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!

Cha-cha-cha-Changes/Gnaughty Gnatshttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

Week One, March 2008



Bytevue Cranes





A PLANTLADY’S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA




Haiku Haiku:

Fingers counting sounds
Five, then five and two - poems
Leaping from my hands!


The official bird of Geekatopia is the crane (I recently counted fifteen construction cranes cantilevered over the skyline). A few years ago Bytevue decided that buildings at the heart of this Microsoft metropolis were outdated, suburban and funky-looking - not at all 21st century. So they bulldozed the entire downtown core and started over. Each week, new buildings rise from the depths of their six-story underground parking garages. It is like watching mushrooms erupting overnight from a compost pile. It has gotten so that when I leave an account I never know if it’s going to be there when I get back.

I calculated that I have spent at least two years of my life waiting for slow elevators in high-rises, with little else to do but observe people and concoct theories about their behavior. By now I have theories on pretty much every human activity - none worth a hill of beans no doubt, but it passes time before the little ding announces my flight to floor twelve and beyond.

Prompted by trying to wedge myself and my water tank onto the North Parking Garage elevator at Overlake Hospital in a throng of amply proportioned Geekatopians I came up with two theories to account for the current obesity “epidemic”. We have all heard (and noticed) that Americans are larger than they used to be - no question about it. Diabetes and heart disease is rampant upon the land. It may be lean times economically in this country but you couldn’t tell it by the heft of its citizenry.

And the media is alive with speculation as to the cause of this phenomenon: television? fast food? megalithic portion sizes? sedentary lifestyle? yo-yo dieting? global warming? (Why not, it’s blamed for everything else!) Here are my two theories to add the confusion: 1. The Binky Theory, and 2. The Glutenization of America Theory.

1. The Binky Theory (with apologies to the Binky company - it isn’t their fault their product has been misused any more than it is the fault of Smith and Wesson when someone . . . well, you have heard that argument before, no doubt.). Notice how any time an infant opens its mouth to express discomfort, boredom, anger, hunger, or any other human condition, someone stuffs a rubber plug in its mouth? Is it any wonder that by the time these children grow up they are in the habit of stuffing their faces to comfort themselves? We are talking emotional eating here. Depressed? Eat a pizza. Happy? Eat a pizza with extra cheese and anchovies. Bad breakup or breakout? Quart of Ben and Jerry’s time!

In case you didn’t know, this is a relatively new phenomenon, going back only a few generations. Pacifiers were unknown to my mother’s generation, and to mine (There were “teething rings” but they didn’t serve quite the same purpose as the nipple-shaped pacifiers.). Pacifiers began to be used in the sixties, though I never did give one to my own son (He is skinny as a rail which might help prove my theory - though he does smoke - a symptom of binky depravation? I feel a whole new theory percolating.).

2. This second theory has all the signs of being a conspiracy theory - I call it the Glutenization of America Theory. Within the last fifty years the American diet has become thoroughly polluted with poisonous amounts of gluten! I began to notice this when I went gluten-free ten years ago.

My mother and I have celiac disease which is a hereditary autoimmune disorder characterized by a toxic reaction to gluten - gluten is a protein in grains, particularly wheat, rye, and barley. One person in 133 has celiac disease, though most do not know they have it. The symptoms of celiac are wide ranging and are often misdiagnosed. Because this disease is potentially life-threatening, people with celiac must not eat anything containing gluten - ever! Check out the Celiac Disease Foundation for lots of great information on this common but little-known disorder at: celiac.org

The reason this is pertinent is that until I started reading the ingredients of every packaged item in the grocery store so as to avoid an accidental dose of gluten I was totally unaware that there are very few food products that do NOT contain gluten. If you doubt this, try to find a can of soup that does not list wheat in the ingredients. You will find at most a handful - Progresso offers the most “safe” soups. Campbell’s Soup dominates the soup aisle but makes only one or two soups that do not list wheat - but even those are unlikely to be safe since they are produced in factories where wheat-containing soups are processed. Boy, do I miss Campbell’s Tomato Soup!

Note: Here is my favorite site about living gluten-free. Lots of recipes and ideas from fellow Seattle writer Shauna James Ahern - glutenfreegirl.blogspot.com

And if you try eating out? Good luck. Certainly you are out of luck where it comes to fast food. It is pizza, sandwiches, breaded fried food, and pasta as far as the eye can see - all of it off limits to people with celiac. I am actually not as off topic as you may think. What I am attempting to point out is that the modern American diet is so wheat-dominated that a person has to consciously struggle to avoid it. Such was not the case even fifty years ago. Back in the 1950s eating out at restaurants was something reserved for special occasions and the American family home dinner was typically meat-veg-potato with maybe a biscuit on the side. Sure, you had wheat but it wasn’t in every single thing you ate - which is likely to be the case today!

And now think what it is you feed cattle when you are fattening them up for slaughter. Vegetarians and city folk may not realize it but you fatten cattle with GRAIN. Lots of grain. Which is exactly what most Americans are doing to themselves - fattening themselves and their kids with grain in everything they eat until they waddle out upon the world wondering wha-happened??? Who is responsible for this deplorable state of affairs? Who stands to gain? Wheat farmers, heart surgeons, plus-size jeans makers, diet gurus?

