I Have a New Obsession
The first time I saw it, it was at my sister’s house. She has a few actually in the front garden by the steps that lead out onto Main Street. To the best of my knowledge, they came with the house. They look like juicy green roses, so juicy that you could bite them. I don’t know what would come out – aloe? Maybe it would be a pungent disaster. Or perhaps, a slightly sweet milky fluid that would require some getting used to. Not that I would ever bite these miracles of nature.
I asked for one as I was leaving Mary’s house one day. She casually pricked off a leaf of one and made a little pot for it. They survive the moving process, as long as you have a root system in place. I kept it by my window, but it eventually died. It never achieved the beautiful rose structure, but it was reminiscent of the original. I once peeled a tiny piece off of my own once it was big enough, and gave it to a dear friend. I hope she still has it.
They are of the “succulent” variety of California plant. What a suggestion. The name alone evokes that desire to chomp into them. They must be that way in order to survive the desert climate. Some are of the rose-shaped rendition I saw at my sister’s, but few have a classic rose/artichoke shape that I lust after. I saw one this weekend and bought it. I named him, though I won’t divulge that ridiculousness. He has proper sunlight, ventilation and love. I look at him constantly. I worry about him. I did research on the internet about him. He’s called by some a “Ghost Plant,” by others a “Ghostbuster”. Who knows where these nomenclatures come from?
The woman who sold him to me told me to take very good care of him. I asked her if he would survive, and she said, simply, “If you like him, he will.” I haven’t had good luck with previous plants. This would sting if it didn’t pan out well. Apparently, I have to submerge him in water for a half hour to water him, and that’s only when he’s completely dry. The semantics of the watering process are enough to make me second and triple guess.
I asked for one as I was leaving Mary’s house one day. She casually pricked off a leaf of one and made a little pot for it. They survive the moving process, as long as you have a root system in place. I kept it by my window, but it eventually died. It never achieved the beautiful rose structure, but it was reminiscent of the original. I once peeled a tiny piece off of my own once it was big enough, and gave it to a dear friend. I hope she still has it.
They are of the “succulent” variety of California plant. What a suggestion. The name alone evokes that desire to chomp into them. They must be that way in order to survive the desert climate. Some are of the rose-shaped rendition I saw at my sister’s, but few have a classic rose/artichoke shape that I lust after. I saw one this weekend and bought it. I named him, though I won’t divulge that ridiculousness. He has proper sunlight, ventilation and love. I look at him constantly. I worry about him. I did research on the internet about him. He’s called by some a “Ghost Plant,” by others a “Ghostbuster”. Who knows where these nomenclatures come from?
The woman who sold him to me told me to take very good care of him. I asked her if he would survive, and she said, simply, “If you like him, he will.” I haven’t had good luck with previous plants. This would sting if it didn’t pan out well. Apparently, I have to submerge him in water for a half hour to water him, and that’s only when he’s completely dry. The semantics of the watering process are enough to make me second and triple guess.
posted by Smidge at 9:43 PM
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