I've been watering a dead
plant and I can't seem to throw it away. It's not because of apathy or laziness
or an unwillingness to admit defeat, it's something else entirely. And while I
consider myself a nurturing person, I'm not sure my plants would agree. Only
the fighters survive my benign neglect and know to reward my occasional
watering by perking up instantly. Anticipating flowers helps a lot. When I see
a bud appear, I snap into watering mode, tending to the slender shoot like it's
a baby bird incubating inside its shell. Orchids know how to deliver the goods,
producing brilliant flowers six at a time, and Anthurium, with its waxy red
heart-shaped leaves, makes me smile.
My miniature tea rose is
another story. Most of the time, it seems moribund with barely a spot of green
and not even a prayer of flowering. I water it anyway and then suddenly, like a
Phoenix rising from the ashes, a tiny rose will appear, turning its crimson
face toward the afternoon sun.
I bought the snake plant
because it was advertised as no green thumb required. This turned out to be
true. It keeps on going--if by going you mean not dying. But it's just kind of
there, growing a little bit taller but otherwise unremarkable. Although I don't
expect my plants to be trained circus animals I do need something from
them to keep my attention. In short, if you don't do anything interesting
there's a good chance I'll forget about you. Lucky for the snake plant his
neighbors draw me in with their tricks.
And then there's the
dead plant, a small bromeliad in a clay pot. It was the only plant I tried very
hard to keep alive for the past five years. It was a gift and, while I don't
know who brought it over, I do know when and I do know why. I had hosted
many parties and gatherings over the years, but none like this one, so
last-minute, with many strangers on the guest list. It was an impromptu
memorial service for my friend Leslie who had died suddenly three days before.
My funny, irreverent, smart-mouthed, cat-loving friend with her Boston accent
and wonderful laugh, the one who ended every phone call with love you, my
friend, was gone. All I could do was invite people over, make some food, and
trade photos and stories of the woman we all missed so much.
It was a beautiful
sun-lit day filled with flowers and laughter and love. Someone brought me a
plant, a bromeliad. Leslie would have loved it.
What a beautiful story. I’m so sorry for your loss
ReplyDeleteZina
Thank you, Zina. xo
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