The Cruelest Month/Creepy Critters

Week Two, April 2008

A PLANT LADY'S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA





Poem: This week’s poem is by Dale Randall, member of the Burien Senior Center Writers’ Workshop and former plant care technician.

DON’T GIVE YOUR HEART TO A FICUS TREE
by Dale Randall
Don’t give your heart to a ficus tree,
Benjamina, more properly.
With all her charms she’ll lure you in
But then you’re subject to all her whims.
For awhile everything goes well
Then suddenly it all goes to hell!
“You moved me from my favorite spot!
And you seem to water me quite a lot!
And I saw that look of patronization!”
Then she drops her leaves in retaliation.
But leave her alone for a week or two
And she’ll be back to start anew.
Until the next imagined slight
And you struggle again to set things right.
A charming houseplant she may be -
But don’t give your heart to a ficus tree.


It's been a week of comings and goings, trouble and strife. Two employees left suddenly while two signed on. A ceiling tile unceremoniously crashed onto a bamboo palm at Estorian, crushing it flatter than a corn tortilla. One of our cats - the dauntless four pound runt, Shimmer - tackled a monster tom cat twice his size in the garden, coming out of the confrontation looking like he’d gone through a food processor. (It took us hours to clean up spatter patterns off the kitchen floor, the dining room floor, the living room floor, the hall floor - Shimmer may be small but he runs like a cheetah!)

I don’t generally do well in April - “the cruelest month” T. S. Eliot termed it and for good reason. In spite of the beauty burgeoning all around, a damp chill cuts to the bone - people (and cats) get grumpy with impatience and boredom. This month in 1824 Lord Byron died in Greece where he had gone to help liberate that country from Turkish occupation - I can imagine him saying to himself in that last moment on earth “Wait, wait, there must be a mistake! A fellow cannot die just as the sun is finally, at long last breaking through the storm clouds! A fellow cannot die just as he has begun his great work!” Well, obviously he can.

It was Easter Sunday (Eastern Orthodox), when the earth was about to break into glorious life. But Byron was wrong about the sun - minutes after he breathed his last a horrific thunder storm blew in from the sea, plunging Western Greece into darkness as sleet pelted the bleached white village. Some said it was a sign, an omen that Greece would never be free. Be that as it may, it certainly turned out to be a pretty a crappy day for Byron!

I am SO ready for a sunny weekend puttering around in the garden, filling yard waste bags, building trellises for beans and peas, planting lettuce, marigolds, broccoli - should have been out there weeks ago had the weather cooperated. Thus the gloom and frustration. But this weekend the forecast is for 70 degrees! If I disappear for a few days you will know where to find me.

OFFICE PLANTS: Mealie Bugs, Spider Mites, Aphids - Oh My!

In early Spring a lot of pests emerge looking for a meal (No, I don’t mean your creepy cousin.) Insects that are perfectly welcome in the garden (basically as food for other life forms) make pests of themselves when they show up on your office plants. If you ignore the bugs, your plants very quickly become an entree menu. So, what can you do about plant-eating insects?

It all depends. I realize that sounds like a cop-out but before you panic and grab a can of toxic chemicals you need to know what kind of bugs you are dealing with. Take a good look at the critters - use a magnifying glass and compare what you see to pictures in a garden book or research houseplant pests online. Once you know what is crawling around on your plant you can formulate an effective battle plan.

Wait! I’m starting at the wrong end of the issue. Far better than struggling against a marauding army of six-legged eating machines, try to avoid the problem in the first place. Clean, healthy plants are not be as vulnerable to pests - insects being as opportunistic as bacteria and viruses - so be sure you regularly feed and dust your plants. Yes, dust them - with a nice fluffy, clean, lamb’s wool duster (Don’t use feather dusters. They just scatter the dust around and are not easily washed.) A thin layer of dust dramatically diminishes the light getting to your plant, thus weakening it. Dust also harbors insect eggs and fungus spores - as well as making your plant look dull and dirty. A clean plant is a healthy, pretty plant.

Another handy plantkeeping tool is a spray bottle filled with soapy water - give your plant a “bubble bath” frequently. Use a gentle soap like Dr. Bronner’s Pure Castile Soap - I don’t like to use anything on a plant I wouldn’t use on my own skin since leaf tissues are delicate ecosystems. Soap not only cleans the crud off the leaves but it has the added value of killing spider mites. Unfortunately to dispatch other, tougher insects you will have to employ an insecticide - the good news is there are a number of safe, nontoxic insecticides on the market these days. Investigate horticultural oil - works great against lots of different kinds of pests (creepy cousins excepted).

