After the pandemic, I became fascinated with plants. I won't say fascinated. It was borderline obsession and indescribable wonder. I had seen so many beautiful plants pop up on my social media timelines and was in awe of how many of my cyber friends had developed these green thumbs. A green thumb was seemingly something I was missing from my toolkit, as I had managed to kill every plant I had acquired after my father's death in 2010. My then apartment sagged with wilted greenery engulfing my living room and one thing I just couldn't manage to nurture to health-- those damned plants. I had this habit of purchasing flowers from the local grocery store each week, and while they were a beautiful sight sitting on my small dining room table, they could not rival strong towering leaves of flourishing plants, in my mind. I was no stranger to them, as my Grandma Lou had a sunroom with the most beautiful, healthy plants you ever wanted to see growing up against its walls. That room was full of grandma's love and care. And she she did not play with my siblings and I when it came to "disturbing" them. I didn't want to keep accumulating flowers just to throw them out each week. I wanted to nurture some beautiful greens to life, too.
