Catching the Rain

Today was a good day to stay indoors, as it is once again raining cats and dogs.

Unfortunately, today being a workout day, I had to suit up, do the pain cave thing.

One good thing about having to move the car from the carport and park in the pain cave’s parking lot is that I don’t have to wash the car. The rain washed it for me.

Another good thing about the rain is the dead spots in the complex lawn, caused by the drought, are turning green. The landscapers no longer have to paint the lawn.

Activity Director followed through in providing pots for our starter plants, but the pots she provided are not what I was expecting.

Dull and too big for windowsill

I was expecting something small, cute, feminine so I headed to the garden center of Home Depot yesterday to find pots more to my liking.

Didn’t find anything to suit my fancy — even tried Lowe’s, but I did find seeds to start my little windowsill garden.

I also picked up a little plant that looked interesting.

I know what I’ve purchased, but I’m wondering how many of you know what it is.

Need a hint?

I’ve named her Audrey.

So anyway, care instructions say Audrey likes rainwater, which got me to thinking that if Audrey likes rainwater, the others may as well. Thus, catching the rain.

Now that I’ve got the seeds to grow edibles, like Activity Director had initially planned, the question is what to do with the two starter pots of what will grow into flowers.

They’re already sprouting, which to me means they are a living thing and though I don’t really want them now that I’ve got what I want, I don’t want to trash them, unalive them.

I once did purposely unalive a plant and the guilt plagues me.

It was back in ‘79 when I was working in the Business Office of a company for a decent guy by the name of Pete.

Married and not having an affair, Pete nevertheless had a groupie by the name of Kathy who, though not the office manager, was a bit overbearing and acted as though she were.

No one stood up to Kathy, no one dared cross her, including me because of my being Black and having to play the submissive game in order to stay employed.

Because Kathy was crushing on my boss, she was always hovering around, bossing me, getting on my nerves and me with no way to fight back.

EXCEPT Kathy, whose office was clear on the other side of the floor, put her favorite plant right next to my boss’s door, which was right next to my desk — sort of like a dog pissing on its territory.

Inasmuch as I had to bite my tongue and keep my face straight when Kathy pushed my buttons, I revenged myself on her plant.

At the end of the day, if I had coffee left over in my cup, I’d toss it into the soil of her plant. Same with soda.

Kathy’s plant began to fade and fade and fade until one day, when she was hovering around my area, she looked at her plant, noticed it was dying or dead, let out a distressed, "What’s happening to my plant!", then grabbed it up as one would a child and rushed it out of the area. Probably took it back to her area where it should have been all along.

It’s been something like 43 years and, though I got a perverse pleasure out of getting back at Kathy, I do feel a measure of guilt because I appreciate plants and consider them a form of life.

That being said, I have to think of a guilt free way to dispose of the two starter plants.

Maybe I’ll sneak outside in the dark some night, and plant them in the dirt at the end of the stairs.

If they take root and grow into flowers, the landscapers will of course, dig them up, but that will be their guilt, not mine.