Blythe & Bonnie are dead. Quite dead. And I killed them.
It’s not completely my fault. All I did was take two tropical lovers--stick them in a cold, dry, lightless corner, and give them temperamental waterings. (They had eachother!)
But… it’s becoming a habit… this is the second plant I’ve killed. In the same pot. In the same corner.
It’s not like every plant I touch dies. I have two very happy Pathos plants: Lata (Hindi for creeping vine) and Bandit Bill (he’s a creepy one, too). And just in case you begin to think I can only take care of stalwart, independent plants--I also have a very large (and currently happy) Ficus. Ficus plants, as you may or may not know, are incredible fickle (hence the assonance in the name, My Fickle Ficus Frankie). Move a Ficus plant an inch and they’ll throw a fit--all their leaves on the ground--wailing. (Frankie himself sulks whenever weather changes.)
But Blythe & Bonnie? My sweet Anita Dracaenas? Dead? They held on for fully a year. They all do that--those southern flowers. Their predecessor, three sturdy palm trees, Jacques One, Two, and Three, also held on for fully a year before (how well I remember it!) Jacques Two (always the strongest of the three) gave a horrible shudder which echoed throughout the room and gave up his last leaf--defeat.
I take off my cap to them--for lasting so long under such conditions before succumbing to the elements. And I weep too, and repent of all I have put them through. I shall mend my ways. Plastic plants are now in order. But for Blythe & Bonnie there now remains but one end: the grave. I think for their heroism they deserve a proper burial. And maybe a tomb stone. And an epitaph.