For my 32nd birthday, a friend gave me a plant.
A beautiful orchid plant!
My friend Kaela gave it to me in November, about a week after my birthday.
It was probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten! Something LIVING. Until then, I’d been living in this apartment a little over a year, and hadn’t felt much like it was HOME. I hadn’t tried to decorate, I barely spent any time here. I was always running out somewhere. It was where I slept and wrote, that’s about it. I don’t cook, so I usually eat out. I didn’t invite people over.
But that plant made me feel more invested in my little abode. And even better, it was the first time I’d gotten flowers for a reason besides a theatre performance (I’ve dabbled a bit) or from a man I was dating.
The first HOUSE PLANT I’ve been given. By a female friend, for my birthday. A milestone.
I’ve now had this plant an estimated 11 weeks. It’s extremely low-maintenance. All it needs are a few ice cubes a week, and some light. But my apartment is a bit like the Batcave– very dark. I don’t have a lot of light in here. And now most of the blossoms have fallen off– only two full blooms remain, and one that is hanging there pathetically. It’s shriveled and isolated, on the other side.
On the left is a white wicker basket of prayer books that my aunt, Sister Mary Jane, sent me to me throughout my life. She was nun. That was my flower basket when I was four-years-old, supposed to be the flower girl in a wedding for a family friend. My dress was lavender and I had a wreath of flowers for my hair… I loved it. Not many people would believe this, but back then I was too bashful to do my job and walk down the aisle. Apparently at the last minute, I couldn’t do it. So instead, they had me pass out rice bags. Next to that are two porceline figurines of little girls kneeling in prayer. On the right side of the plant, is a black framed picture of Jack Kerouac. The man is insane, and I haven’t read any of his novels except the biggest cliche: “On the Road.”
But in college, I had one of those posters of his famous quote– you know the one:
“The only people are the mad ones…”
It was silver. I got it on campus at poster sale, and had it up every year until I graduated.
I digress. ANYWAY….
When I saw this sad state of affairs, I wanted to just take the whole plant and pitch it in the garbage. But then I thought, “Why?” Maybe it can live. There are still two blooms left. I admittedly have been neglecting it.
I should open up the blinds more often, and let some light in.
People suggest that I talk to it or sing to it.
That sounds a little nutty, but maybe I should?
I’m single. Maybe I can learn something from this plant.
Maybe I should give her a name, for starters. Lola.
She is mysterious, a bit lonely. Shy and yet, a fighter.
Hell, maybe I’ll even play some music for Lola once in awhile.
Any plant enthusiasts? What’s your advice for orchids?
And I want to get more plants! I’ll be the Plant Lady.
Lola is my starter plant… the beginning of a new era for me. Thank you, Kaela Brite.
When Lola came into my life, I felt like inviting people over again. I’m not dating, but I’m inviting my girlfriends over, and we’re having a blast.
And I feel just like one of the blooms on Lola: I’m beginning to open up.