In college I had a black thumb that could kill the heartiest of plants. A few people gave me cacti, certain that a desert plant could withstand my curse, but several terminal cases of root rot proved them wrong.
After moving into the apartment, I missed having plants around me. At my parents' house looking out the window from what used to be my bedroom would be a rock garden surrounded by a guava tree, mini bamboo (not its official name), and what I used to call the "octopus plant" because the way the leaves grew and branched out reminded me of an octopus turned upside down and its legs splayed over, much like the ones my father used to catch and clean in our driveway. Among other things, we used to also have what seemed to be countless orchid plants along the left wall.
I've slowly been building up a collection of plants to add some greenery into our concrete living quarters. At first I was hesitant, but somehow every plant that I've brought into the apartment has flourished. I don't think Matt has anything to do with it since I'm the only one taking care of them, unless he has some magical positive plant karma that makes them grow just by him looking at them.
I bought a couple of orchids today, one with white and the other with deep violet. Prior to my miraculous sucess with plants, I wouldn't have dared, being too afraid of destroying something so beautiful. I don't know if they are, but orchids have always seemed to be a delicate and fragile plant although the blooms themselves are known to "hold up well." It may seem silly, but I feel like if I can take care of my new orchids then I can take care of just about any houseplant.
Posted by jennifer at January 19, 2003 08:00 PM