(Of course I personally, intentionally maintain a few extra pounds since at any time I could be exposed to a fragment of gluten and be unable to digest anything for a week or two - that’s my story, and I am sticking to it!)


Plant Care Tip: Gnaughty Gnats

Fungus Gnats are tiny black flying critters that get their thrills flying up the noses of office workers. They are so annoying they have been known to drive sane computer jockeys into windmilling out fourth floor windows. Fungus gnats, as the name implies, eat fungi - usually in wet potting soil though they are also found in floor drains or anywhere else they find a crop of yummy fungi.

Fungus gnats can be especially difficult to control once they take up residence in your office plant’s soil, therefor the best plan is prevention. Soil that stays wet too long is the perfect environment for rot, mildew, and fungus so try to keep your plants on the dry side - let the surface of the soil dry down a bit before you rewater. If the pot has drainage holes in the bottom (which it should) try watering into a saucer instead of over the soil surface where the fly eggs await activation. If you know you have gnats in the soil already shake the contaminated soil off the roots and replant in fresh, sterilized potting soil. Then do not over-water your plant again or expect a repeat invasion of UFGs (uninvited fungus gnats).

Residence, Sweet Residence/Identity Crisis

Week Four, February 2008

A PLANTLADY'S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA



Mocha Morning Haiku:

Newspapers scattered
over coffee house tables -
dark freshly brewed words


Invading someone else’s space is not particularly pleasant for me - even when I am paid to do it, which is the case every other week when I care for plants in ten private homes. I know I feel that way in part because I am a product of post-dishwasher modernism where everyone tidies his or her own digs - seriously, if I had a housekeeper I know I would have to clean the house before “the help” showed up on my doorstep! Modern Americans are expected to be self-reliant to a fault. No wonder we are an irritable, sleep-deprived, over-stressed bunch.

Such was not always the case. Within living memory folks had servants to do much of the housework - and not just wealthy folks either. Middle class households commonly hired part-time help. My Irish great-grandmother did laundry for the “ladies up on the hill” in Cincinnati, Ohio - my Swedish grandmother came to the United States as an indentured servant (meaning that she had to work off her passage in the household of her sponsor). In fact I would hazard a guess that most people in this country are descended from people who at one time or another worked in someone else’s house. Immigrants were the first “labor-saving device” and we have always been a nation of immigrants.

Still, the idea of servants feels . . . well, un-American to most of us. Working in someone else’s house implies a class system we champions of equality strive to deny. At the same time, the service sector thrives even in struggling economies. There are plenty of jobs for people who wish to work - people not too filled with false pride to roll up their sleeves, that is. Don’t get me started on work ethic! OK, so service jobs don’t pay as much as your basic software-slog situations (with the exception of highly rewarded Geekatopian housekeepers who can buy and sell most cube-jockeys), the work is steady and plentiful. And has its rewards beyond the bottom line - rewards that revealed themselves gradually to me over the years .

Most plant care companies do not take residential clients - residence accounts are not especially cost effective and there are pesky liability issues (What if you ruin the oak flooring? What if some valuable item goes missing? It can get ugly when things go wrong). I “inherited” my ten residential clients when the company I work for bought a smaller company and “grandfathered” the smaller company’s existing clients.

And let me tell you I wasn’t too thrilled at first. Imagine arriving at a stranger’s home armed with a water bucket, a spare key, an alarm code, and a list of plants with their locations! You feel imaginary eyes following you as you make your way through the darkened house - expect sirens and flashing lights at any moment. No one is home but the dog (which you hope is friendly). You shift the breakfast dishes out of your way to fill your water bucket in the kitchen sink. You step over dirty laundry strewn across the master bathroom floor on your way to the ficus tree (Hey, folks, what happened to the laundry hamper??). You trip on a chew toy in the living room and spend ten minutes mopping up the carpet (complimentary carpet cleaning service?). On the way out the back door, you try to set the alarm - screw it up - the sirens blare like a prison break until you get the code reset properly. You are totally deaf for the next two hours. This is not a fun way to spend your day.

So what about the rewards I mentioned? Over the years I have come to know and appreciate ten very special families - have watched their kids grow up - have shared their anguish during times of illness, as well as their joy at graduations, weddings, births. Sometimes I think I know more about these folks than about my own family and friends. This week one of my families had to put down their beloved elderly cat (a sweet Main Coon cat who liked to follow me around the house as I watered) and I shared their loss as keenly as if it had been my cat. I think there is no greater compliment a person can pay you than allowing you into their private lives - entrusting to you the sanctity of their homes. I am grateful for the opportunity to be a member (in a small way) of their families and provide a service that brings beauty and peace to their homes. That good, warm feeling makes it all worthwhile.

