Monday, November 16, 2009
...Of my houseplants.
See here's the thing. I live in a slightly undesirable apartment building. It's not pretty. At all. So I do what I can with my little 3x5 foot patch of gravel. When we moved in during the spring, I invested in a few clay pots and some seeds, along with a couple flats of supposedly easy to care for plants like impatiens, marigolds, and dahlias. My seeds were for wildflowers, basil, and -you're gonna laugh- tomatoes.
Nobody told me it takes decades to get a single little tomato. Thanks, guys.
Anyway, some of them did fairly well and I was quite proud of my record of watering and upkeep. I mean, I've kept a cat alive for years and my kid looks pretty healthy, so I figured plants would be a breeze! Until we got sick.
I was horrified at the plant graveyard that greeted me when I finally stepped outside the front door after almost 2 weeks of hermit-ness. It was almost as embarrassing as my neighbor's gravel plot of beer cans and lost laundry.
So into the dumpster went all those poor neglected plants. I feel really bad. To me, plants are at the same level as fish and bugs. I feel really bad about killing them. Plus I didn't nurture and admire fish or bugs all summer.
Maybe next year I'll just put out silk flowers like the crazy Elvis lady across the parking lot.