Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Obligatory "Green" Post in Honor of St. Patrick's Day (so I am not kicked off of the blogosphere)











Even though it provides me with a ready excuse to drink, St. Patrick's Day leaves me disappointingly indifferent. I neither understand nor appreciate the fuss. However, I am a redhead; as such, it is pretty much guaranteed that I love the colour green. I do, in every shade. It accounts for a sizable amount of my wardrobe; I could easily wear a green garment every day for two weeks., without feeling even slightly pinched by the challenge. What I do not have, unfortunately, is a green thumb. It is terrifyingly difficult for me to keep plants alive. Once, several years ago, I managed to desiccate my best friend's large collection of African Violet houseplants; her sojourn to visit her sister in Germany lasted a mere 2 1/2 weeks. I followed her explicit directions to the very letter; all but 3 died.
I can manage to keep cacti alive for sustained periods; my current specimen has been in my possession for 3 months and counting. I also have a lovely, stark, and serene boxwood wreath hanging in my kitchen hall. I have been told that, with an occasional spritz, it can stay alive for years. We will see.
I am an anomaly within my family. My Mother, especially, has superior gardening skills. She designed, planted, and kept the loveliest English cottage garden in front of the house in which I grew up. To this day, no matter where she lives, she cultivates things that are both beautiful and, well, alive.I have always envied that ability, as well as the level of interest and dedication it takes to keep such an endeavour not only going but thriving. In several of my myriad fantasy lives, I have a wild, intensely colourful and artistic garden at my disposal (puttering around in it it seems like a quintessentially 1920's English writer hobby).In reality, I live not only in the city but in an entirely self-contained flat. Though there is a public park across the street, it is largely for walking dogs and playing children; the flowers are entirely mundane (to such a degree that even I, with my chronic flower-name amnesia, can recite every single kind with alacrity).
Unless I suddenly find myself mistress of a wee patch of land, coupled with a newly-realized power to maintain flora for more than 3 weeks' time, I will have to stay content with other people's efforts,a closet-full of green clothes, and fantastically verdant dreams.
Dress: Liberty of London for Target

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