Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Mr. Golightly is trying to tell me something. I think it has to do with a lack of faith in my ability to maintain my role as “the person who keeps our family alive and healthy.” He hasn’t said as much, but he’s suddenly very concerned about our plants.

Ironically enough, so am I. However, I hadn’t shared this with him. So yesterday when I came into the kitchen and found that he had moved several shriveled up philodendron and dracaena from their spots on the poorly named “plant shelf” to a place more directly in my line of vision, I took it as a bit of an intervention. (Ok, truth. I thought for a second that the plant had crawled down onto the counter in a plea for mercy. I wasn’t aware until yesterday that Mr. G even knew we had plants in our house.)

The thing is, I used to have a green thumb. And a green index finger, pinkie, several toes, and possibly a green nose. At our old house I couldn’t help but have plants flourish. In fact, the same philodendron that is now basically in hospice care in my kitchen sink used to have leaves the size of dinner plates, and had begun this sort of freaky and aggressive takeover of our breakfast nook that ultimately required us to re-paint a wall.

I don’t get it either. Our new house has windows everywhere. And of course, the previously mentioned plant shelf of doom. It goes all around our seemingly well lit kitchen. When we moved into our house I spent a small fortune on planters, and an entire afternoon repotting all the plants we received after my grandmother passed away. I lovingly grouped the plants according to their need for light and water. I carefully placed them around the house. I watered them. I fed them. I endured a rather unpleasant mildew gnat infestation, and subsequently watered them less.

No dice. I think I’ve killed off at least 8-10 innocents. And HELLO, don’t think the pregnant lady doesn’t feel guilty about that. Especially since, like I said, many of those plants were gifts to our family after my grandmother died. No pressure or anything. What kind of cruel joke is it to give someone an orchid as a memorial gift? Do you know how much time I’ve spent trying to nurture that damn thing? People should give the grieving hardy things. Like, cactus. Or maybe dandelions. Something with a bit more “circle of life” going on than a $100 flower that has inspired entire libraries full of books about how not to kill them. I can practically hear it’s little plant voice mocking me and my feeble attempts and light/heat/moisture regulation. Well, I could. It’s corpse was moved to the garage last week.

Anyway, I’ve renewed my commitment to the flora in our home. I bought a few new plants. Tried to shield the sick ones from their view. Moved some pots to more sunny locales. Bought some plant food…I’m ready for my Victory Garden.

Mr. Golightly seems encouraged by this. Although I did spot him reading the fine print on our life insurance policies earlier.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

And in totally unrelated news, I like how this turned out:



~Clover

3 comments:

beege said...

I've always loved that pic. Is it going up in your new place?

Clover said...

Yes ma'am. :) In the boating themed master bathroom.

beege said...

Sweet!