Bloom Where You Are Planted

This week I became a parent of sorts. I adopted three plants. My goal is not to allow them to befall the fate of those that have come before them--long, slow death brought on my neglect and malaise. I do not have the best track record as a plant mother.

As members of the succulent family, these plants are not expected to grow at a very fast rate, but like all parents, I swear that these have sprouted alarmingly since I brought them home on Wednesday.

It is my personal belief that all plants need names in order to thrive. More precisely, they need to be named after male rock heroes from  the 1960's. Throughout my life I have mothered an Arlo and a Jerry; my roommate A has a plant that I named Keith Richards. He was whithered-up and practically dead before I named him, and now his heart-shaped leaves are gloriously large and glossy. Coincidence? I think not.

So today I am throwing around names. I suppose Mick, John, Paul, Ringo and George are rather obvious. So obvious that I will probably overlook them for their obviousness to dig a little deeper. Perhaps Denny or John in homage to the Mamas and the Papas, a band that I have been enjoying on repeat on my iPod all week thanks to the weather. Something about summer screams 60's California folk-pop to me.

Speaking of planted, earlier today, I literally had a Hey-Kids-Get-Off-My-Lawn experience. I left my house around 3:00 pm to enjoy my very last mid-afternoon gym excursion to find two skanked-out hos my neighbors from next door sunbathing on my lawn as if they lived here. One of them asked me if our house was an apartment or a house. I told her it was a house in my very best baffled old lady tone. I guess they were banking on it being an apartment and me thinking they also lived in the building? They promised to leave soon. I scowled and skulked off, not sure what about the situation bothered me other than the fact that it's simply wrong to camp out on another person's lawn without permission. I guess it was their sense of entitlement that bothered me the most.

I later related the story to A, mostly to confirm that it's not okay to sunbathe on a stranger's front lawn. She said it might be if you brought beers or wine with you to share with the home's occupants. Note to my neighbors from next door: Next time bring beers with you. I prefer Sierra Nevada, but anything a notch above Miller Light will do, as long as it's not darker than a Porter.

And on that note I am off to prettify for dinner.

In the comments section suggest some names for my new plants.

Comments

[Kristin]

Strangers sunbathing on your lawn?! That's just nuts. Who does that? I totally agree with plant-naming, however.

[Michael J. West]

I nominate: Jimi, Keith Moon, and Frank Zappa.

[Bridget]

The one on the left is Tina Turner. The one in the middle is Janis Joplin. The one on the right with the beehive is Aretha Franklin. Turns out they're all lady succulents.

Can you tell that I am supposed to be working right now?