breakfast of champions.
so my mom has what you would call a green ARM. every plant she looks at grows. when my mother walks into a greenhouse/nursery, every leaf in the joint straightens up like it's adoption day at the pound. "she's here again! i hope she picks me!"
i did not inherit that gene. i walk into trader joe's incredibly cheap, incredibly beautiful plant section like a kid at christmas, and anything remotely green recoils instinctively. and yet, i am about to force some living thing to brave my care again. green mom is sending me-- what are they called? tubers? of canna. big beautiful 6 foot tall canna with names like cleopatra and king hubert. (thanks, by the way, mom. in my complete terror at the thought of growing something FROM A POT OF DIRT UP i forgot to say that.)
so here, mom, is our back porch. about a 5 foot rectangle of real estate that gets about 5 hours of blinding sun a day.
those poor plants. so excited to be sent to such a glorious address... only to end up with me. what's next, dad, are you going to send me the makings to build my own motherboard?
cats, now... those critters have NO problem growing for me.