Message received…loud and clear

I shared with you the tale of how I let a spider live.  Some days I feel magnanimous and let bygones be bygones.  I also consider myself quite talented in several life fields.  This includes preparing fantabulous (my new dictionary word) meals and entertaining children, (and fostering dust bunnies).  Yes, my loud-mouth ways have created a relaxing and reassuring area for anyone that comes into contact with me.  I consider myself quite the Connoisseur of the Comfort Zone.  And yet for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I kill EVERY PLANT that is under my care!  WHHHHHHHHHHHHY?!

Yes, I am sure you could palpably feel and hear me howling out this unnerving reality.  There are so many things that I am good at and yet keeping these beautiful treasures alive is something that is beyond me.  It starts off in a positive way.  I make sure they are stationed in a prestigious area of the home where they can be observed lovingly on a daily basis.  Their beautiful, colourful petals are bathed in the warmth of the morning and afternoon sun.  My frail subjects seem to sway with joy at being so adoringly taken care of.  They bloom happily for about a week and then suddenly, I mean really suddenly, it all starts to change.

I consider myself a very happy and warm person.  Adults, children, even animals, like being in my company.  It is only when flora comes into my realm that something changes.  Maybe it’s because I down fawn over them every minute of every day.  Flowers can be quite particular about how much C02 they need to consume daily.  Maybe I’m not breathing on them often enough.  Maybe the space I have chosen for them isn’t close enough to the window.  It doesn’t seem to matter what type of plant it is.  Anything with petals seems to want to commit hari-kari after hanging out with me for awhile.  Is it me?  Do I smell funny?

The reason I bring up this shortcoming of mine is because another one bit the dust…literal dust…on the weekend.  It was a beautiful purplish hydrangea.   I had received it as a gift on Mother’s Day.  I had received a lovely, vivacious pink one on Easter. Rest in Pieces.  Having a new violet coloured one was like getting a second chance.  It’s almost as if the pink one had requested that the universe send me a new one so I could redeem myself and forgo my killer ways.  All for naught.

I will never forget the cherished time I had spent with Pinkie…my Easter flower.  Ahhhh, she was lovely, in a coquettish sort of way.  She was playful and lively.  She preened in the sunlight.  Such a spectacle she made of herself when the dawn’s rays shone upon her. Maybe she thought I was jealous of her.  Maybe she believed I didn’t deserve her.  All I know is that after I decided to research how much water she should be getting everything changed.

After gathering sufficient knowledge from the world wide web, I inserted my finger gently into the soil that housed Pinkie and discovered that it was dry; too dry.  Google told me that she needed to be very hydrated.  I was going to make sure she would live to be transplanted into the great outdoors so that all the birds and animals could enjoy watching her bloom and grow.  Again, all for naught.

I had read somewhere that plants didn’t like very cold water so I made sure that my Pinkie would have a tepid water refill.  I carried my water vessel to her pot and gently poured the contents in.  She absorbed everything as if she had never tasted water before.   Was it enough?  Did she need more?  How much did she have last time?  When was the last time she was watered?  So many questions that I did not have an answer for.  I cautiously felt the soil again.  It didn’t feel very damp.  I made an abrupt executive decision.  More water.  In hindsight, it was a fatal decision, but hindsight is always 20/20.

The day after I had quenched Pinkie’s insatiable thirst her flowers began to shrivel and dry out.  How was this possible?!  How can something dry up AFTER you water it.  It didn’t make sense!  Logically, in my head, this was inconceivable.  I realized that this was an evil plot.  It was karma getting even with me.

Poor Pinkie

One day, after spending lots of time trimming back my African violets, and tying up my purple velvet plant, I decided that the plants were taking up way too much of my valuable time and precious living space.  This realization came after one of the pots tipped when the dogs ran into it.  Dirt everywhere!  Game over!  Dogs in and plants out.  At first I worried since I kept plants to keep good oxygen in the house.  Plants were (are) great oxygen producers.  Well, we are still here and we have no plants.  Even if I wanted them, they don’t want to live here anymore.  They arrive here and then they die.  Kind of like Death Row for foliage.  I think I have finally received the message.

