|Photo credit: Tim Perdue|
It occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning that my plants may be bearing the brunt of my thirst envy. Maybe it's not that I'm afraid of over-watering them, Zoe the fig tree (who died a sad death by drowning mere days after arriving at Rayne and my first apartment) notwithstanding.
Perhaps deep down, I am taking revenge on the only animal, vegetable or mineral in my life that can't talk back. Why should my plants be well hydrated when I am constantly army-crawling along in a desert of my own desiccation?
This weekend I put a very sad-looking potted mum in my shower, mainly because it lacks a plate underneath, and I didn't want it to soak the end-table it was on. The shower is better anyway. Because water sprinkles down on the plant like spring rain instead of my flooding it using an old plastic milk carton, all the while distracted by Hudson's barking and humping my leg. Add that to the list of things Hudson is afraid of.
It truly depresses me that I'm not cut out for taking care of plants. Oh, were I the earth mama who knew how to cultivate plants.
Keeping these plants alive has taken on a particular urgency, because I bought them after doing research about reducing the impact of pollution from the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. These plants are supposed to clean the air and save my son from contracting some rare lung-based disease brought on by all the pollutants in the world, which currently reside on the BQE just waiting for me to open a window so they can swoop in and destroy our lives.
Go to bed! I yell at myself.
It's times like these that I want to move to the suburbs. Then I could drag all of my indoor plants outside and nourish them with water from a gently sprinkling hose attachment. Maybe I wouldn't feel the need to have ten (!) indoor plants and the accompanying gnat-like bugs because the whole world would be filled with happy little trees (with apologies to Bob Ross) and a complete lack of major highways 200 feet from my window.
But then I'd be living in the suburbs, and I'd have to kill myself, sort of defeating the purpose of moving in the first place.