From the time I left my parents at 18 until my late twenties, I had a recurring dream:
I was the caretaker for a tiny animal, normally misshapen and quite frequently near death.
I would have this panicked moment right before I woke up: how do I save this tiny infant
My eyes would pop open, my skin covered with a sheen of night-terror sweat: invariably, the baby beast didn't survive, despite my feeble and fumbling attempts to right its life.
In my waking life I smoked, over-worried and generally treated my body like an "old honky-tonk", to borrow a lyric from Kenny Chesney.
I had a black thumb, a sad heart and a chip on my shoulder.
When I met Anthony (after a tonload of self-work) the dreams stopped, the self-care increased and the desire to keep a plant or two around the house began.
I scooped Jones from a litter in need of a good home
Janey followed soon after:
I fed them, watered them and watched their health carefully, giving them tender loving care and a nicely socialized home.
Fast forward 5 loving years: the cats are alive and well and the thumbs have been turning a nice shade of grasshopper...
I try and rescue plants; sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail.
I could still get weepy over the maidenhair fern I rescued from the 'hot and dry' section of a local greenhouse (they require moist and dim!!!)
whose root ball was infested with mealy bugs.
I killed her in my attempts to save her from the infestation. Oh, Marian.... how I adored your fronds!!
In my studio, I did a bit of re-arranging with my mother here:
I put a bookshelf under the window with the best light and moved the big comfy chair into its place: it looks bigger and comfier than ever....
and the plants are
hella thriving, with room now for even more of them on the shelf.
Tell me about your thumbs!!!
Do you have any indoor plant recommendations?