The Caucus Race

A PLANT LADY’S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA


First Week in April 2008 Part 2



Yes, this week you get two blog posts for the price of one!
Poem:
A few weeks ago my mother found this little ditty typed on a scrap of fragile, yellowed paper in a box of family memorabilia. Her best guess is that my grandmother copied it from a newspaper some time during the 1930s. Unfortunately she didn’t credit the poet but he was no doubt in the Civilian Conservation Corp. I thought you might appreciate this poem - might even identify with it as we all hunker down to weather the recession.

A PSALM FROM THE SPRUCES
Roosevelt’s my shepherd, I shall not want,
He maketh me to lie down on a straw mattress,
He leadeth me inside a mess hall,
He restoreth my job.
He leadeth me in the paths
Of Reforestation for his country’s sake.

Yea, tho I walk thru the valley of the shadows
Of poison oak and ivy,
I will fear no evil, for he is with me.
He preparest a saw and ax before me
In the presence of my commanding officer.
He anointest my mind with discipline.

My shoes runneth over from marching.
Surely Beans and Employment will follow me
All the days of Roosevelt’s administration
And I shall dwell in a tent forever.

Folks just naturally want to fix things, make things better, so they gather together in like-minded groups and cheer their aspirations forward. Saturday I did my share of cheering at the 11th District Democratic Caucus. I was there as a Clinton delegate from my neighborhood precinct - though truth be told I don’t actually care one way or another which of the Democratic candidates finally prevails - they are both excellent leaders. The 11th went for Obama by maybe as much as 2 to 1 and I’m okay with that. Like the rest of those gathered in the Machinists Union Hall auditorium I was swept into the excitement of it all. Few things are more thrilling than banding together with neighbors to make history, to try to repair what’s gone wrong with our country. The hall was alive with enthusiasm and hope - almost 2000 people cheering, waving signs.

Yet, I remembered another caucus, this one back in ‘72, when I wore a blue tin button showing the name McGovern below a small white dove. Shirley Chisholm, a brilliant African American woman, was also running for President (McGovern button not withstanding, I voted for Shirley that year.). We Democrats were determined to change the world. We would never permit another Watergate, another Nixon. We would succeed where previous administrations had failed us - we would get out of that misbegotten war in Vietnam - there would be peace at last and never again would this country be stupid enough to squander precious lives and resources on a purposeless conflict. Never again would we allow crooks, con men and terrorists to occupy the White House. We were full of idealism that year. We envisioned a brave new, civilized, compassionate world.

We lost miserably! Lost more than just that election, enduring another few years of Nixon and war. And here we are again. I hope that history does not repeat itself at this juncture, hope that we as a people are now ready to move ahead into sanity and peace, hope that we will settle for nothing less. And I hope that I have not become too cynical from past disappointments that I can’t once more be caught up in the excitement of a brave and noble enterprise. Hope pretty much says it all.

Identity Crisis/Clinging Vines

A PLANT LADY'S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA

First Week of April, 2008

Poem:
FISH MARKET
Deep under plank floors
streams empty into the bay,
drain the depths of Pike
where vendors tally naught,
naught - iced Silver, King, Coho -
catches rare and slick with sorrow.
Black as guts, the gulls veer out to sea,
their cries a litany of want.
Wind eddies through cold walls
of First, scours old stone
alleyways - spit, paper, rotting
empty hours, empty bottles
bobbing down the worn brick
gutters with the ghosts of winos.
From this fouled source
there will be, can be no bright pearl
breaking open, its shining life
swimming free.




Ooo, that’s rather a downer of a poem this week! Must be all the stress now that the company I work for is “rebranding” itself - it has a new name, new logo, stationary, vehicle decals, business cards, uniforms. I put on my new company polo shirt monday morning - a shocking chartreuse and frankly not a color I would ever intentionally wear. “Rebranded” - what a term! I wondered aloud if I would be required to get a tattoo.

