No, I'm not referring to Cynthia, the living embodiment of O_o:
She qualifies as a mutant, sure, but she was a gimme. She came pre-mutated. It was no reflection on my nurturing.
This is what a reflection on my nurturing looks like:
If it weren't for the little plastic marker I don't think even they'd know they were tulips. Being raised in a thin, diluted trickle of January light in a Northern Canadian basement without water or adequate nutrition has left them a bit confused about just how exactly one goes about being a plant. Do you grow straight up? Sideways? Straight up then sideways? Which end of the bulb do you come out of? Top? Bottom? Both?
Apparently in the absence of a clear direction a variety of survival strategies were employed. Can't knock what works. There's no way the things should even be alive. Surely. It's just not normal. Natural. Right.
They scare me. That degree of persistence is both impressive and alarming. It's also intimidating when there are justifiable grounds for grudge holding.
I didn't mean to treat them badly. I swear! I meant to just leave them to die. I actually thought I'd succeeded in that, too.
When they first came into my life last year they were actual, well adjusted, identifiably tulip-looking tulips which excelled in the art of being tulips. They had been raised with light and water and dirt and all that other fancy stuff over-privileged first world plants take for granted. And then they met me.
Now I'm not a complete monster. I took very good care of them the whole time they were pretty. It wasn't until they stopped being pretty that I abandoned them to the basement to die.
And there they remained for three seasons, waiting for me to get around to throwing them away so that I could recycle the cheap plastic pots they'd come in.
And then the damn things went all Lazarus on me. Now stop just skimming this and really start reading because this is the important part where I redeem myself and look all heroic and stuff:
I paid money to buy dirt. Then I gave that dirt to a bunch of plants. Plants that aren't even pretty.
How's THAT for altruism?
Charity to the homely, baby. I'm all about that. Told you I was a good person.
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28 comments:
years from now their twisted bodies will still stand in the corner just to mock you, you know...
Plants take their chances living with me, too. The only ones I have been able to keep alive over the years have been philodendrons. They're extra hardy and can take drought and floods, but I've managed to kill them off eventually, too. I have never had a plant come back from the dead, though, so I bow to you, lady! ;)
But why do you have them inside? If you plant them OUTSIDE, they just grow on their own and come back every year all by themselves. They'll even be pretty when they do come back. And by pretty, I mean the kind of pretty that doesn't require you getting really drunk for them to look good kind of pretty.
You done good. I can't even keep a philodendron alive.
Your post just validated why I use fake plants!
Personally? I think you're f***ing brilliant. It's the plant's fault.
hahahahahaha....LOVE Brian's eulogy. Er...I mean...comment
Such wit! You are on a roll!
Personally, I prefer cacti. They like rejection. I have one that just turned thirty-two. I ignore him. And he just stands there glaring at me with dangerous whiskers and a very gnarly posture year after year. I always water him on his birthday. I like to watch him suffer the rest of the time.
Not a complete monster? Let me be the judge of that. To be perfectly honest the fact that I can actually see some green means I conser you to be pretty much a master gardener.
Every plant I ever had died in short order - except one which I gave away because it was a really scary plant. It refused to die and I'm sure one night it would have strangled me in my sleep as revenge for all the others.
Every year, I am surprised when I buy dirt. The concept still makes me laugh.
Glad your cat came pre-mutated. :-) I really enjoyed this post.
Pearl
You are not alone. I put a dead cactus on a shelf in the basement once, so I could reuse the container in the future. A year later the thing had grown beautifully! So I put it back on display and killed it with water. Properly this time.
Now go plant those things where they belong so they can depend on mother nature rather than mother mutant!
I want to snuggle that kitty. Kitties I can take care of. Plants I cannot.
http://www.glamkittenslitterbox.com/
Twitter: @GlamKitten88
Ha I am not a plant person at all. I have had so many plants that I have bought and then lost interest. Thanks for visiting me. Do you like to follow each other?
www.thoughtsofpaps.com
When did you come back out of the woodwork?
"It wasn't until they stopped being pretty that I abandoned them to the basement to die."
That sounds like something out of a Stephen King book. ha
Jay
This is why I never had children. I knew they'd stuff me in the basement when I was no longer cute... and feed me dirt.
No redemption for you, Tiara.
I treat my greenery the exact same way. I don't intend to, but it always ends up like that.
Perhaps they are planning to come back to life to eat you. Beware.
you did damn good girl, makes us proud and all!
I grew 2up with a mother who called herself Mrs. Black thumb because she could kill a plant with a mere glance...
Me? I can grow anything...and my cats adore me but hate plants, even silk plants, so our house is plant-free.
What happened to your boy friend?
You're doing much better than I could. I have such a black thumb that I could kill an air plant. *sigh*
Thanks for following. Following back.
www.thoughtsofpaps.com
Ooooh! Post a video of you playing mandolin.
And are you on Twitter? If so, follow me @DrZibbs and @FatherKelly
I likes your style.
Yeah, sounds all too familiar. My answer to this very problem being ...... cacti.
I'm going to go comb my hair - right now!!!
I suppose sticking them in the ground isn't an option?
Oh no! Zombie plants! That's terrifying! Every plant dies on me. And I buy them dirt too, I swear! Although my mother did tell me it was the "wrong" kind of dirt the last time she visited. I was afraid to ask what that meant.
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