The Impossible Orchid

 

We’ve been together for, what, three years now, some of us?  You are therefore probably aware that while I’m great with animals, anything that photosynthesizes is doomed to a tragic and baffling end if left in my care. 

 

If you’re new, or were not otherwise aware… well, yeah.  I kill plants. 

 

Yes, even grass.* 

 

I lucked into a beautiful garden when we bought this house, and our neighbors have watched, with slowly dawning horror, as it decays rapidly despite my best efforts.  In fact, it seems to do better the less time I spend out there touching things.

 

garden

I think the lilacs are still there?

 

 

I swear, I once killed a plant just by choosing it at the garden center. 

 

So you understand why it was that, one spring day a year and a half ago, when I was having an acknowledged terrible day – seriously, everyone agreed this was probably the worst it could get, and I needed some serious bucking up – answering the door to find that one of my favorite couples was on my doorstep with a gift wasn’t especially good news.  The gift, you see, that they marched so carefully past the brown spots on my lawn** was a plant.

 

Not just any plant: an orchid.  Very pretty, but notoriously difficult to please.  People build entire goddamned rooms to make orchids happy, and still maybe end up with zero living, blooming orchids. 

 

 

fuuuck

 

 

So I smiled, and thanked them, and wondered privately just what the hell they were thinking, and tried to ignore the tiny plant screams of this beautiful flowering thing as it begged not to be left alone with a woman who had already murdered great patches of lawn, for fuck’s sake.

 

Then I brought it inside and called the friend who has known me the longest and, while eyeballing this thing on my desk suspiciously, told her what had happened

 

orchid blooms

Poor thing was DOOMED.

 

 

ALEXIS:  Umm…
ME:  I know, right?
ALEXIS:  Do they know you?  I mean, have they met you?
ME:  Right?
ALEXIS:  I mean, if it’d been a puppy…
ME:  You know how I feel about giving pets as gifts.
ALEXIS:  Yeah, but still… or a turtle, maybe?
ME:  I’ve always wanted a turtle.  But still.
ALEXIS:  Poor thing.  How long do you think it’s got?
ME:  Hard to say.  They’re kind of famous for dying, right?
ALEXIS:  Yup.
ME:  So… hours, maybe?  I’ll look online.

 

 

So I quickly named it Clara, in the hopes that it wouldn’t die before I had a chance to learn all the things I’d end up doing that would kill it. 

 

Things orchids need:

  • Water.  Tons of it
    • But not too much, you know?
    • You’ve got to keep the roots moist. This will be an interesting project, because it’s going to continue to grow roots above and below the “ground”
  • A nice, humid environment. Basically, the opposite of my house, where I keep a dehumidifier running year-round and have a whole-house system besides.  And still occasionally have a fire going, to dry things out for me, because I am a desert breed.
  • Sunlight, lots of it
    • Oh, but not direct sunlight.  Whatever the fuck that means.
    • Oh, and only specific types. You really should invest in a light meter to keep your orchid happy.
    • Actually, there’s an optimal range, with the amount of light never peaking over a certain reading, and they need that consistently for many hours every day. So, no winter.    Please remember that I live in the Great Frozen North.
  • Special Orchid Food.
  • Special little pots
  • Special growing medium, because they can’t handle dirt.
    • I am not kidding. It’s a plant that doesn’t like dirt.
  • Special orchid clips, for holding the stalks up. Because this plant evolved too precious to stand up on its own.  Yet another thing I am not making up – wild orchids live their whole lives propped up against trees and bigger plants.  Or they just lay down and look sad.  The internet was unclear, since apparently even in the wild orchids don’t do so good.
  • If you want it to flower again, you may need to get some gross white goo that basically convinces the plant it just had sex.  I don’t know, a botanist explained it to me and I still don’t get it, but it was really gross.

 

 

Here’s the thing: ordinarily, when a plant enters my sphere of influence, I accept that it will probably die even as I do my very best for it.  Because, you know, windmills.  But this was a gift from two really good-hearted people who wanted only to make one of the worst days of my life a little brighter, and as I researched and asked questions of my non-plant-killing friends (who all said “good luck!”) it dawned on me that if anything happened to Clara, it would basically send the message that I don’t care about the lovely gift these two people gave me and, by extension, that I don’t care about them.

 

Yeah, I’ve got some emotional baggage surrounding gifts.  But still!

