I thought houseplants were "little beings of happiness" bringing pleasure to one's space.

The biggest reminder that I am living without Lacey is that I am constantly being reminded that I am living without Lacey.  I loved her, and she became past tense way too early in her life.

Those jackrabbit legs propelled her to great heights, conquering the peaks of door tops, the summit above the last shelf of the bookcase, and lofty tops of kitchen cabinets.

The angled leap from the dining room doorway floor to the freezer top in the adjoining room, then climbing the five Christmas wreath boxes stacked next to it to reach the overcrowded shelf above of boxes and cases, and then, of course, stuck, not being able to turn around. 

Next came the cries, calling for the assistance of someone stupid enough to assist.  Climbing up the ladder, one was always hesitant, trying to pick the right angle to grab her and avoid those terrifying razor-sharp talons. 

Nothing could stop her except death itself.  She is so deeply missed.

Having more bad days than good ones has pulled me down a notch or two towards purgatory, but we won’t dwell upon that series of unfortunate events.  I’ve had plenty of misadventures down decrepitude lane as my life is beginning to dissolves into the winter of no return.

In my thirties, I lived in an apartment dwelling of brick and mortar and radiator heating.  With no car, I hitched a ride to work each day, and with no phone, I traveled across the street to the telephone booth for emergencies. 

My kitchen was maybe six feet by six feet, and the kitchen hutch was a cheap dresser in the living room that held most of that which I owned.  Let’s just say it takes money to be materialistic, and in those days, I was extremely unmaterialistic.

The saving grace in all that unluckiness, was the plant stands and plants I brought with me from that unfortunate arrangement that ended sometime after my marriage ended,  Enough said about that.

Autumn crocus slowly going dormant.

Freezing Rain

I gravitated towards houseplant ownership when living on my own, because I grew up with a mom who eventually crowded so many houseplants into our living space that we began to live in propagation hell.  Of course, I exaggerate, but just a tiny bit.

On my own, having cats, well… propagation became cat food, so that ended that.

Not having the internet back then, I grew a bevy of houseplants that could croak a cat in two minutes flat… so my mom informed me.  Eventually metal plant stands stood in front of the windows with plants or bric-a-brac on the windowsills to leave no vacant space for cat paws.

When living in a house became possible, I gravitated towards hanging plants with hemp rope hangers I knotted myself with a few decorative wood or stone beads, a carryover from my younger hippy years.  It was molly bolt heaven with a houseplant or two at every window.

It’s quite unfortunate that none of you out there really knows the timeline of my life to correct me when I write a slightly warped account of my existence.  It’s not a priority with me in this day and age, to remember the details of any of my past. 

Around this time was the four years in Panama, Central America, when all houseplants took a flying leap into a pile of debris at the garbage dump, while I was on my way flying into four years of hellish bliss in a jungle paradise… a time best forgotten.  I do write about it somewhere on this blog.

Then came the dreaded cat tree era, with a cat and a cat tree for one window in every room of the home.  I was a sucker for a homeless ragamuffin with fur and whiskers.  I had become expensively materialistic.  

Of course, the hanging plants went the way of the trash can, I think.  I could fabricate a story and pretend they all found warm caring homes, but even though I tried to always have houseplants in my existence, they were a far cry from being a passion.

'Minnie Pearl' Thick-leaf or Carolina Phlox

emerging through the cover of oak leaves.

Eastern Red Columbine

Henbit

Wild Bergamot Seed Head

First flower in the garden, not counting the weeds; although, 

weed flowers provide plenty of food for the early pollinators.

The name of this daffodil has been forgotten by me.

Present time…

On a whim, upon leaving the doctors office, I asked husband to drive me to Bates Nursery and Garden Center, way north of our location, to look at houseplants.  What a sucker he was to take me there.  I say that in a loving way, poor guy.

I bought three little houseplants, two peperomias and one prayer plant called lemon lime or something like that.  It was cute in a dramatic way.  Peperomias had been in my life before and they are easy peasy to grow.  Prayer plants… I know nothing about prayer plants. 

My two peperomias have been neglected, standing in their four-inch nursery pots on my desk, moving around like pieces on a chess board to accommodate the changes in the prayer plant’s location, whom I would say is queen of the chess board at the moment. 

She’s in a raku plant pot that may be a bit big, but doesn’t look too big, if you know what I mean.  I’m not sure if a different size, that I don’t have, would better suit her. 

I’ve read two hundred thirty-eight versions of how to take and not to take care of Her Majesty until my eyes have crossed and my brain has fried to a crisp.  She’s a humidity glutton, quite demanding in what makes her happy, and slowly developing into a monster with expenses.

A 3D humidity tray was ordered after rocks weighing a ton on a pie plate with water has proven to be difficult to take care of in the long run.  Her set up, at the moment, hogs the territory on my desk.  It looks like half my kitchen is in here, because quite frankly, half of my kitchen has been in here to try out any contraption that might work in her favor.  I GIVE UP!

I’ll get back to you when I know all is hunky dorky, or if Her Msajesty has suddenly taken a flying leap into the trash bin.  Stay tuned.  

This post is linked to:

My Corner of the World

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day