Rebranding is the latest trend in marketing businesses - sprucing them up to compete in the 21st century market place, as it were. I see it all over Geekatopia. It used to be that a business’s name changed only when it was bought out by another company - Fred’s Grommet Boutique becomes Big Al’s Grommet Boutique. Gone are the days when things were that simple. Now there are rebranding specialists cranking out made-up names that sound like Japanese car models or something to which you to apply a fungicide. But hey, what do I know?? So, get in and test drive the 2008 Ambius today!

Can you tell that I’m having a slight identity crisis? Who am I now?? Wait, I’ll check the lettering on my acid green polo shirt! Of course I know I will adapt to the new company identity - in time - probably. Speaking as a person who has changed her own name a couple of times, I am well aware of the convoluted mechanics of redefining oneself - you never know how many things are tagged with your name until you change it! (I still get junk mail showing a middle name I abandoned forty years ago.) So I know there will be times when my memory hiccups, leaving me at a loss as to who I work for. Please be patient with me, folks - I’ll fall back into step soon.

We got a dandy staff party out of all this rebranding, though. Check out photo of gathered plant people stuffing their faces with pretzel buns and veggie quiche. (Try to say that without making a big mess.) And drop by our brand new Ambius web site - actually pretty nifty and informative.

OFFICE PLANTS: Clinging Vines
All kinds of ivy plants and trailing philodendron vines adorn our offices, their bright green heart shaped leaves lending perky grace to file cabinets and credenzas. A few things to know about the vines in your life:
1. They are vigorous growers, requiring fertilizer almost every time you water them - year ‘round if they are in good light. Underfeed these guys and they get spindly and pale.
2. Also, do not let them trail too long! This is a common mistake. It is kind of fun to see how long your pothos (Scindapsus) can grow but as these plants elongate they thin out older leaves, leaving the center of the plant bare with ugly “jump rope” stems hanging out of the pot. To keep them full and lush cut back the vines when they are a few feet long. (And do not let them creep over your furniture or climb the wall - the vines exude an acid that helps them climb but eats into varnish and paint.)

Root Canal/Appearances

End of March, 2008



A PLANT LADY’S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA


Poem:
VOYAGE
Decades gone, the memories fade.
Here we are from where we were.
There we were upon the verge,
packing up to leave, packing
each a private reason,
each a vision, strangers
from each other as the stars
are to ocean depths. Seekers
drawn by separate lode stones,
disparate but thrown together
on the twisty path. Where are we now
and why, you ask? The answer
is mysterious and vast.


“Do you meditate, dear?” asked the kindly Sikh endodontist as he drilled toward my brain.

His “dear” was not a patronizing or flirtatious “dear” but a sincerely uttered comforting and respectful teddy bear sort of “dear”. (Unlike the “hun” I get from my least favorite Fred Meyer cashier - who is lucky I don’t lob a box of kitty litter at her offensive smirk.) I figured the doctor noticed my pathetic attempt at measured breathing.

“Yes, I do meditate a little - do a bit of yoga - though I find concentrating somewhat challenging during a root canal procedure!” I replied within the confines of the above mentioned brain.

“Ummgh, umgh,” was my audible response through the green rubber dam.

Half an hour earlier I had been sitting in my regular dentist’s chair expecting the replacement of a rather minor (I thought) cracked filling. Now I was a mile away at a specialist who was doing major demo work on my pearly whites. Don’t ever think you know where you will end up when you march out your front door - there are surprises just waiting to leap out of the shrubbery and catch you by the throat. Or jaw.

This was my first root canal (and I hope my last). I knew the punch lines: “I’d rather have a root canal than _____. “ (Fill in your greatest fear.) Surely there must be some mistake, I thought as I drove to the endodontist’s office. I wasn’t even sure what the heck an endodontist was - only that I would be more than willing to postpone finding out. In precisely one hour I was expected at my Senior Center writers’ workshop. It was the last workshop of the quarter so I couldn’t exactly call in sick (especially since I am the instructor). How long did a root canal take anyway?

Long enough. Dr. K. S. J. was the soul of gentle care but as the fourth shot of Novocain found its mark I was ready to go home, curl up in a tight ball and not emerge for a week or so. The topper was the needle through the palate! Man oh man! That must have been developed by the C.I.A. to interrogate suspected terrorists. I was ready to confess to being the shooter on the grassy knoll - had I been able to talk.

At which time my entire face solidified into a concrete slab and I didn’t give a rip anymore. I took a long slow breath, held it to the count of five, let it out to five, held it out to five - imagined a quiet lake surrounded by stately evergreens - breathing 1 and 2 and 3 and . . .

