Plant revenge

Happy plant

Back in the Texas times of my second wife, I owned a lovely plant. Why, it was just like this one, the big succulent in the middle.

I purchased it as a child — the plant, not me — and raised it as my own. I fertilized and watered my baby, and she grew fat and heavy, eventually living a porch life in a large pot on wheels. You couldn’t heft her without a helping hand.

One day, my wife tossed me out like a hunk of rancid meat, and a strange thing happened. I wonder now if she was aware of what she was doing.

The heart is strange.

She let my baby die. I would go by the house now and then, so I witnessed its slow demise. I begged the woman to water her now and then. It wasn’t so much to ask, especially since my second wife was a fanatical gardener.

The rest of the yard was blooming happily. But my baby sat in her big pot on wheels looking more every day like a prisoner at Buchenwald.

Finally, she died of neglect.

A psychiatrist could make much of this.

* * * *

A couple of years ago, I found another baby of this variety downtown where I now live far away. It’s not a common plant, so I snapped her up with a smile.

I feed her, turning her many faces to the sunshine, and she is happy. And one day she will be as big as her predecessor, and I’ll need wheels for her pot.

I am making amends.

12 thoughts on “Plant revenge”

    1. Connie: Well, yeah, it kinda was. We were, I thought, on reasonable terms, and when I moved over the southern border five years later, I left my pickup truck in her driveway, with her permission, of course, because I did not know whether I would return to Texas or not. When I decided not to return, I asked her to put an ad in the Houston newspaper and sell the truck for me. Keep in mind that I had given her the house she was in as a Valentine’s gift after we were divorced, which elated her. The divorce settlement had given me the house, even though she was living in it.

      All she had to do was phone the ad into the newspaper and let people come see the truck. But she would not. No reason, just wouldn’t. I had to fly to Houston from Mexico and drive the truck to my parents’ home in Atlanta, put an ad in the Atlanta paper, and sell the truck myself. The truck sold in one day.

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  1. If she was that angry and bitter all those years ago, I can only imagine what she must be like now.

    Her gift to you was kicking you out. Really.

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    1. Connie: In retrospect, getting booted was indeed one of the best moments of my life. However, at the time it did not feel like it, to put it mildly. I went through a very bad time. I remember one night at work, I was talking to a twice-divorced coworker. He told me that one day I would look back and be happy about what had happened. I couldn’t imagine that to be possible, but he was right on the money.

      Not long after I moved over the Rio Bravo, and five years after the divorce and about four years after her fling with the illegal alien Mexican gardener half her age had ended, the fling that had inspired her to toss me out on my duff, she emailed me here saying we might want to consider getting back together again. I did not respond to that.

      But I wish her well anyway. She’s still single, and still in the house I gave her. It is part of God’s wicked side, his sense of humor perhaps, that he makes it so unlikely that older women can find mates again. Far easier for men. And in Mexico, it’s a piece of cake.

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  2. I’m with Connie. A person who would kill a plant out of spite is no one you want to spend your life with — count yourself lucky.

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  3. For life (plants) to survive and flourish you need to nourish it and satisfy its needs, including thirst. Relationships are quite similar. Neglect is not an option and is life threatening unless it is a weed. Then you have to decide whether to get rid of it or smoke it.

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  4. Felipe,
    I am a volunteer domestic mediator and deal with divorce on a regular basis. I assure you, your story is not unique. Anger and “flings” seem to be part and parcel to the majority of cases I’ve worked with. Be thankful you had no children and it was only a plant that suffered. In the long run you came out way ahead.

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