accomplishments are accomplishments no matter how small

Did you do that thing at your high school where seniors were awarded superlatives at the end of the year? We did – things like Nicest Smile or Coolest Car or Most Likely to Attend an Ivy League School or Cutest Couple. Then you got your picture above your title in the yearbook. I was never awarded a superlative; were you?

In the vein of Elisabeth’s Happy Things Friday, but also totally in a different vein because I am nowhere near as lovely and optimistic as Elisabeth is, I am going to award some superlatives today. These apply only to this week and I may never do this again.

Biggest Accomplishment: I attended FOUR SOCIAL EVENTS this week. Four. That is too many, by the way, but I went and I endured and I didn’t die. In addition, I managed to achieve the goal I discussed with my therapist, which was to “talk to three new people.” I am going to go ahead and count “hi, I’m Suzanne, what’s your name?” as “talking” to someone new. I did try to strike up a conversation with a couple people, with limited success, so that feels like a good step. I am also exhausted. After the fourth event, I retreated to my house and had a glass of wine in the quiet dark by myself. I still have not recovered.

Most Freeing Moment: Now that there are no painters in the house, and an interval during which I have no one at all in my house during the day except me, myself, and I, I feel so much freer. But the most freeing moment was definitely when I forgot that my towel was in the dryer, after I had already disrobed, and walked across the house au naturel without a care in the world.

Best Baking Project: This is a little bit of a stretch, because the actual baking happened more than a week ago. But I am including it here anyway: I made both pumpkin bread and pumpkin cheesecake bread, and they were both delicious. The cheesecake bread was (Mary Berry voice) a little stodgy but once I refrigerated it, I liked it more. It was not particularly breadlike… it was denser, like a brownie that hasn’t quite been cooked through and has gone all fudgy in the middle. But it was easy and tasty, if not ideal in the texture realm. What I REALLY loved was the pumpkin bread, though. The texture was perfection, with a nice tender crumb (I realize I sound ridiculous right now, but the crumb! the crumb!), and the flavor was warm and rich and autumnal. (I was really concerned about the enormous amount of cloves the recipe called for, but it did not taste overly-cloved!) I don’t really enjoy pumpkin anything, and I really liked this bread. I would definitely make it again. If you like pumpkin things, I would HIGHLY recommend it.

*This is the only photo I took of the pumpkin breads, probably because I was too busy eating to be bothered with photography.*

Most Frustrating Interaction(s) of the Week: Someone from the title company let us know that they hadn’t received our final water and sewer bill from our previous house, which meant they couldn’t release the funds we’d held in escrow to pay for it. My husband dug up our last bill, I scanned it and emailed it over. We got an email from the title company saying, thanks but no thanks; this doesn’t say “final bill.” So I heaved a great sigh and called the water/sewer company. I hate calling the water/sewer company because a) the wait times are always laughably long and b) everyone who works there hates their jobs, their lives, and me. But there was no other way, so I dialed the number. My call was important to them, the water/sewer company automation assured me, after I picked from an alarming number of options offered via a very lengthy set of menus. However, there were a few callers before me, and the wait time was 137 minutes. One hundred and thirty seven minutes. However! There was an option for the company to call me back once I reached the end of the queue! So I gratefully chose that option and went about my business. The water/sewer company called me back after the time had passed. An automated voice asked me to press 1 if I was available to take the call at that moment, and then said, “We are experiencing higher than usual call volume and cannot take your call. Goodbye.” AND HUNG UP ON ME.

Highest Volume of Phone Calls: On Monday, I made eight separate phone calls. EIGHT. I did not want to call any of these people and several of them required multiple phone calls and one will require me to do it all over again (cough cough water/sewer company), and I only managed to schedule ONE THING. This is why I hate phone calls. They are awful and they don’t seem to accomplish anything.

Most Charming Moment: This honor goes to the adorable checker at Trader Joe’s, who, when I handed her my reusable shopping bag, exclaimed, “Oh and it’s cats! How wonderful!” She then told me that she is a “bonafide cat lady.” I said, “I love cats too. Do you have a cat?” And she said, “YES. Would you like to see pictures?” Here is where I tell you that I always want to see pictures of a cat. Or any pet. Or a baby or child of really any age. Or your granny. Or your parents doing something cute or weird or just sitting in a chair. Basically, if you thought it was worth photographing, I would like to see it. Consider this an open invitation to email me all the pictures. (Disclaimer: Aforementioned invitation does not apply to genitalia.) Then she showed me her cat, and her sister’s cat, and told me their names, and it was wonderful. Can’t do THAT at a self-checkout!

Any superlatives jump out at you from this past week?

I am kinda sorta attempting to complete NaBloPoMo, with the full expectation that life will make it impossible any day now. If you want to follow along, or join, check out San’s blog here.

One of my gentle aspirations for the year was to repot my house plants and I am pleased to report that I have (halfway) accomplished that goal.

It seems irresponsible that I, a known plant murderer, should persist in owning houseplants. And yet I LOVE them, and I have strong feelings of affection for them.

I still remember the jade plant my mother bought me when I was a freshman in college. My mother, who is excellent at keeping things alive, has always had a jade plant in her home, and I have fond memories of the enormous jade plant in the room in my childhood home we referred to as The Library. It sat in a massive pot on a plant stand and its leaves cascaded nearly to the floor like the glorious mane of a beautiful woman. It was extraordinary. So it felt almost like I had a little piece of home with me, setting that jade plant in my dorm window and mostly neglecting it.

