

I have rescued My wife's plants, because she is incompetent plant husband.

There is a Christmas cactus and a money tree, They were rescued from shrivelled nubs to the point where I've propagated at least twice.

But the thing that strikes me about this article is that such a powerful feud really does trickle down the generations.

The secret, darling, is that you are the begonia.

Good or bad, we are all partial copies of our ancestors, good or bad.

Here We Go is a wonderful show