You see, you can have something in your life and not appreciate it so you get rid of it thinking you won’t miss it.  But sometimes you find that you do miss it and would like it back in your life.  It is then that you will discover you can’t have it back.  Sometimes the decision is not yours to make.  It will be made for you.

Then again, sometimes you need to get the message, process it, and move on.  Everyone, I’d like you to give a warm welcome to Spike.  My new housemate and non-plant.  Spike has been with me since December 2017 (5 months of compatible bliss).  Message received…loud and clear.



Most valuable gifts…

I believe I have mentioned in the past that I am a keeper of memories (aka:  a hoarder).  I do like to purge every once in a while and it’s usually clothing that goes out the door.  However, there are some things that I just can’t part with.  Year after year I look at items that I should just dispose of, but I can’t seem to do it.  Oh, it’s not the dollar value of these items, as they are not monetarily worthy to anyone else.  These items are my personal, valuable treasures.

While dusting today (sometimes the dust bunnies are almost lift size and just need to vacate the premises) I was cleaning off a picture frame that The Princess gave us.  It’s a lovely picture… in her eyes.  Imagine our surprise when Wiseguy and I opened this valuable gift.  There, in the hand painted picture frame, was a picture of the two of us in a dip, after completing one of our typical polkas in the kitchen.  I have no makeup on and my hair is in big, huge curlers.  Light blue ones to be specific.  Wiseguy has on an old t-shirt with holes in it.  Why was this her favourite picture of us?  We were dancing and smiling and happy.  Isn’t that what the definition of  “the best” picture is?  We know she put a lot of thought into it because she also glued on little round plastic circles to the frame, that were light blue, “to match your hair curlers,” she had said with a huge grin.  Valuable gift?  Absolutely nothing like it!

Wiseguy and I got together when The Princess was only 7, so I have a very large collection of items she drew or made, as well as items that she and I made together.  I don’t know if I could ever part with these items.

Even The Debater…his birthday and christmas cards had drawings with lots of colours and so many different items pictured in them.  He used a different colour for different sentences.  Even later, when he started using a computer, the cards were fantastic works of art.  Wiseguy wanted to throw out our card collection box.   Luckily I was home and scooped them out of his hand.  Nope.  Can’t part with these!  “Look at the one he drew of you in the tractor-trailer and him sitting beside you in the cab.”  Yeah, you can remember the trip, but that picture, drawn with so much love and feeling..well, I think a scrapbook shall have to be made for these works of art.

The Wiz (although a teenager already when I became part of the family) had completed his own objet d’art.  He had wordworking talents.  Good thing too because he was a fidget.  (Actually, he still IS a fidget.)  Fingers always had to be doing something.  He was usually taking something apart to “see how it worked”.  We have this one reindeer that was constructed out of wood and painted with little googly eyes glued to its face. I love it.  I love it so much that I actually stopped packing it away after Christmas.  I like looking at it everyday.  It makes me smile.

I have a collection of fake flowers.  I have cut and paste pictures.  I have Mother’s Day cards that rhyme and some that don’t.  I have some with glitter glued to them (now covered in plastic wrap so I am not sparkly after looking at it).  As the kids got older the gifts got fancier, but one thing remained the same, they really know our personalities and what things we like.  They always get us gifts we love.

Wiseguy and I are now at that phase where we keep telling them, “save your money because we don’t need anything.”  Hmmm, that phrase annoys me when my mother says it, so I try not to say it.  I know all their gifts are given from the heart and the joy of watching the recipient’s reaction is heartwarming.

Maybe one day I will have the courage and strength to actually chuck all my homemade gifts.  I am sure that day of reckoning will come.

But for now, I will continue to smile whenever I dust off my most valuable gifts.

P.S.  I have one gift that I love to give everyone.  This quote says it all:

  A hug is the perfect gift.  One size fits all