Wednesday, January 4, 2012

The Life of a House Plant.

One of life's simple pleasures: plants.

I've never been particularly good at keeping them alive, but I am happy to report that I've only killed 2 out of 6 plants that have come into my home. And that's a good record for me. Typically, I forget to water them and they die an unpleasant death (much like a certain pet rabbit I had, but that's another story for another day that maybe I'll share if I can ever forgive myself). 

When we moved in to this apartment, we bought a little tree and an orchid. Soon enough, I bought a second orchid and then the most adorable plant with very sweet, very small white blossoms. As it always happens, the blooms of the orchids and the sweet little plant eventually began to wilt, to turn brown, to fall off. Slowly they became bare and boring, but I've kept a good eye on them, anyway. I water them often, even talk to them occasionally while they sit in my kitchen sink. I don't have conversations with them, of course, (I'm not that loopy!) but I just give them little pep talks. Something along the lines of "C'mon plant. You can do it, I know you can!"

It seems to be working. They're sprouting new leaves (although I can't figure out how without any sunshine...ever!). The sweet little plant has the most delicate leaves and I constantly knock them off when I try to water it - but I always's neither personal nor intentional. 

The two that were killed, I'm sorry to say, were stuck on the window sill, forever being pushed aside, and eventually left behind the curtain. Forgotten until it was too late. They were succulents, and they shriveled up into the most pathetic site I've ever seen. Complete with cobwebs. No amount of pep talks or apologies (or water, for that matter) could revive them. Poor things. 

Death aside, I get a little joy out of my up-and-coming green thumb. 

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