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Brown Thumb

Everywhere I go, garden centers are packed with lovely green and flowering plants, and I keep getting the urge to buy tons of them.

Why is this bad? Well, first, there’s no yard in which to plant them, and the small landing is already overwhelmed with Tree-Bob the Ficus and the tub of thyme that ended up outside when the cats wouldn’t stop peeing in it. That brings up reason number two for not buying more plants – Sam and Bud just don’t seem to understand the concept of houseplants. Add to that the fact that most of the family is allergic to things that pollinate, and we have strike three. There are two boxes of Alysium clamped to the railing, but I can’t do a thing with them since apparently the foliage makes my hands swell.

Indoors, we’re at one live, one dead, and one just barely hanging on. The maidenhair fern was a casualty to the dry winds blowing through the apartment, so I will at least replace it with something hardier. The ivy has survived, but the rosemary is horribly ugly and every morning I expect it to be dead. I think it needed watering while I was on travel.

Still, despite all of this…I want to plant things and have them around me. Perhaps it’s just my sturdy peasant genes asserting themselves…you know, the ones that gave me wide hips and a metabolism that extracts every last nutrient from food?

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