 

So I became frantic, and ran out and bought only the best things for Clara, and read about them, and borrowed a botanist’s light meter so I could find the ideal spot in my house for her to sit in her little bin.

 

orchid on desk

Shown: her old pot (too small) and her personal mister, filled with bottled water.

 

 

Yes, bin.  We quickly discovered that she was getting “strangled” (seriously, fucking orchids) in her original pot and needed a new home.  So I ran out and bought her something bigger, and better, and you know what?

 

She’s still with me, wonder of wonders.

 

This thing has to be misted daily in the winter, when she moves to her Winter Home above a heating vent in the breakfast room (otherwise she gets all sad and droopy) but only once or twice a week the rest of the year… because apparently she likes it as dry as I do?  And she’s thriving.

 

I’ve got an Impossible Orchid.

 

Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl

Clearly, the name worked.

 

 

Wow, that was a 957 word backstory.  Still with me?  Good, because there’s a penis ahead, and I’d hate for you to miss it.

 

ME:  Honey, look at this new little vine.
HIM:  Yeah… is that going to be a new stalk?
ME:  No, that’s a vine.  They’re her roots.  She puts them on top of the ground, remember?
HIM:  Fine… what about it?
ME:  Doesn’t it look like a penis?
HIM:  (glaresNO.
ME:  I mean –
HIM:  If you think that looks like a penis –
ME:  Not to scale, obviously!
HIM:  (shakes head)  If you think that’s what a penis looks like, we need to take you upstairs and sort you out.
ME:  N – well, okay, yeah, but… seriously!
HIM:  (taking my hand)  come on…

 

 

Now, I could have waited until you were available for confirmation, but I’m not known for my patience, am I?  So, naturally, I waited until the next day, when Offspring was available for consultation.

 

 

ME:  Offspring, come here
OFFSPRING:  (put-upon sigh)  What?
ME:  (pointing)  Look at that.  What does that look like to you?
OFFSPRING:  Besides a tiny penis?
ME:  (triumphant glare at Husband)

 

 

See?  All I need out of life is to be constantly proven – and acknowledged – right.

 

That, and your eternal adoration. 

 

penis-shaped vine

You see it, right?

 

 

 

 

 

 

*  Seriously, there was a picture of a dandelion on the bottle.  To me that says “hey, spray this shit on your dandelions to get rid of them!”

 

** You know what?  I’m not going to talk about them again.  Seriously, you make one tiny mistake and people keep bringing it up!

 

 

Advertisements

11 comments on “The Impossible Orchid

  1. cracTpot says:

    *sigh* you know when your eyes meet across a crowded room and you just know you’re destined to be soul mates? Well that, but across a crowded blogosphere.

    Like

  2. I used to have a friend who had a way with orchids. She house-sat for someone for a few months and by the time they came home, their sad little droopy windowsill garden looked like the motherfucking Garden of Eden and all their tired, has-been orchids were vibrant and blooming.

    Bitch.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Any chance you could convince her to come by and talk to my back yard? And the front yard, on her way out? And the sides…. you know, maybe we could just chain her up in a little shack back there, and lead her out to do her thing every week or so. How often do plants need attention?

      Like

      • Unfortunately she and I are no longer on speaking terms.

        Although if we’re chaining her up in a shack anyway, I suppose “convince her” could be less “ask her nicely” and more “shove her into the trunk of a car and spirit her away to her new shack home and life of servitude”.

        Which of course I would NEVER do (*wink*) so I’m sorry but you and your assorted yards are on your own (*COUGH does Saturday work for you COUGH COUGH?*).

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Ha! Yay for you…and u get a plant penis as a prize!

    Like

  4. I work at a Garden Center so you would think I would be great with plants. I can’t remember to water my houseplants at home because unlike my children they don’t tell me when they are hungry or thirsty, so how am I suppose to know? My hubby was a landscaper so he is in charge of all plants. My co-worker has lots of orchids. She keeps them in the bathroom, they like the humidity from the shower and she has sufficient light. Good luck to you, sounds like you will need it.😉

    Like

    • This is exactly my problem with plants. I can look over at the dog right now and I know that he’s basically content with everything in his life. But he’s also got one eye on me, which means that if I were to stand up, he’d head for the door because he could do with some outside time. Plants don’t tell me what they need! But worse, they sometimes send confusing signals: yellow leaves, is that because you’re getting too much water, or not enough, or too little sunlight? What do you want from me, greenish thing???

      Like

  5. Indeed, it looks like a penis to me.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s