“Turn a little my way, dear,” said the kindly Sikh endodontist. “Now a little wider. Yes, that is good.” The drill whirred and rumbled against the inside of my cheek. Ka-chunk. Something flew off in the general direction of the instruments table.

“Oh yes, I see you have cracked this tooth,” said the doctor. “That is what has caused the problem.” His eyes crinkled with delight above the blue mask. At least one of us was having a good time.

The writers were working on the first story when I staggered into the workshop fifteen minutes late, having stopped at the drugstore to fill the prescriptions Dr. K. S. J. wrote for me - antibiotics and pain meds. Figuring I should pop a pain pill before the Novocain wore off, I opened the stapled paper bag - only to find that the pain pills were missing! All that was in the bag was the bottle of antibiotics.

I excused myself, leaving my briefcase on the table, and hotfooted it back to the drugstore (Okay, I’ll name names: Walgreen’s.). No, they hadn’t seen my bottle of hydrocodone. The only response I got was “Oops, we must have forgotten that one”. Likely story, I thought. They had certainly charged me for it. But in a few minutes I was on my way back to the workshop with a new bottle (I looked in the bag this time) - and a head that was beginning to throb awake.

Now here’s the thing: that the pharmacy “lost” one bottle of meds from the counter where the prescription was filled to the cash register (ten feet?) seems to me suspicious enough but that the lost bottle was a controlled substance sets off my fishiness meter. Of course there was a fifty-fifty chance that if something got lost it would be that bottle - but what were the chances that it not be found on the counter after I left? I’m willing to bet that had the antibiotics been the item that went missing it would have been immediately found. Of course there is a possibility the missing bottle turned up as soon as I left to return to the workshop. Right.

A few alternative scenarios: either the pharmacy crew was a totally incompetent bunch of lame brains - or someone in pharmacy has a little “problem” - and/or the bottle “fell” into a lab coat pocket - and/or someone in pharmacy is doing business on the side. I may be a squeaky clean plantlady but, heck, even I know that stuff has street value. Hmmmm . . .

So when I got home I pulled up the drugstore’s web site and left the customer service people a delicately worded message, detailing all the particulars and asking them to investigate the incident. Response? None as yet. Surprise, surprise.

LATE BREAKING NEWS!! Walgreen's has just called. They are "actively investigating" the Burien pharmacy and thanked me for blowing the whistle. I am hoping it is not a case of the fox guarding the hen house. We will see.

OFFICE PLANTS: Appearances



“I thought it was fake!”

I hear that phrase repeatedly around Geekatopia as I work on the plants. Usually I respond, “The plant is real. It’s the plantlady that’s fake”. That’s good for a laugh but I have wondered what people mean by that comment. Is it a compliment to my care of the plant? Or are they saying that the plants can’t be real because they look too perfect? (Which might refer back to their own plant care fiascos.) Do they think that fake plants are better than living, breathing plants? That can’t be right. After all, why would anyone even think of having a fake plant in the workplace? Aren’t there enough lifeless things in the office without adding more inanimate objects? (Think of that guy in the corner cube who has installed a mini-bar under his desk.)

Fake plants don’t DO anything - certainly nothing positive. They don’t clean the air or provide oxygen. They take up space and collect dust as well as other allergens. They don’t grow - and they don’t provide employment to plant care professionals! And, trust me, they rarely look “real”. Not really. Buy a real plant. Make a friend. Naturally that is my own, very biased opinion.

Resurrection

Week Four, March 2008









A PLANT LADY'S LIFE IN GEEK- ATOPIA




Poem: PLUM

Shooting from the green skin like spears
red with blood, the side shoots spurting into dangerous
forks waist high, head high reaching to directions
I cannot predict or curb, leaves curling under
in an aphid slick, mildew, scale and burn
and all the years’ careful pruning, pinching
those false starts and blind alleys and still
the buds pushing, the wind tearing through,
frost gilding ripe edges before the forecast snow
and the urge again, starting again in the dim
flow of sap through slime dark veins, worms of roots,
birds whispering their purposes on tentative
branches - and I, hardly breathing, believe
that in my garden a golden plum may,
this year, for the first time bloom.

St Patrick’s Day, Spring, Easter - What a busy week!


