Green!

Even though it is grey and cloudy outside, inside our apartment, life is thriving. Our kitten weighs in at over six pounds, our spider plant is out of control, the herbs haven't succumbed to winter's doldrums yet, and our Christmas cactus has decided it needs to bloom in November. Isn't it pretty?

What? I'm not supposed to bloom until Christmas? Whatever.

I worry about this plant. My mother-in-law gave it to us when it was just a little bitty thing last year, one of five plants from a bouquet her sister had sent the family. I tried to beg off, using that old "we don't have green thumbs" excuse, but as we were leaving, she shoved it in my arms. I just couldn't say no. She's doing chemotherapy now, my mother-in-law, that is, not the plant. And honestly, even though it doesn't make any sense, I keep thinking that if I can somehow keep this plant alive, she'll thrive just like it does. So I worry.  I want it to do well.  But I worry that the petals will start to fall, the blooms won't come, and I'll have failed. 

Instead, it brings light to us on this dark November day.  We jokingly place bets on when that bud is finally going to pop open and show us everything it has to offer.  We wonder when the kitty will finally eat it.  We test the soil semi-regularly, but since we don't know what we're looking for in the soil,we're on a fool's errand and we know it.  We put it in a place of honor, letting it represent family and love, and care for it as best we know how, pushing the worry into some other realm, some other universe, some other day. 

(I tried to get pictures of Zelda the Kitten but she's a horrible picture taker. I'm going to enlist the help of a better photographer, aka Dr. BB, and get some adorable Zelda pictures up here soon enough.  She's darling and adorable, but just not a cooperative model.)