Getting Pretty Potty
I have a plant in my house. No, it isn’t a man-eating one although it would be nice if it were a man-finding one. It’s the only other living and breathing thing besides myself. This is a big step for me. At times, I don’t even water myself much less have another live object to tend to and keep alive for godsakes.
I never had plants because I traveled so much doing stand up comedy, it didn’t make any sense. I suppose I could have taken them with me on the road but then maybe there are hotel restrictions, I don’t know. Plants can be demanding so maybe hotels got sick and tired of all the fuss with ficah trees or Japanese boot trees or those ivy something or others. This is probably what happens when you’re a plant ordering room service expressing outrage about the leafy green food items offered on the menu as opposed to a plant standing in the lobby providing shade and a good cover for the FBI. A lesson for us all, no doubt.
I didn’t buy the plant. It was given to me as a gift after a performance. Instead of the usual dozen beheaded roses, I got the mini rose plant with its body intact. I guess the gift was supposed to keep on giving. I went to put the gift in water when I realized it already had a little pot and some dirt. Odd. A friend who is a gardener gave it to me. Maybe that’s her way of giving, taking the dirt and all to give instead of a nice innocuous arrangement of already cut flowers. So while I was pleasantly surprised, I also thought, hey, I gotta take care of this now. Like handing me a newborn baby. I mean isn’t it like planticide if you enjoy the roses until they die and then never water it. I certainly don’t want that on my conscience. But that soon changed as I found myself with a renewed sense of responsibility for caring for this plant. I thought, now I have something to care about, to give life to, to keep living. Now, I have a REASON TO LIVE! (Me, on top of a building with my pants rumbling in the wind, arms outstretched towards the heavens. Yes, my life is rather boring, so bear with me, little things give me a boost.)
Luckily the thing came with one of those name cards. My name is Rosetta Aleucia Plantaloscious and I need water, medium light and fresh soil. And a steak, medium rare, on occasion. Fine. I hope it can reproduce itself because there isn’t too much of the reproduction thing going on in my house, if you know what I mean. This was a test, I knew it. To see if I could take care of something besides myself, to prove to myself that I could move on to taking care of greater things. Like a rose bush. I take care of my car pretty well and even though it’s not living, it sure needs a lot of attention just like something living if you ask me. Tales of Route 66 every night at 10 p.m. before it sleeps can get kinda tiring but I want my car to be happy for me.
I even bought a plant manual. I water the plant when the soil starts to feel slightly dry and then not too much water. It grew so much in the first three months that I had to buy a larger ceramic pot. I had to go into one of those nursery places. It amazes me how many kinds of soil there are to choose. One with these minerals, one with those minerals, one that’s lemony, one that’s wormy, one that sparkles, one with little bits of sirloin. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I decided, dirt is dirt and soil is soil so I bought the bag that said Just Dirt.
For the next few months after repotting, I watched the plant bloom in different places and the original roses dry up and die. I didn’t know what to do about the dried up dead flowers so I cut them off. I think it’s still a baby plant so I have to watch my language. I try not to walk around naked for fear of offending it. Although I’ve seen droopy stems before so that’s no surprise. I say hello and talk about how the sun is doing today and if it needs more light to let me know. I put it by the kitchen window where it can watch the cars go by and I went about my life. I would speak Italian to it and I’d let my mother talk to it over the phone unbeknownst to her actually. I could pretty much drop the phone for an hour while talking to mom, come back and pick off where I left the conversation. This plant is all filled in on the gossip, now if I can figure out how to get it to talk back. I stopped doing that though when I did the slow motion photography on the plant and it came back with a grimace. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, plant. I try to talk about other plants, like, “hey, that rose bush on the side of that house is crappy compared to you and it’s gotta stay outside all day” or “So, tell me, do roses mate for life and how do you meet another rose?” Stuff like that.
Soon winter came and I forgot to water it for a couple days. The leaves were turning brown and drying up. I thought, this is it. It’s dying. I’ve killed another plant. This is the part where I give up. I had to go away for the holidays and left it with a friend praying it would be okay when I got back. It was okay but still bare. Do I need to replant it? Does it need more dirt? Does it need more water, less water? Do those dirt nutrients need something? Like vitamins? Do plants take vitamins? Ah, the concern I felt.
Then one day I noticed a little shoot sprouting up from one of the long stems. It was a little baby shoot and the leaf was red. I cleaned out the dry fallen leaves from the bottom of the pot and saw more little shoots starting to sprout from different stems. In the next few days, the shoots would begin to grow longer and sprout more little off-shoots. Beautiful healthy red leaves came out in contrast to the brown dried ones.
Then I weeded out the decayed leaves and branches. Underneath the decay was a beautiful new plant, still thriving, still growing but being reborn. Pretty soon little buds starting showing up on the branches. I’m going to be a mother again!
Taking care of this damn plant brings me joy. I am so happy I didn’t give up on it. I give up a lot in my life, maybe it’s all only just long breaks but I find that I give up mostly on myself and then on others. I don’t give myself or others a chance to re-bloom. I suppose I’m in a cycle of decay mode right now letting things that don’t serve me anymore drop away or fall off. Sometimes I hang onto these things and people too long instead of letting them go. I hang onto what is not growing. It’s easy to get caught up on limitations and no options. It’s hard to keep starting over but how am I going to find the new buds if I don’t? I have to allow the decay and let go and keep watering my activities, my goals, the people I love and keep finding a way to water myself with love and attention.
