{"id":1547,"date":"2019-06-27T21:55:19","date_gmt":"2019-06-27T21:55:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/?p=1547"},"modified":"2019-06-29T16:34:50","modified_gmt":"2019-06-29T16:34:50","slug":"a-living-thing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/?p=1547","title":{"rendered":"A Living Thing"},"content":{"rendered":"

“What can I do to energize my lackluster space?” I ask Anissa, a relative with an eye for design. “Plants,” she says. “Put something alive in there.”<\/p>\n

Oh no. That never crossed my mind. Plants and I have yet to develop an understanding.<\/p>\n

When I moved to Cambria the first time, the local bank had a promotion with prizes for those opening a bank account\u2026and I won! The prize included Linn\u2019s restaurant fifty-dollar gift certificate. And a small potted orchid plant. It was pretty and all, but I couldn\u2019t give it a good life. Due to my wandering lifestyle, I shun ownership of plants and animals – living things. I tried a goldfish once. And when I went on a trip, sweet Anissa agreed to (can’t remember its name, that tells you something) foster care. Weeks later, I return to discover that it had died under mysterious, unexplainable circumstances in what I’m calling, “The Unresolved Case of Something Fishy”.<\/p>\n

Back to Cambria. My introduction to this new town was winning this prize – a good sign! I had to keep this plant alive. I read up on the care of orchids. Every Sunday, it got an ice cube. Encouragingly, the flowers lasted a few weeks. Discouragingly, gradually, the petals fell off…one by one. In painful increments. What remained was a single brown twig with a suggestion of chlorophyll on a potential root. Poor thing was like the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, sad but not dead, and my heart wouldn’t give up on it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For four years, No Name orchid brown stick remained endearingly crooked and unchanging; I\u2019d grown accustomed to its presence — my unbudding buddy. But with the decision to move from Montecito and travel abroad, I relinquished ownership to Anissa who kindly agreed to its tending (even after the suspicious fish fiasco).<\/p>\n

\"\"

No Name –
Twas no Before, only After<\/p><\/div>\n

Upon my homecoming one year later, my eyes were drawn to her kitchen counter where thrived an array of happy, blossoming orchids. No Name was unrecognizable. Now more than a stick, Ms. Green Thumbelina gifted resuscitation…healthy green leaves and roots were outgrowing its original terra cotta pot.<\/p>\n

I leaned in for a closer look and I swear it quivered in fright.<\/p>\n

Evidence to the contrary, Anissa still encourages me to to liven up my space with plants. At the local nursery, I ask Nancy, \u201cI\u2019ve heard that succulents are low-maintenance. What is the heartiest and lowest of the low-maintenance succulent here?” She points to a Squid Agave and two Fire stick plants – they remind me of Staghorn coral…so coral and a squid– an underwater theme happenin’ here. \u201cI\u2019ll take \u2018em.\u201d She assures me it\u2019s unnecessary, but I buy a Moisture Meter just in case.<\/p>\n

\"\"

The Moisture Meter Knows<\/p><\/div>\n

And this time around, they\u2019re getting names. Hmmm\u2026three plants. What groups of three belong together? Larry, Curly, and Mo – The Three Stooges, too obvious. The Three Musketeers – I don’t know their names. BLT, yes. “Welcome to your new home, Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato.”<\/p>\n

\"\"

BLT Behind the Glass<\/p><\/div>\n

\"\"

BLT In the Elements<\/p><\/div>\n

I transplant Bacon and Lettuce into larger pots but they require more soil which I don’t have so I add what I have on hand, which I thought was sand. Desert plants – isn’t sand in their evolutionary DNA? Nevertheless, something tells me to keep the agave, Tomato, in its original potting soil. I place its plastic container inside a decorative ceramic pot.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At first, they live near a window on a low table. But it\u2019s inside. If I were a plant, I\u2019d want to live in fresh air. No confines. Freedom. So I move them to a wooden bench on the balcony. After a week or so, Tomato is doing great but some of Bacon’s sticks are black; I think he’s getting sun-burned. Lettuce is wilting as well. Oh no. Bad mama. Before I give them up for adoption, I go back to Nancy Nursery. \u201cBlack sticks? I\u2019ve never heard of that in Euphorbia.\u201d Oh man. She wonders if there was something in the sand. When I got home, I reread the sandbag in my garage. It says “QuickCrete”. \u00a0Think play concrete for a sandbox to mold in rather than a plant to grow in. Oh for Pete’s sake. I’m suffucating them. A concrete burial. Try try again. I\u00a0just transplanted both fire sticks from their sandy grave into soil made specifically for, their kind.\u00a0We just might develop an understanding…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"

A good day for Bacon<\/p><\/div>\n

As I write the last sentence of this post, you will not believe what just happened. A shake-of-the-head ironic twist, that\u2019s what.<\/p>\n

\"\"

As of yet, Unnamed<\/p><\/div>\n

There’s a knockin’ on my door. The warm-hearted neighbors are bearing gifts of appreciation for my (anxious) watering of their garden during their vacation. In their outstretched hands is a bottle of fine French wine.<\/p>\n

And, a bloomin’ orchid…<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

“It’s a livin’ thing, it’s a terrible thing to lose” – Electric Light Orchestra<\/p>\n

“oh mary mary how does your garden grow, calling all your blossoms to come up from down below\u00a0comin’ up up up from down below” \u00a0– Zach Gill<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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