Wicked and Wild

There's a candle in my window. It's purple and one of those long, slim models that you have in a candlestick. (That's such a weird word - not as bad as "candle-snuffer" but still. Yes, I have to do that - it'll swim my head otherwise.) I've had that candle since I graduated from high school and it's standing in a glass vase with some stones. Here comes the funny part because since it's me, of course there's a funny part. It's bent. Yes, bent. Not broken. Bent. It follows the sun, you see. Like a flower which twists itself to get sunlight, so does my candle. I think it's a bit funny. (If you've ever wondered how a tiny green thing can break through asphalt or concrete - that's why. The tiny green thing wants the sun.)

You know, my plants look awfully sad right now. I figured it might not be enough water so I felt the earth and it's quite alright. Then I figured it was the lack of sun so I put got my blinds up, but they still look sad. So I did the only sensible thing. I googled. Between you and me, I think it's the heat that's getting to them. Of course, I'm still not completely sure about the sun-thing so at the moment my miniature palm-tree is standing in the opening to my balcony and getting tanned. You know, when I lived at home and thought about my apartment I saw a lot of wood and lots of greenery. Wooden blinds, screens, details and big green plants. It's a bit sad how far from that my apartment is. Sure, I have the wooden details in my bookshelves and my coffee table, but I have three green plants. Or well, two green and one flower. In case you're interested I think it's a peperomia, which apparently is latin and means "pepper like - it's a bunch of leaves really in a fancy pot. I like it - mainly because it's lasted since 2008 and because I got it as a moving-in-present from my best friend's mother. It means a lot to me. Then there's the palmtree. That's something I bought all for myself and I love it. Palmtrees remind me of Spain and I've always wanted one (palmtree that is - not a country). I think it's a yuccapalm or something. And then there's the flower. It's an orchid with the very easy name of "phalaenopsis". (You know, sometimes I wonder how the English-speaking world pronouce some words...) The miracle with this flower is that it's still alive and has been for quite some time now. I'm surprised. I used to kill cacti when I lived at home. (Yes, you can do that. You just give them so much water that they can't be cocky no more.) The note on how to take care of the orchid is still there and I decided to have a look at it.

"Plenty of light, no direct sunlight." Check

"Keep soil moist. May be allowed to dry out slightly." Check

"Remove surplus seepage water." Uhm...

"Add a little plant food once a month." Ehm...

"Room temperature." Well, my room is 30 degrees now so check.

"For decoration only. Do not consume." Right...

Maybe I just shouldn't be around plants. I don't remove surplus water and I don't give them food. If I can survive weeks on liquid then so can they, damnit! Uhm, by the way, do you think it's smart to have the orchid standing on the sub-woofer? There's sort of a water-mark on it now...

Hrm, I checked some care instructions (wow, English just gets weirder and weirder even though I guess that expression makes sense) and they seem strange. So I'm just gonna do what I do whenever I have a doubt about anything. I'll call my mother. When it comes to plants she's like Alice in the Carebear-wonderland. She can get anything to grow. Then again, I guess that's what happens when you have a deal with the Devil. Oh, I didn't tell you that? It's a rather long story. I'll tell you over a drink later.