I recently went home to Oregon for a visit, and went to the coast to visit my grandmother. By grandmother, I mean my mother's mother, who I think I might have last seen...at the age of 6. I will give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she is awesome, because she gave birth to my own mother, who is the veritable wizard-empress-god of the awesome universe.
At any rate, in her backyard is a variety of plants, including a very small spruce in a handmade clay pot. Being female, and largely a romantic as much as I try to squash it down, my initial reaction is somewhat along the lines of, "Aww, how cute!" The rational part of my brain kicks in with, "It's a tree."
The conversation that ensues between these two sides of me takes only a few moments, yet somehow my logical side never wins.
"But it's cute!"
"It's a small tree. Trees aren't known to be cute."
"But look at it, widdle adorable twee."
"I admit it's slightly endearing, but it's a freakin' tree."
"Cuuuuuuuuuuuute!"
I point out the tree to my mom and sister, who also coo as if the tree were a basket of glittery, rainbow-coloured newborn kittens. The next thing I know, I'm being given a tree.
Let me pause for a moment to tell you about me and my family. Being taken through our front door is like the blue screen of death for a plant, just a matter of time. My mom would get a flower from the church every mother's day, and I'm not saying it would be dead within the week...but probably, yes. A few survivors might have lasted two. I have no reason to believe I am any better.
I can take care of children and small animals, because they can somehow let you know "Hey--you with the food. Feeeeeeeeed me."
Trees? No such luck. They can't come find me or fend for themselves in times of crisis. They are totally dependent on me, when they're in a pot. Do you even understand the kind of pressure that creates?
I named him Frederick. My sister suggested Bruce the Spruce, but he looks more like a Frederick. And he's my tree, so I win. A few days later he was carefully wrapped up in wet paper towels, placed inside a baggie, and smuggled through the airport inside my backpack. I would have felt like a spy, except I am me and totally forgot.
In fact, I forgot about him until around midnight when I was ready to be asleep for work in the morning, so I pulled him out of his baggie, gave him a little water (plants like water, right?) and put him on the sink until I could find him a home.
Guess what. I forgot about him for I think the next two days. Now, he has a beautiful little place on the windowsill where he gets sun and some air, and I water him whenever I think of it which is a lot more now that he's supervisable from my place on the couch where I put my laptop.
Long story short (too late) I don't have an ending yet. I suppose I'll have to keep updating, but mostly I'm just not sure who thought this was a good career move for Frederick. I feel like I've kidnapped him and the best I can hope for at this point is a bit of Stockholm Syndrome.
Frederick.
