plants don't fly

I graduated college (not really, I still have one more class). It's one of those milestones that make you reflect on the past and make plans for the future. While other cultures have rite of passage ceremonies or activities like training an eagle (thank you discovery channel), graduating is a symbol for our society. It's my rite of passage from child to adult; the times of making stupid decisions are over...I'm an educated adult. Oh no.
In many ways I never want to be an adult...like the ways that have responsibility attached. Main deterrents = bills and working every day. The fun stuff (over-shadowed by the un-fun) I am excited for. Specifically: owning trees, restoring an old house, having a garden...ooo, and having my own kitchen!
Occasionally I attempt to put the horse before the buggy and try to make my dreams come true as much as I can....like today, I organized our whole kitchen as if it were my own (well, not really, if it were mine everything would coordinate...but I did the best I could with the combined, college-quality, kitchen crap of 5 girls). Also, to seem more in control (although I am not) of my living space I will randomly (and frequently) clean the whole apartment...luckily it's small. This ultimately makes me realize how not in control I am because it gets dirty and cluttery like a preschool during free time. I am making it sound like I hate living with roommates or that mine are exceptionally dirty--both of which are untrue. I'm just excited for one day when all the food in the pantry and fridge is mine, all my dishes match (except for the princess and action figure ones that my kids will NEED and I will let them have...but they'll be thrown in their own drawer because they are impossible to stack), I'll load the silverware in the dishwasher with the spoons up and the forks and knives down, oh...and I'll have a room that when I vacuum it I will vacuum myself out so there will be no footprints (yes, I do currently do this in our living room and I walk an the furniture if I need something until someone else gets home and makes footprints).
A few weeks ago it dawned on me that when you own a house then you also own the trees...this was an exponentially more thrilling thought than one day owning a house...one day owning a tree!

(Like Barenaked Ladies, my success is measured by having a tree fort in my yard with a little tiny fridge in it...I already have the mini-fridge.)
My parents were happy to support me in my humble, if not bazaar, desire. They bought me a house tree to usher me into adulthood. They substituted it for graduation flowers, and Mom figured it would last longer than flowers anyways, even if I killed it (foreboding comment).
Whenever going to the store I would always find myself wondering among my photosynthesizing friends, and I kept ALMOST buying one (or several). This was long before I was blessed with a tree. You'd think the tree would curb my plant yearning. Nope. Opposite. Before the tree I bought wild flower seeds to strewn about outside our apartment (which I am just remembering I forgot to do!). Once I bought kitchen herbs: cilantro, parsley, oregano, and chives...I mixed up the dirt and the only thing that came up was parsley...in all of the pots (it's like on Second Hand Lions when they plants a bunch of stuff but it all comes up corn). Occasionally while in a store I would pick up a plants and walk around with it, to see if we worked well together; like a test drive. One time I walked around Wal-Mart with an orchid plant on my hip--I ended up remembering that I needed to be responsible and buy toothpaste (see, I hate the responsibility part of adulthood) which made reality set in enough for me to realize that buying an orchid was a dumb idea. We had gotten attached to each other though; luckily I hadn't named it, otherwise there would be no chance of me putting it down! How could I? You can't name something until it's yours...someone else can give it a good home...but once you name something it's cruel to cast it off--to be called by the wrong name for the rest of it's existence...or no name at all!
So, back to my tree....which I named Tree (I said names are important, not that I was creative). I told my parents that maybe I would name it Invictus (unconquerable) but then I mentioned that if I names my tree Invictus then I could not name any of my children that...to which they decided to wholeheartedly support me in naming my tree Invictus to spare their future grandchildren. I ultimately decided to leave Invictus in the name pool...leaving a little angst in my parents lives. Anyways...Tree was getting lonely--but every time I went to buy another plant reason set in and I bought paper towels or bread instead. I felt so bad though, Tree was all alone and I would go off to work or to be with my friends...do you see why having Tree only increased my appetite for plants?
One night I had to go to Smith's to get something reasonable and all the sudden a beautiful Calla Lily jumps out at me from the marked-down Easter Lilies. It was the only one left...it was lonely and sad from being continuously overlooked...it was on sale. I let these FACTS overwhelm my logic stream to where I didn't even let myself think rationally about this purchase--I just did it. Dang Smith's...you caught me off-guard and unawares. I walked into my apartment and accused my roommates, like a true addict, for letting this happen because no one would go with me.
I introduced Tree and Lily (not creative) and their friendship began...sort of, they're more like siblings where they're glad they're not alone, but mostly just tolerate one another. I frequently take them outside during the day while I go to work. When it's nice out and warm enough at night I let them stay out there. Sometimes too much time in the sun makes you do crazy things...like make a plant think that it can fly. Once, after being outside for two days Lily jumped, expecting her leaves to catch the wind (Lily, the song it "You are the wind beneath my wings" ... not leaves). I don't know what she was thinking. Perhaps she didn't calculate in the weight of her pot and that proved her demise. Perhaps she felt peer pressure from the taunting Wind (I hate you Wind). Perhaps it was a simple, if not inappropriate, plea for attention (I had forgotten to water them for...awhile). Whatever the cause, she lay crippled on the pavement until Roommate got home and took her in. She looked pretty bad--but she pulled through. She was rather sulky and embarrassed for awhile. She worked real hard to flower, but still had bent shabby leaves...she was the plant version of a burn victim wearing diamond earrings to improve their appearance, hoping to distract.
Lily is almost fully recovered and occasionally gets her outside privileges reinstated--course not when Wind is out, she's not quite strong enough to withstand his peer pressure. Pesky Wind.
And that is how I learned that I am not ready for a dog.

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