A Study In Arrogance: When Coleus Becomes Political

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Trying to rid myself of the RNC’s frenetic vibes this week, I turned my attention to doing something productive.

I researched COLEUS.

I wanted to find out the names of the three varieties that are growing profusely in pots on our deck.

At the beginning of the summer I planted six different types of coleus in pots, but three died within weeks of planting.  So I thought that next year I’d plant more of the ones that grew, if I could figure out/remember the name of each type.

But, of course, in the process of my research I found more information about coleus than I’d anticipated.  Coleus has a long history.

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For instance, did you know:

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DSCN7638But my research, inspired by a desire to rise above politics, ended when I discovered the most ridiculously depressing fact about coleus.  You see, in the language of flowers coleus means: “How dare you address me that way?!”

That is, the plant means ARROGANCE.

And it was upon learning this that I found myself circling back to my thoughts about the Tangerine Tornado + the Nattering Nabobs of Negativity.  I couldn’t believe that I was researching a plant whose meaning embodied all that The Donald represents, when my goal was to avoid thinking or hearing on the news about his nonsense.

DSCN7639Yet here I was doing something good, trying to make the world a better place through learning, only to find myself tripped up by arrogance.

Now how defeating, and oddly metaphorical, is that?

Happy Holidays? A Sense Of Fun, NOT

::  Well, didn’t the holidays suck this year?  Or at least that’s how it went for us here at Chez Bean.  You too?

The weather, of course, was all wrong.  No matter where you were in the USA the weather was. not. right.

We had April-like spring temps in the 60s with rain and gray, depressing, bleak skies, instead of cool crisp winter weather with clear blue skies by day, starry skies by night.

Star of Bethlehem?  Nowhere to be seen.

Adding to the blah, Zen-Den had pneumonia so he was a noisy hacking joy to be around.  Keep in mind that I’m a highly sensitive person, meaning that for me his almost hourly coughing fits were like being jabbed with little plastic forks over and over and over again.

I used up my adrenaline supply for all of 2016 & then some.

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Full moon, hazy sky. No stars in sight.

::  Needless to say, but I’m going to say it anyhow, we did not get together with friends and family because… well, read health issue discussed immediately above.

So alone we sat.  Playing games, him on his iPhone, me on my iPad.  Occasionally watching TV or a movie or a football game.  Sort of.  Ordering things online because how else could we go shopping?

Why didn’t I read, you ask?

As you may or may not know, April is my least favorite month of the year because I’m allergic to the pollen and mold that it produces.  So, when that same weather showed up here [in December, thank you global warming] my eyes immediately went blurry, irritated by the aforementioned crap in the air.

Say adios to books.

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Drab brown leaves accented with a sprig of red.

:: MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT THIS YEAR WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HAVING A HEALTHY ZEN-DEN HOME FOR TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT WITH NO WORK COMMITMENTS SO THAT WE COULD GET THINGS DONE AROUND THE HOUSE.

Things like sorting through and boxing up the junk in the basement. Taking things to Goodwill and Habitat For Humanity. Hanging pictures in gallery wall formations. Deciding on new paint colors for bedrooms. Going to furniture stores to look at and sit on potential new chairs and sofas.

Did any of this get done?

NO! Not. one. stinking. thing.

Meaning that as far as I’m concerned this holiday season was a bust. While I’m the first to admit that it wasn’t the worst holiday season* I’ve lived through, overall Christmas 2015 + New Year’s Day 2016 were a downright old bummer of an experience.

So boring.

* My worst Christmas/NY holiday memories include: hospital stays;  a nursing home;  post-operative recuperation at home;  talk of hospice care;  electrical outages leading to days of no heat & food spoilage in refrigerator.

And one horrible two-night stay, stuck in a shabby motel in northern GA, adjacent to nothing, with only basic cable, pre-wifi & cell phone, when our car broke down on NY Day, a Saturday, and the car dealership where it needed to be repaired wasn’t open until Monday.   

Heebie-Jeebies Alert: Creepy Birds Here

GLANCING OUT INTO THE BACKYARD the other morning I saw these birds walking on the grass, wandering along the edge of the forest behind my house.

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TO ME THESE HUGE BIRDS looked like gang members, in black leather jackets, up to no good, on the hunt for something.

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HAVING MISTAKENLY IDENTIFIED BIRDS BEFORE [and having had approximately 3 gazillion + 27 people tell me I was wrong], I’m going to say that I don’t know what  gang these birds belong to kind of birds they are.

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INSTEAD I’LL CONTINUE TO REFER to them as Creepy Birds, because they give me the heebie-jeebies and the name, you gotta admit, seems right. *shudder*

I Ask You: Where Are My Toad Lilies? Hmmm?

• I allowed myself to hope.

When it comes to gardening, I’m usually more cerebral than heartfelt.

I don’t assume that just because I plant something, it’ll thrive.  Instead, I focus on those plants that get with the program and grow.

Like this cute little tree in the concrete urn that I can see out the window from our study.

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• But there’s something missing from this photo.

Around the base of this cute little tree there are supposed to be 5 toad lilies, which I bought last spring for an outrageous amount of money from an allegedly honest garden nursery catalogue [which I’m not linking to here because I don’t want to advertise for the company].

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• I know that toad lilies can grow here.

Years ago, before the front planting beds were re-landscaped, there was a thriving toad lily in this exact location.

That’s why I planted them, right there, uniformly around the base of the concrete urn, anticipating autumnal beauty whilst gazing out my window.

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• But do you, gentle readers, see any thriving toad lilies?

Or do you, like me, see one scraggly looking wisp of a plant, barely hanging onto life?

That, my friends, is what $60.00 will get you when you dare to believe the copy in a catalogue.  A catalogue that should be named: A Sucker Is Born Every Minute Garden & Nursery Store Catalogue For The Easily Gullible.

Because, really, that’s what the catalogue is all about.

Or so it would seem to me, Ms. Gullible.