July 5

if you look carefully, you will see...

Once Again, Dana Shares With You A Long Winded Story, Ending Pointlessly:

The story of this plant is kind of funny.  Well, not ha ha funny.  Okay, perhaps it is not funny at all, but it is a story.  Around Christmas time, my mom (and remember, she's the one who killed my lovely never blooming christmas cactus with bad "It needs to be repotted!!" advice)  gave me a potted cutting from a plant.  "This comes from a plant that is more than 100 years old! It's not from America! Such and Such's grandmother brought the plant over from Burkina Faso in 1880! She clutched the plant the whole way! She and her parents and her 15 brothers and sisters all had to stow away in the bowels of a ship to get here! When they got hungry, they'd each nibble the leaves of this plant!  And then they moved to Brooklyn! And then, because they had no money, no one wanted to be her friend, so she made friends with the plant!  She would dress the plant up in little outfits and sing songs to it!   She confessed her hopes and dreams to it! When she became a teenager, and felt the first stirrings of love and sexual yearnings, only THIS PLANT, THIS PLANT knew.   Eventually she married, and had only THIS PLANT, 4 pennies, a sheet of paper, a pencil stub she found in the gutter, one shoe, a dried up lemon, and the potato sack she was married in to bring to her new home, which was a cardboard box.  She and her new husband had happy times.  They had sad times.  She lost 10 of her brothers and sisters.  She celebrated the birth of her first child, who, unfortunately died three days later.  She wept tears into this plant! She fed the plant with laughter!  Eventually her husband made enough money to rent a real apartment, and they all moved in.  The plan had a special place in the one opening window.  Her children complained "Momma, momma, this plant, it steals all the breeze!! With it in the window, we are sweltering!!"  she shushed them, saying "This plant is my best friend!!".  Years passed, and everything was wonderful, until one day, tragedy.  The Great Tornado of Brooklyn passed through, knocking the plant off the windowsill.  She was crushed, and rushed to help it. She couldn't really afford another pot for it, so she merely took it in her hands, and that's where it stayed.  It grew its roots around her fingers, and she sat with her plant, day after day after day.  Her husband died.  Her children moved away and their visits came less and less frequently, until one day, the eldest son came to see her and he found her at the sill, the plant still growing in her hands, roots wrapped up and down her arms, but she, sadly enough, passed away.  He gently eased the knotted roots off and away from her body and took the plant home to his wife.  Eventually, he and his wife had children of their own, and years later, while sitting around the Thanksgiving table, their daughter, fully grown asked for a cutting of the plant, and so, a tradition was born!  The daughter got a job where I work, we became great friends, and I commented on the unusual plant when I went over to her house one sunny summer's day.  She said "Oh, that is my Grandmother's plant!"  told me the self same story I am telling you, right now, and gave me a cutting to plant!  So, here is your cutting of the more than 100 year old plant, my beautiful daughter.  I have one, your grandmother has one.  I believe your aunt has one.   It takes little or no care, just look at it kindly every once in a while.  Water? No! It hardly needs any at all!  Just blink it its direction, and it will be fine!  Merry Christmas, my child!"

Of course, it was dead within 2 months.   I don't know how I killed it.  I don't know why.  I have other perfectly happy plants, alive for years and years.  Alive long enough to grow tangled together.  Not even remotely dead.  The 100 year old plant? Feh.   So, a couple months ago, I was over at Angelo & Eleanor's house, admiring her luscious plants.  (It is worth noting that my grandmother is a plant witch and does some weird voodoo grow shit on them that I don't quite understand)  I look at her TREE LIKE 100 year old plant.  It is huge.  It's got flowers.  Leaves.  Branches.  The fucker's thick.  I comment on the deadness of mine.  She says "Oh, I'll pluck off some for you, and make a clipping!" she yanks off (well, more gentle than a yank) a hunk of the plant (what would you call a section?) and jams it (again, she neither yanked nor jammed) into a glass filled with water.  "Soon, you will have a plant of your own!"

Well, I went over to their place yesterday and she presented the plant to me, all nicely potted and happy and flourishing.  "One cup of water.  Once a week.  Lots of light!".  I decide aloud  "This is going to be a work plant! It will join the previously pinched by Nicole but still alive jade plant and will reap the benefits of 15 hours of fluorescent light a day!" and I place the 100 year old plant carefully down on the backseat floor of my truck, where it remains until this morning, when I pull into the oft mentioned parking lot of sorrow (an aside:  the nasty black parking spot stealing Tacoma hasn't made a repeat appearance, and the bulk of the trash is construction, not medical).  I have totally forgotten about the 100 year old plant until I see it out of the corner of my eye, at which point, I get all happy to myself.  I park and unlock the passenger side door, and gently take it out.  I look down at it, and see something intensely cool.

It grew mushrooms!! MUSHROOMS, people!  Mushrooms.  15 little guys all popped up around the 100 year old plant.  Coolest thing I've seen all week.  No shit, it's true.  Baaaad bad week.

the other day   |    home   |   email    |   tomorrow

be your sweetest self awhile until I ask for more, my child.
then let the other selves be wrong, yeah, let them  manifest and come till every taste is on the tongue,
till love is pierced and love is hung,
and every kind of freedom done, then o ,my love o my love