Hi Darling Ones,
Every year for Christmas Sister #4 gets me a hostess gift for letting her stay with me and also for hosting all our holiday events. It’s usually a random item off my Amazon wishlist. One year she got me an aqua-colored can opener. One year it was a Cameron from “Ferris Bueller” Funko Pop. It’s always super sweet and thoughtful. I try to return the favor by filling a Christmas stocking with junk and those Reeses Trees she loves.
This year she planned to get me a pine tree, but I unwittingly ruined that. Allegedly she got me a candy cane amaryllis this year. When she brought into Supergenius HQ she said, “I don’t know about this one.”
Then she explained how it arrived upside down despite the box being labelled “this side up.” She said she tried to care for it and she wasn’t sure if it would sprout.
I got a little teary-eyed as I thanked her and added it to the Sadness Garden.
Last week when The Youth were over for dinner Max looked into the pot and asked, “Are you just watering dirt here?”
“Maybe, but I’m hopeful.”
This amaryllis is a metaphor for nearly every aspect of my life. I will nurture and love this potentially damaged thing long past when I should give up hope. However, if that thing blooms I’m going to be the happiest, smuggest person on the planet. That’s how I operate.
In other Sadness Garden news, I downloaded an app called Planta and today I spent entirely too much time logging all the plants and adding their formal names, because I am a nerd. I have a tendency to love my plants to death. Shocking, I know. I’m hopeful the app will help me rein in my overwatering tendencies.
The current line-up includes: Hugh, Joanie, Peggy, Janis, Phil, ZZ Top, Eleanor II, Muriel, the weird succulent Sister #2 gave me that won’t die, Benjamina, Trevour, and an unnamed Hoya. Oh, and the amaryllis.
UPDATE: While looking up how to spell amaryllis I read about the proper care and maintenance of an amaryllis bulb and learned it should not be buried in dirt. I have remedied the situation and will keep you abreast on any further developments. The original metaphor still stands. There might be another metaphor here, but I’m too busy giddily discussing the postscript to this post on Twitter to be able to spell it out.
P.S. Today while trolling Spotify for something to listen to, I stumbled upon the band Beulah and holy buckets am I stuck in a wonderful time warp. There was a few months in the early-aughts where they were my new favorite band and until today I forgot they even existed. A goddamn shame.
P.P.S When I texted The Wedding Party (that’s our family group chat) Max responded with, “Wonderful! So it wasn’t just dirt.”