Drunk Gardening

Well, sort of.  Not really.  But it's the thought that counts. 

I was sitting here drinking some wine and listening to NPR when a story came on about gardening.  It prompted me to reflect on my own gardening misadventures.  When we moved here in June, I tried to grow some wildflowers in my 3'x5' patch of dirt, but I failed.  My gardening skills appear to be limited to the proper watering of already-thriving plants. 

This afternoon, I decided to give gardening another go.  I bought these two small, potted flowers at the grocery store back when I had high hopes of employment and prosperity.  The begonia died pretty quickly, because the wind and a neighborhood cat took turns knocking it over every night.  The kalanchoe held on for much longer, but I forgot to water it for a while and the sun kind of cooked it.  I thought it was a goner for sure, but then the cat came back in the night and knocked it the hell off my stoop and then bludgeoned it for a while, ultimately liberating the plant and surrounding soil from the pot.

This happened at least a week ago, I think.  Unemployment has destroyed my concept of the passage of time.  It could have been a month ago, I have no idea at this point.  Anyway, the morning after this happened, I was on my way somewhere super important, like the grocery store, or maybe I was going for a run.  I'm sure it was one of those two things because I rarely ever do anything else, unless it was laundry day.  But I digress.  I found this poor flower lying decimated in the dirt patch full of weeds next to my stoop.  I figured it was just its time to go, and moved on with my life, because I clearly had something very important to do in a hurry.  I was also feeling pretty lazy, so I never did bother to clean up the mess.

Fast forward a few days, and the shriveled, dead flower petals had fallen off and the stems appeared greener.  Then some new flower buds appeared.  When we returned from Yellowstone yesterday afternoon, this damn plant was in full bloom again.  I have my suspicions that I may have be dealing with zombie flora, but Andy knows all about zombie combat so I figure he'll protect me.  Or at least he'll protect our cat, Ajax, because he loves him more. 

Zombification and resurrection aside, NPR and Carlo Rossi reminded me it was time to do something with this flower.  So I went outside and gazed disdainfully on my weed patch, replete with horizontal flower.

Plant, liberated from pot.

Then I dug a little hole for it and inserted the root ball into the hole.  That sentence sounded kind of dirty.  That sentence also represents the extent of my gardening abilities.  Pouring water and digging holes.  I should really learn more about gardening.

Replanted, it will probably die tomorrow.