My friend Jill’s supremely green thumb has reminded me of my failure as a “plant owner.”
I’ve only had two plants in my lifetime; both, sadly, are now deceased. One of them, some sort of giant bush, I blame its demise on my wife. However, it is the tale of Pokey that truly exemplifies my inadequacy as a gardener, and as a human being.
About 11 years ago, as I enjoyed the last of my hard-drinking, womanizing days of premarital bliss in a Seattle flophouse, I had a cactus named Pokey. He had been purchased a handful of years earlier at a rummage sale; don’t ask me what kind of cactus he was. Though I know nothing about plants, I had always wanted a cactus of my own.
Pokey grew steadily; a big, healthy cactus. But I eventually realized that he had outgrown his pot. Distracted by booze and breasts and rock ‘n’ roll, I put off the transplant for quite a while… but eventually I did go to the store and buy a new pot and some soil. And they sat there, the pot and soil, for another month or more while my distractions continued.
One day, on my way home from work, I said to myself, “Today, I’m going to give Pokey a new home.” When I went to go get my spiny friend, however, I discovered he had fallen. Pokey had become too top heavy for his pot, fell from his shelf, and was mortally wounded upon impact. I was mortified; truly, a summertime version of the pivotal scene from A Charlie Brown Christmas, which I had always strongly identified with, anyway. But there was no wrapping Pokey up with tinsel, no rescuing the poor little plant with garland and lights; he was too far gone, too much physical trauma. No Linus around to console me, or to remind me of my good intentions. I didn’t deserve a Linus, anyway.
I actually shed a tear for the cactus; sad to think of him now. And it was so ironic; Pokey was within hours of enjoying fresh soil and a bigger pot, but, wound up lying there like a little busted watermelon – or giant green egg – at my feet.
All because I took him for granted.
