Home. Where the heart is, where the comfortable mess waits for a creative touch, where the projects wait for some love and attention, and where the plants have languished during my recent manic fall semester. Where my freezer is brimming with foods I've lovingly saved there, just waiting for a culinary muse to overtake me...which she did, last night after my second glass of holiday reisling. What to do? Mushrooms, of course.
|Heaven in a Pot|
|We Will Love Them Sometime Soon|
I'm not a negligent plant keeper, most times. I've raised my own food, orchids, herbs; I've been said to have a green thumb. That thumb has apparently been somewhere less productive (in terms of plant life) for the last few months. Of course, I did get an "A" on the course I was taking, and wrote two pretty decent research papers using APA style (for the first time). Tell that to my dead herbs...they're compost now. The wages of academic war: herbal collateral damage.
I performed triage on the table of withered herbs and flowers, setting the goners out on the deck for the birds to pick at, and trimming the wounded down to manageable sizes. The orchids fared better than the Christmas cacti, believe it or not; one optimistic little trooper had even sprouted a blossom spike. Anything with a glimmer of hope got a nice soaking shower and a haircut before being returned to the sun room table they call home. I think we'll call it "the infirmary" for the time being.
Wish me luck!