THIS WEEK’S OFFICE PLANT CARE TIP: Identity Crisis

“Well, you know, one of those green leafy things,” was the response I got the other day when I asked a young relative what kind of plant she had in her office - an answer that did not exactly narrow the possibilities. How are you going to know what your plant needs from you if you don’t know what sort of plant you have? Different kinds of plants need different kinds of care - you can’t water your African violet every day any more than you can feed your goldfish a plate of spaghetti.

So, how do you find out what plant you have? If your plant is small, take it to a local garden center for identification. If your plant is too large to pack around, take a leaf. There are also many good houseplant books with pictures that may help. Or try internet resources. One good source is www.initialplants.com - go to the “design guide” - there are pictures of all the more common office plants, complete with their light requirements. Once you know the name of your plant you are well on your way to understanding its care requirements.

Lost and Found/Christmas Cactus

Week Three, February 2008

A PLANTLADY’S LIFE IN GEEKATOPIA

Mountain Haiku:

Swath of stars beneath
the cloud-kissed tree line wink off
as dawn lights North Bend.


Have you ever had someone important vanish from your life? Of course you have. People have a tendency to fall away from our lives like frost crisped leaves off an apple bough - usually through inattention and our own misguided faith that our relationships will never change. Sometimes a catastrophic event separates us but more often than not we set out upon the world in an exciting new direction - we change jobs, buy a new house, start a family, get busy - until one day we hear ourselves muttering that harbinger of encroaching old age: whatever happened to . . .

Yet happy Providence can pull our lost ones back into the sphere of our lives when we least expect it. Here are two “lost and found” stories from the past week:

First story: I arrive at a brand new account ready to introduce myself -the receptionist, seeing me at the door, leaps out of her chair, her eyes round with surprise.
“Plantlady!” she exclaims. “I haven’t seen you in, what, ten years or so?”
“More like fifteen, Carol. As you can see, I work for another plant company these days,” I say. ”When did you leave XYZ Software?”
“A little over five years ago. They went out of business.”
“But I see you are still doing the receptionist thing,” I say.
“Yep. And I see you are still doing the plantlady thing.”
We laugh and enjoy a cheery reunion, marveling at what a small world Geekatopia can be.

Second story: Back in the early 1970s I met Sam in a community college creative writing class - which, if I remember correctly, he signed up for thinking to grab an easy five credits. We were both veterans starting college on the G. I. Bill, a fact that meant we were just slightly older than our classmates, lending us a sense of camaraderie we might not have otherwise shared since we had very little else in common.

I had loved poetry since I heard my first nursery rhyme, writing verse as soon as I could hold a pencil. Sam didn’t know poetry from pot holders that first quarter - the only poet he had read was Robert Service (“The Shooting of Dan McGrew”). But Sam is a fighter and he was determined to ace that course. We met before and after class to talk poetry over coffee. He attacked each assignment as if it were the hill he had chosen to die on. During that time, unnoticed by either one of us, something strange, magical and completely unforeseen happened - Sam became a poet.

I have no idea when Sam realized that poetry would be his life’s work but one thing I know about the man is that he has never done anything by half-measures - he throws his whole heart at the wire every time. He went on to major in poetry, bought a hand crank letter press to print poetry books, moved to a nearly-deserted island in the upper left hand corner of America to write poetry and publish poetry, live and breathe poetry.

It has been nearly a decade since I last saw Sam, though I think of him often. You don’t run across his kind of single-minded dedication, bravery, and passion very often in this wishy-washy world. He has been a huge inspiration to me - and a reproach, since I know I lack the kind of courage it must have taken for him to plunge head first into the deep end.

A few weeks ago Governor Christine Gregoire appointed Sam Green to be Washington State’s first Poet Laureate! He is in town giving readings from his new poetry collection, “The Grace of Necessity” (Carnegie Mellon University Press). Perhaps I shall meet up with him again soon to talk poetry over coffee.


President’s Day Office Plant Care Tip: Christmas Cactus
(Thanks to Joyce Irish for suggesting this plant.)

First, it is not a “cactus” and it blooms at Christmas only if it really wants to impress you. In addition to the familiar pink Christmas cactus, there are Easter and Thanksgiving varieties which have slightly different leaf shapes and flower colors.

This plant is a native of Brazilian forests but has been a favorite house plant since Victorian times, being one of the toughest, most beautiful plants you can share space with. (It is also one of the longest lived - as the family plantlady, I inherited my great-grandmother’s Christmas cactus. It is over a hundred years old - my mother, who is 94, remembers this plant from her childhood. So if you own one, be prepared to pass it down to the kids!)

Watering: About the only surefire way to kill this plant is to keep it soppy wet - though if you think you never have to water it at all think again! If the leaves are shriveling up you are dehydrating your plant. Water thoroughly, then let the soil dry out before watering again.

Getting them to bloom: I have had good results using orchid fertilizer once a month from Spring through Summer. These plants bloom best when they are tightly rooted in the pot so you will rarely have to repot this plant. They like to feel secure. (My great-grandmother’s Christmas cactus has been in the same pot for ten years now.)

Light: For best results keep this plant in bright, filtered sunlight.