Because they are still alive.
Yes, me, the blackest thumb in all the universe has been duped by the four plants in my house.
It started with one. One stupendously gorgeous orchid that was given to me last year on my birthday by my mother-in-law (thank you!).
When the florist delivered the orchid plant, huge, flowering like nobody’s business and all pretty and purple, I thought she had the wrong address.
But it was my birthday, and there was a flower delivery. I was in awe of the orchid. They really are amazing flowers. I wouldn’t accept it from the delivery person. “Is that for me?”
“Are you Joyce Men. . . Men-y. . . “ She struggled to read my last name. I saved her.
“Yes I’m Joyce. But. . . I kill plants. Why is this one here?”
“Um. It’s a gift.”
I snapped out of it. My terror for the sure black death of that gorgeous orchid had me a little stupid for a moment.
“But, what - I mean, where should I put it?”
The florist delivery person must have felt sorry for me. She kept the plant and asked me to show her any sunny windows in my house.
She eyed the corner window in the dining room where an empty ceramic table sat. “That window is perfect.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her (or the orchid) that the only reason the table was empty is because I’d recently given the last rites to an unfortunate tropical plant.
She placed the orchid on the table. She looked at me, direct in the eye, as if in warning. “Don’t move the orchid from this window. . .ever.”
I almost saluted. Then she pointed out something else that was included in the gift. A book. Easy Orchid Care. Well I’ll be. My mother-in-law did remember that I kill plants with regularity. How sweet that she believed in me enough to include instructions!
So the orchid stayed there in that corner of the dining room, soaking up the sun. I read that book.
It’s almost one year later and my orchid is STILL blooming. It’s never gone dormant. The flowers just keep coming. I follow the instructions in that fabulous little book and my orchid loves me. It’s truly amazing.
But the scary part? I’ve branched out. I found some amazing violet plants with huge, vibrant blooms. I put a bigger table in the corner to accommodate all FOUR plants.
That was three weeks ago.
They’re still alive.
Shhhhhh. Don’t gasp too loud. They might hear you.
Apparently, there is some kind of magic mojo in that dining room window. Plants love it. I’ve tried moving one outside for more sun, into the shade when it looks a little droopy. Nothing makes this plant happier than sharing the table with the orchid. It perks its little leaves up towards the orchid every time its near it, and gets droopy when it’s away from its girlfriend.
Yes, I’m convinced. The only reason my plants live is because they are all in love with the beautiful orchid. There’s some kind of plant love-fest going on and the orchid is the puppet-master.
No. I’m not moving the plants. Let the magic of the window and the orchid live on, even if the success does scare me, just a little.
It gives me too much hope, and I'll probably end up killing hordes of helpless plants because of the small success I am experiencing.
Pray for me, people.