Each summer, I would take the jade plant to the dean’s office and they would look after it for me. Each fall, I would reclaim the jade plant – which always seemed to have grown and flourished in someone else’s care – and it would live in my room. After we graduated, my then-boyfriend and I drove to his home town where we lived and worked for the summer; the jade plant came with us. My housing situation was, in retrospect, a little precarious. My then-boyfriend’s parents had arranged for me to house sit for a family friend. But the friends had moved out of their house and were actively looking for a buyer. WHY was this a good idea? WHAT did I think I would do if they sold the house??? HOW did the realtor explain to potential buyers the evidence that a squatter was inhabiting the house??? Anyway, I think my furniture included a mattress on the floor of one of the bedrooms – not the primary bedroom, because the realtor or maybe the homeowner discouraged me from staying there – and maybe they had left a couch in the living room? Or did my then-boyfriend bring over a couple of lawn chairs? I can’t remember. But I had my jade plant there, too.

Once summer ended, my then-boyfriend and I drove across several states to move into the apartment we’d rented, sight-unseen, while I attended grad school. We had driven all day, with a U-Haul attached to my then-boyfriend’s car, and I had my jade plant in my car with me on the passenger side floor. We did get slightly lost in the worst part of the unfamiliar city – this was the age of MapQuest and printed directions, folks – but we eventually found our way to our apartment without being robbed or murdered. Only to discover that there had been a massive ceiling leak, which had a) filled up a ceiling light until it was so heavy it collapsed part of the ceiling and shattered onto the floor and b) created a mold field on the carpet and in the walls of the tiny closet that counted as a laundry room. CLEARLY the apartment had not been cleaned or prepped for new occupants – the bathroom in particular was a filthy disaster – which was not the best introduction to the city or to our scandalous life of premarital cohabitation.

We ended up staying in a hotel while the leasing company remediated the problem, and we had to stay in the hotel so long that we ended up unloading our U-Haul into a storage unit and then having to reload it into a different U-Haul when we were finally able to move in to the apartment. I remember our parents being extremely helpful about the whole thing, even though they were all strenuously against us living together. (It worked out okay.)

But our new city was very hot, and in all the chaos I forgot about my poor jade plant and it died in my overheated car.

Perhaps this incident has instilled in me a crawling anxiety about plant care, as well as an intense internal pressure to never kill a plant again. And yet, despite the emotional intent to be a good plant owner, I am not, in fact, a good plant owner. I try, I really do. I try not to be overbearing, and I try not to be neglectful. But I fear that I overcompensate in both areas.

Currently, I have five houseplants.

*This is the whole sad crew, including the jade plant in the red pot whose health has since declined precipitously, and the very already dead cactus in the light green pot.*

One is a small, spindly palm tree that has survived for nearly twelve years, which is when my mother gave it to me as a housewarming present. The African violet that was also part of the original basket succumbed to my black thumb several years ago. The long drapey plant that I think may be a philodendron persists. The palm tree looks increasing full of despair. (Although it recently sprouted a new head/branch/limb? So perhaps it is preparing for a second wind?)

I also have a jade plant that is really circling the drain. I have tried a lot of things, and I am coming to the sad conclusion that perhaps I am just not meant to be a jade plant owner. I can’t even bring myself to take a photo of it for you; I am too embarrassed. Consider the state of the little palm tree and then ask yourself what a plant must look like for me NOT to post it.

My orchid was a thank-you gift I received for being Carla’s room parent in kindergarten, so I have a strong sentimental attachment to it because it represents both a moment in time and time’s unrelenting passage. It has flowered several times since I brought it home, in November of 2021, April of 2022, and most recently in December of 2022, which is reassuring unless flowering is a distress signal. But it got to the point where it appeared to be attempting to crawl out of its pot and far, far away from me.

*The orchid, listing violently to the right and readying itself for ambulation.*

The anthurium is one in a long line of anthurium I have had and killed since I moved to this house. This is the first one I’ve kept alive long enough for it to re-bloom. Based on pictures, I think I have had this since at least July of 2021.

*Anthurium in a too-small pot; orchid limb photo bomb.*

The fifth plant is really Carla’s. It is a replacement cactus; replacement because we bought her a cactus last summer and promptly killed it. I didn’t even know you could kill a cactus? Well, we managed. But we saw this orchid cactus at the plant store and couldn’t resist buying it. Carla is in charge of its care even though it lives in my office; perhaps she will turn out to have a greener thumb than I do.

*Orchid cactus. It can only sit in that little plant stand in that exact position because the plant stand is stupid.*

One of the problems with my poor plants is that they need repotting. And yet I am so terrified of killing them that I cannot bring myself to do it. So when this adorable plant store opened just down the street, and I discovered that they will repot the plants FOR YOU, for the extremely reasonable price of five dollars, I knew that was my solution.

After a couple of false starts – for instance, Carla was off school on a random Monday, so we loaded the plants into my car and drove the plant store only to discover it wasn’t open on Mondays – we finally made it to the plant store and they REPOTTED MY PLANTS.

Well, they repotted the two I brought in – the orchid and the anthurium. It was such an easy process and such a relief that I am trying to get up enough nerve to bring in the palm tree/possible-philodendron and my ailing jade plant. I am a teeny bit afraid that one they see the jade plant, they will send someone to repossess all my plants.

Here are the plants immediately after the repotting:

I undertook this repotting exercise at the very end of March. And the plants continue to thrive (except for the jade plant, my god the state of that poor jade plant).

My orchid and anthurium are SO pleased. The anthurium is in bloom and has sprouted a bunch of new leaves. The orchid looks fuller and prouder of its situation, and much less like it wants to escape. And the cactus is cactusing along nicely. I am looking forward to the time when it decides to bloom.