110/365 Flowers Die

I laugh when I tell people I'm in charge of plants at church. This is not what I'm good at. I do it, and willingly during Christmas and Easter, but it is not my strong suit. I don't know which plants should be watered heavily, which ones rarely. Light requirements, temperature control--so many things are beyond me and not too feasible for someone with 3 kids and a church building with no natural light.

I do what I can. I water things. I think about Dolores and her plant hospital in the Utah Vestibule. I remember meetings about plants and fluorescent lights and listening to people argue about plant care.

In the end, flowers die. They died then with the special lights and the passive aggressive watering routine, and they die now. No plant I've found yet, save perhaps the mother-in-law's tongues Fiona got for us, lives happily in that church with my version of plant care (and child care, frankly): benign loving neglect.

They die, and they die, and they die. And I have a bit less than a whole month left to nurse them along. Early weaning is never recommended. Sigh.