Maybe A Little Bach Will Help?

My Fantasy Ideal Self has a green thumb. She is also a gifted harpest and can speak fluent French, if I were to continue dreaming.

I had a green thumb when I was a child, cultivated out of a need to nurture. I loved animals and desperately wanted a pet. But my brother was allergic, and even begging my parents to keep a tiny hamster in my bedroom with the door closed at all times did not convince them. My mom was not an animal lover, and I secretly think my brother’s allergies gave her the excuse she needed not to have pets. She insisted on a spotless, dander-free home.

So my longing for a pet to love projected into a love for houseplants. I began to buy them with my allowance, and by age 10, had quite a collection. I had Spider plants, Cacti, Philodendrons, and Ivies of all kinds. I named evey one I had. I would choose a new plant with the same kind of care that people take in picking out a puppy. Then I’d bring the new plant home and research its care. I became a young expert on houseplants of many varieties. I had all their Latin names memorized, and knew how to propagate them. I dreamed about owning a home some day with a green house. And I had serious aspirations about becoming a Botonist, or bulding a plant business.

Eventually, as I became a teen, my passion for plants waned, evolving into a passion for boys, clothes and makeup. My plants died out, and I didn’t give them a second thought when I went to college. Somehow I Iost my green thumb.

As an adult, I have a hard time keeping houseplants alive, mostly because of my cats. I sometimes get wistful for the days of my Green Thumb Past Self, when I carefully tended to the life of a Maidenhair fern and watch it flourish. But that doesn’t seem possible in my current life season. Maybe someday I’ll attempt again or try my hand at gardening. My Fantasy Ideal Self would have a flourishing vegetable and herb garden, and no aversion to earthworms. But for now, I buy a few potted plants every spring, and that’s about as green as I get.

I brought a plant inside this week. It has served me well by decorating my front porch for the past 6 months, so I thought I’d reward it with a warm, cozy retreat for the winter. And, since it is going to spend the cold months bunking with my family, I thought that it needed a name. So I asked Little Squirt what we should call it. He took one look at the plant, frowned and said, “Let’s call it Dead.”

Hmmm. Maybe I should purchase a Prayer plant to live next to it?