I would give up if it weren’t for that damn plant. If it can rebirth itself then I can too. I am responsible. I helped it grow.
Now I’m getting potty with all this philosophy. I gotta find me a tulip.
I never had plants because I traveled so much doing stand up comedy, it didn’t make any sense. I suppose I could have taken them with me on the road but then maybe there are hotel restrictions, I don’t know. Plants can be demanding so maybe hotels got sick and tired of all the fuss with ficah trees or Japanese boot trees or those ivy something or others. This is probably what happens when you’re a plant ordering room service expressing outrage about the leafy green food items offered on the menu as opposed to a plant standing in the lobby providing shade and a good cover for the FBI. A lesson for us all, no doubt.
I didn’t buy the plant. It was given to me as a gift after a performance. Instead of the usual dozen beheaded roses, I got the mini rose plant with its body intact. I guess the gift was supposed to keep on giving. I went to put the gift in water when I realized it already had a little pot and some dirt. Odd. A friend who is a gardener gave it to me. Maybe that’s her way of giving, taking the dirt and all to give instead of a nice innocuous arrangement of already cut flowers. So while I was pleasantly surprised, I also thought, hey, I gotta take care of this now. Like handing me a newborn baby. I mean isn’t it like planticide if you enjoy the roses until they die and then never water it. I certainly don’t want that on my conscience. But that soon changed as I found myself with a renewed sense of responsibility for caring for this plant. I thought, now I have something to care about, to give life to, to keep living. Now, I have a REASON TO LIVE! (Me, on top of a building with my pants rumbling in the wind, arms outstretched towards the heavens. Yes, my life is rather boring, so bear with me, little things give me a boost.)
Luckily the thing came with one of those name cards. My name is Rosetta Aleucia Plantaloscious and I need water, medium light and fresh soil. And a steak, medium rare, on occasion. Fine. I hope it can reproduce itself because there isn’t too much of the reproduction thing going on in my house, if you know what I mean. This was a test, I knew it. To see if I could take care of something besides myself, to prove to myself that I could move on to taking care of greater things. Like a rose bush. I take care of my car pretty well and even though it’s not living, it sure needs a lot of attention just like something living if you ask me. Tales of Route 66 every night at 10 p.m. before it sleeps can get kinda tiring but I want my car to be happy for me.
I even bought a plant manual. I water the plant when the soil starts to feel slightly dry and then not too much water. It grew so much in the first three months that I had to buy a larger ceramic pot. I had to go into one of those nursery places. It amazes me how many kinds of soil there are to choose. One with these minerals, one with those minerals, one that’s lemony, one that’s wormy, one that sparkles, one with little bits of sirloin. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I decided, dirt is dirt and soil is soil so I bought the bag that said Just Dirt.
For the next few months after repotting, I watched the plant bloom in different places and the original roses dry up and die. I didn’t know what to do about the dried up dead flowers so I cut them off. I think it’s still a baby plant so I have to watch my language. I try not to walk around naked for fear of offending it. Although I’ve seen droopy stems before so that’s no surprise. I say hello and talk about how the sun is doing today and if it needs more light to let me know. I put it by the kitchen window where it can watch the cars go by and I went about my life. I would speak Italian to it and I’d let my mother talk to it over the phone unbeknownst to her actually. I could pretty much drop the phone for an hour while talking to mom, come back and pick off where I left the conversation. This plant is all filled in on the gossip, now if I can figure out how to get it to talk back. I stopped doing that though when I did the slow motion photography on the plant and it came back with a grimace. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, plant. I try to talk about other plants, like, “hey, that rose bush on the side of that house is crappy compared to you and it’s gotta stay outside all day” or “So, tell me, do roses mate for life and how do you meet another rose?” Stuff like that.
Soon winter came and I forgot to water it for a couple days. The leaves were turning brown and drying up. I thought, this is it. It’s dying. I’ve killed another plant. This is the part where I give up. I had to go away for the holidays and left it with a friend praying it would be okay when I got back. It was okay but still bare. Do I need to replant it? Does it need more dirt? Does it need more water, less water? Do those dirt nutrients need something? Like vitamins? Do plants take vitamins? Ah, the concern I felt.
Then one day I noticed a little shoot sprouting up from one of the long stems. It was a little baby shoot and the leaf was red. I cleaned out the dry fallen leaves from the bottom of the pot and saw more little shoots starting to sprout from different stems. In the next few days, the shoots would begin to grow longer and sprout more little off-shoots. Beautiful healthy red leaves came out in contrast to the brown dried ones.
Then I weeded out the decayed leaves and branches. Underneath the decay was a beautiful new plant, still thriving, still growing but being reborn. Pretty soon little buds starting showing up on the branches. I’m going to be a mother again!
Taking care of this damn plant brings me joy. I am so happy I didn’t give up on it. I give up a lot in my life, maybe it’s all only just long breaks but I find that I give up mostly on myself and then on others. I don’t give myself or others a chance to re-bloom. I suppose I’m in a cycle of decay mode right now letting things that don’t serve me anymore drop away or fall off. Sometimes I hang onto these things and people too long instead of letting them go. I hang onto what is not growing. It’s easy to get caught up on limitations and no options. It’s hard to keep starting over but how am I going to find the new buds if I don’t? I have to allow the decay and let go and keep watering my activities, my goals, the people I love and keep finding a way to water myself with love and attention.
I would give up if it weren’t for that damn plant. If it can rebirth itself then I can too. I am responsible. I helped it grow.
Now I’m getting potty with all this philosophy. I gotta find me a tulip.
