Crunch time

Every get a show stopper to wear in anticipation of going to a cool event…only to not be invited have life intervene?

Got to be feeling that.

The seasonally oblivious poinsettia in the flowerbed suddenly decided to bloom today.

Unclear on the celebrities’ rule of smooth: arrive late, leave early

Party’s over and no place to go, Red.

Like Lucy Ricardo, red was always her color (© image)

It was a mercy buy. Three dollars. You know.

Knocked by a customer rushing into Home Depot and crashing right at your feet; what dirt there was in the cheap little pot spilling out everywhere. Unable to avoid the guilt of leaving it behind, I took it home Christmas before last wedged it into a wind protected spot on the front porch and offered it hospice.

Somehow it sensed this was a place to live.

Quietly surviving the summer in deep shade, last fall it was given a pot abandoned by a selfish unappreciative, expensive plant. Then it proudly bushed out – ignoring the fact that it was there to hide the tall sprinkler stalk and stop the dog from racing across the back of the flowerbed. It must have felt purpose. Thrived.

And suddenly realized it had been so happy rooting around in new dirt, that it missed its’ bloom cue.

Things generally turn out like they are supposed to if you let them.

A straggler batch of Monarch butterflies just arrived. Hurrying to feed and rest up before moving on before the next bug cold front.

Poinsettia is like a butterfly billboard – proclaiming “Last chance Rest Stop: Water, final location of blooming flowers, and sheltered sunny spots. Next Rest Stop several hundred miles across the sky.”

Water seeks its own level.

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.

And here’s more proof plants have personality and are far closer to human qualities than we like to believe:

You see that broad-leafed middle plant? The one sandwiched between the palm and Schiffilera – and behind the alyssum (a compassionate one – always trying to keep cane plant’s feet warm) and the miniature rose (who is not afraid to stick up for herself)  It’s the prima donna middle child. Always fussy:” too much sun. It is bleaching my delicate arms. I demand you lug all the others out of that corner so I can be there. Oh, now the gutter is overflowing and dripping too much on me. Oh, now it’s too cold, I demand cozy shelter – let the others freeze on the outside off the pile. Oh, my arms are cold, I want a sweater. Oh, now I need more light…light, not sun….” The youngest, the rose wanting to feel the wind swirl freely around her stem and relish the full winter sun on her buds, has just about had enough with the complaints. A thorny response, “Darn it, bloom where you are planted!” 78 degrees F yesterday.(© image)