This week I am tempted to fill the blog with nothing but pretty pictures of Spring flowers. Brilliant yellow daffodils and frilly pink cherry trees have been stopping me in my tracks all over Geekatopia. I haven’t been much use to Molly, my new route partner, what with having to stop at every flower bed to take pictures.

The other day we took our afternoon break at the Bellevue Botanical Garden, drinking in the heady scents and sparkling colors. It took monumental will power to get back to work.


The Earth is reborn - and maybe there is hope for us yet if we can still appreciate its meaning. We silly humans fret and worry about global warming, war, the economy, civil strife, pollution, the end of the world - yet give the sweet soil half a day of warming sunshine and it unfurls tender, confident green shoots ready and willing to do the only thing they know how to do - live fully and well under the sky. We need to pay attention and learn from the miraculous planet of which we are a part.

Roughing it in Restaurants/Palmistry

Week Three, March 2008


A PLANTLADY’S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA

Kentia Palm



March Haiku:
Whirling wind twists
yesterday’s news end over end
toward the misty bay.

This week the Boss Plantlady took me and my new route partner, Molly, and fellow Geekatopian plantladys Donna and Heather out to lunch - all in the name of “team building”. But whatever else you call it, a treat is a treat! She left the choice of venue to me - an easy choice since one of my clients is Newport Bay Restaurant in northwest Geekatopia. I love this restaurant because it has by far the cleanest kitchen of any I have ever seen - and over the years I have seen my share of restaurant kitchens.

Plantladys service restaurants early in the morning before they open, entering from the loading dock at the back of the kitchen, pushing between cliffs of produce boxes and filling their buckets at the deep stainless steel sinks in the dishwashing area. We see kitchens at their worst, when the prep work is in full fury - knives, sauté pans, and vegetables flying through the steamy air, a boombox filling the space with guitar solos at nosebleed volume. It always amazes me that a restful dining experience is born of all this chaos.

It might surprise you to learn that not all restaurants are as squeaky clean at Newport Bay. I am not talking about the obvious gross-outs like backed-up drains and vermin -the health department zooms through every blue moon and shuts down restaurants with that kind of crud. No, I am talking about establishments that seem to have no knowledge of germ theory.

There is one place (that shall remain nameless - though maybe as a public service I should blow the whistle on them) that actually uses leaf blowers to blow the dirt out from under the booths and tables into the center of the dining room where it is then vacuumed up - this process taking place while the tables are already set with water glasses and tableware. Where do they think the dust clouds of shoe dirt will settle? I wouldn’t eat at Restaurant X on a bet.

On one occasion they were actually jackhammering out a clogged floor drain in the kitchen while five feet away the cook was busily concocting the bean and bacon soup. I swear, their menus ought to have warning labels on their grimy covers!

Newport Bay is the polar opposite of Restaurant X. Every surface in their kitchen gleams with cleanly virtue - floors, walls, counters, appliances shining like a summer morning. It is a total joy how neat and sanitary that kitchen is. They have inspired me to completely reorganize my own kitchen - a job I intend to tackle this weekend.

But I digress. Another reason I picked Newport Bay for our team building lunch is that they have lots of wonderful gluten-free selections. They specialize in fish which they cook to perfection - mostly in its pure unbreaded state. It is bliss for someone with celiac to be able to order grilled wild-caught sockeye salmon with garlic mashed potatoes and brilliant emerald green asparagus - bliss to enjoy a fine lunch without worrying about getting sick later.

Coincidentally my luncheon companions also ordered selections that were gluten-free - though they made short work of a large plate of artisan bread set in the middle of our table. I ordered the grilled salmon (of course) and awaited it eagerly while our conversation soared into realms beyond our jobs and palm trees.

At one point I was extolling the virtues of Newport Bay Restaurant, at which time our waiter brought the food - just gorgeous and fragrant (the food, not the waiter). It all would have been so perfect except for the fact that somehow my order got botched somewhere between the ordering and the cooking. There before me was a magnificent salmon, lettuce and tomato SANDWICH!! I had to laugh as I sent it back to the kitchen. It was so ironic that the one person who couldn’t eat bread got sandwiched. I mused upon the strange complexities of life in a wheat-dominated world while I waited for my grilled salmon - as my companions murmured yummy-sounds through their gluten-free lunches. Still, though I had to wait a while, when my meal finally arrived it proved to be well worth the wait - a masterpiece on a plate. Thanks boss!!!


