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More of Sprouty’s 15 minutes. Hey, he’s better behaved than the kids.
Clearly the sign of someone with a serious problem: I did this in a freshly cleaned (not by me) kitchen.
Being deranged: Sometimes fun. And good for your plants.
Apparently, the fame of my skill with potted plants has spread so far and wide it has seeped into the subconscious of my dad stepmother, who got me a huge collection of spring flowers-in-a-bowl as a birthday gift.*
To be honest, when we first took it out of the box, my reaction was along the lines of, “Am I that difficult to buy for that a simple gift certificate to [insert name of any book store] never crossed anyone’s mind?” But it’s growing on me. Within 24 hours we had our first crocus; now we have a passel of them, and daffodils besides. I love daffodils. Tulips are on the way, too. Kind of reminds me of having a yard and grass and things in my distant past.
But my heart still belongs to Sprouty. Sprouty looks poised to produce another bean, despite completely outgrowing and overrunning his little orange juice container and leaning over frightfully. I really must figure out what to do about that. In the meantime, I have become far too maternal crazy concerned about his welfare. To wit: Friday night the light closest to him stayed on all night. Our living/dining room lights are on a timer; usually on Shabbat we just keep on a small light over the sink for the entire day and night. But Taxman decided to put on the single overhead light at the intersection of the kitchen and dining area. At about 8pm, it occurred to me that we were potentially messing with poor Sprouty’s circadian rhythms. “He’s not going to rest properly!” (I had noticed that in the evening his leaves drooped in a sort of mimicry of flowers closing up at night.)
Yes, I have officially Gone Too Far. Please send organic potting soil and a place to put him.
* My dad was included on the invoice, but this gift had my stepmom’s fingerprints all over it. My dad’s idea of a gift is along the lines of a 529 account. I am not complaining; this attitude towards life got me through a very expensive university education–not that I am using it.
Here’s a fuzzy picture of Sprouty’s bean.
Bordering on obsession, but somehow I feel proud of this.
