When I was single-ish (read: unmarried but still with Patrick) I had a houseplant. It was ficus-adjacent-ish and most likely something my mother just didn’t want to see anymore. In the spring and summer it lived out on the patio of my apartment and flourished; making it look like I knew what the hell I was doing. Unfortunately when I brought it inside once the temperature started to dip into “Holy balls, its cold” territory and since my apartment was the equivalent of a well-decorated bat-cave, its condition quickly deteriorated. Eventually all the leaves fell off and it was just a pot of sad little sticks festively decorated with a strand of twinkle lights that, at some point, seemed like a good idea. (That one probably involved some pot.)

Once the weather started to thaw I moved the sad carcass out to the patio to be carried 100 feet to the dumpster (by Patrick as I am a sad and lazy thing and will never carry something if I think I can find a way for YOU to do it) for a proper burial when I got around to it. Fast forward to 3 months later and suddenly the damn thing was coming back to life. But the leaves it is sprouting are totally different, as if it were mutated by the neglect into something more twisty and bunched together. Almost as though the leaves were huddled in a bunch giving each other pep talks.

So naturally the thing made the move to Augusta with Patrick and I and was once again left outside only this time it did actually freeze that one time it ever got cold in Augusta and finally gave up the fight and laid down and died. I cried a little…

Well it’s been about 6 years since that happened and I have once again allowed a house plant into my life because I have, so far, managed to keep three animals AND a husband alive. (That husband is the hardest part. You have to really keep a close eye on them so they don’t stumble into things like drunk welding and ill-advised cutting down of trees.)

As a house warming present, my mother bought me the most beautiful peace lily (spathiphllyum if you’re nasty…) I’ve ever seen. It is breathtaking and takes up an entire corner of my living room. So far, Lilly and Luna are leaving it alone. Belle, of course, is scared of it because once it threw an empty vodka bottle at her. I considered several names for her and after a brief flirtation with Phyllis decided on Veronica as I’m certain that she will call me Heather and ask what my damage is on a regular basis. Plus she looks like she has the strangest craving for corn nuts.

Patrick refuses to call her by name.



Please ignore the odd green accent wall. I realize that the corner of my living room currently looks like the side of an Army tank. As soon as I decide on a living room color that will be fixed.

And yes, Zube, I did settle on Veronica after we chatted. She just seems much more Veronica-like than Phyllis. She is far too showy to be a Phyllis.