THIS WEEK’S PLANT CARE TIP: Palmistry
Since this week is Palm Sunday let’s talk about palm trees. Up here in the Pacific Northwest palm trees (with few exceptions) live inside bank lobbies, new car showrooms, hospital waiting rooms and office buildings. They are dramatic, elegant creatures that bring to mind warm tropic isles far away from our chilly, gloomy winter days. Warning: if you have one in your office you may frequently catch yourself daydreaming of Hawaiian vacations and Caribbean cruises.

Note: there are many kinds of palms and some plants that look like palms but aren’t palms. To care for your plant properly you really must know what kind of plant you have, so do a little research.

My personal favorite is the Kentia palm (Howea fosteriana - a native of Lord Howe Island down east of Australia where it is considered a “vulnerable” species). I am mesmerized by their wide, graceful fronds, their dark green coloring and their elegant personalities. They are aristocrats, one of the most expensive plants and challenging to tend. And they can be unforgiving if you make a mistake. (Most plant techs have killed kentias learning their ways.)

They are especially slow growing, shooting out only one or two fronds a year. And when they do produce a frond they are apt to shed a lower, older frond to balance themselves out. So essentially they stay the same shape their whole lives - unless you mess up their care in some way.

Kentias do not like their root drying out, nor will they tolerate being kept wet. Easy does it with these palms. The important thing is to assure that their crowns are always above the soil line (the crown is the thick point where the roots meet the trunk) - if they are planted so that the crowns are in damp soil they will rot off and you will have killed your first kentia.

Keep the crowns dry, provide adequate light and a little fertilizer in the growing season and your kentia can live for decades in your home or office. I keep a fifteen year old kentia in my living room that I decorated with lights for Christmas this year. But please don’t be tempted to chop off a few fronds for Palm Sunday decorations or it will be a dozen Palm Sundays before your kentia recovers!

Springing Forward/Feeding Time

Week Two, March 2008




Misty Mount Si




This week’s poem:
MEMORY
It is that crimped silver hair
clinging to your best black
winter coat, the hair
no amount of sticky-backed tape
or stiff brush or shaking
can dislodge - that reminder
that here you are, falling
into time a strand at a time,
strands of DNA weaving
out across the expanse
of an impersonal void -
and just when you give up,
trusting you are stuck
with the certain knowledge
of your disintegration,
a freshening breeze
sings in the wind chimes,
ruffles your coat collar
and instantly it is Spring!


The tree pollen count is pegging the meter this week, clouds of yellow pollen billowing from chilly branches. My eyes burn, my nose has been stuffy for days - if I take an allergy pill I could so easily doze off at the wheel so I soldier on, wondering how long I can go without breathing.

Early hours are frosty but by noon I am shedding the company jacket to enjoy a tentative bask in thin sunshine. A time of bright beginnings. An appropriate time for me to start training a brand new plantlady. Molly just signed on as my route partner this week - brave soul! I have been introducing her to Geekatopia. So far she has held up well through our most demanding, challenging accounts - and was still smiling at the end of the week. Right now she is probably home soaking her aching feet and rethinking this weird plantlady idea - but I sense Molly has what it takes to survive in the cubicle jungle. Monday we will drive out into the Cascade Mountains to North Bend where scraps of snow sparkle on Mount Si - we will tend the Cascade Bank plants but I will make sure we take a few minutes to enjoy the view. And the fresh, pollen-free mountain air. Every job has perks.

OFFICE PLANT CARE TIP: Time to wake up your plants with a little breakfast! They have been resting in hibernation mode all winter, their metabolisms glacially slow. (Yes, even indoor plants know when it is winter and generally speaking it is not necessary to fertilize your plants in the dark of the year - they can’t use it while they are “resting”.)

Notice a few tiny new leaves opening up? A clear signal that your plants could use a light meal - mix the fertilizer at about half-strength to start, every other time you water. Note: always use the kind of indoor plant fertilizer you mix with water and evenly moisten the soil so that all the roots are fed. There are different kinds of fertilizers for different kinds of plants (orchids, african violets, blooming plants, cactus etc.) so be sure to read the labels to match the food to your plants’ needs. And forget about those fertilizer spike things - they don’t release the nutrients evenly and I believe they actually burn delicate roots. Spring ahead!