Saturday 14 February 2009

green thumb


My home is the green-house of unwanted plants. Many I've rescued during office moves and brought home, like ugly strays that don't have a chance of surviving the pound. There are skinny, stunted palms that hang on, I think, just out of spite, and weepy ones that grow sideways instead of up and out, despite my efforts to coax them towards better posture--and of course there are those that I've tried to fertilize and rehabilitate with bigger pots, mindful that that that fertilizer is a mixture of tired-out dirt, cigarette butts, ancient coffee pads and bunny poo. In a little cobblestone village without yards or trees, I don't think one is allowed to import enriched soil. My little deformed jungle is fine by me, although I am a little embarrassed for them to share the same space with H's perfect speciments of domestic horticulture.