I took today off to attend to some medical stuff. I stopped at the lab for bloodwork after some other testing, which is where I saw this woman sitting across from me with a t-shirt that said, “Sometimes I wet my plants.” It immediately cracked me up, and I wanted to tell her I loved her shirt but her leg was shaking and she wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone but the cabinets on the wall.

That used to be me. Hated, HATED needles. Back when they drew blood in the doctor’s office, I was sixteen and Todd had driven me to an appointment because I was sick and I made such a commotion over that needle. Thankfully he was in the waiting room, but I’m sure he – and everyone else out there – heard my loud and very dramatic protests. That poor nurse! I’m embarrassed for my behavior, even after forty years.

It wasn’t much better in 1998 when I sliced my finger open cutting a bagel and I was freaking out at all the blood and just knowing I needed medical intervention. MY MOM came and PICKED ME UP and DROVE ME to the ER for stitches. Like 3 stitches, maybe five, on my index finger. You’d have thought my finger was dangling by a tendon.

In the ER I was prescribed a tetanus booster and I practically hissed at the nurse when she came at me with the needle. This EMT – a big, burly bear of a man – who happened to be hanging around with nothing to do – came into my bay and held my hand for the shot and the subsequent lidocaine and sutures. The nurse told him that I “was like tiger” when she came in with the shot. Again, embarrassing, albeit maybe a little bit funny? memory.

I managed to avoid needles for quite a few years until I had a boyfriend studying Chinese medicine who asked me if I wanted to come to class so he could practice acupuncture. Hell NO. Clearly he had no idea how dangerous an idea that was.

Nevertheless time, and experience, changed my perspective. Pregnancy and all that jazz pretty much tamed the beast, and then my daughter was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and suddenly needles became a literal lifeline. And NOW I’m planning tattoo number 4. I don’t mind the annual jab my job requires. I might even consider acupuncture someday.

So yesterday was Aunt Dianna’s birthday. Throughout my life, there are certain birthdays I’ve never forgotten – like my oldest friend Holly, my cousin Jerrod, three friends since middle school whose birthdays occur three days in a row in April, Todd, and Dianna. Mom planned a get-together back home. I had a dental appointment and texted her from the chair – “have one for me.”

She said, oh, “I’ve had four beers and now I’m going home to bed.” Don’t think I didn’t mention that she shouldn’t be driving. It then reminded me of that time in my 20s when the three of us – mom, Dianna, and I – left that very bar and drove across town to get home. The two of them were toking it up with all the windows open when mom got pulled over for speeding in a residential neighborhood. Oh fuck, I thought, from my innocent bystander seat in the back. This was not the first, or the last, stoner experience with those two. She got off with a warning.  

Anyway, back to the dental appointment. Well, actually, AFTER the appointment. I had a half-hour drive home and I’d already spoken to Todd before the appointment, and obviously I wasn’t going to call mom. I didn’t feel like listening to the radio and was contemplating who I could call when my phone rang. It was my aunt, who I hadn’t spoken to since our St. Patty’s Day brunch.

We ended up chatting for over an hour and somehow the conversation segued to plants. Houseplants, to be exact. Apparently we share the same gene for failing houseplants. I told her the plants on my front windowsill aren’t as green as I think they should be, and that for as often as I forget to water them it’s a wonder they are still alive.

She said she does really well with succulents and we both started laughing. I’m not sure whether I do well with them or not –  I have some that started out smaller than a head of garlic and I’ve apparently watered them TOO MUCH and now they’re about the size of a large houseplant. And she said she has an aloe plant that has grown so large over the years that she’s repotted it many times and given away its babies to everyone she knows and now if it needs to be repotted she’s going to need two people to help her. And, really, how much aloe does one household need? She said I could have some when I come over this weekend and I said no thank you. I’ve already got my own, WITH offspring, that I haven’t watered in a month and it’s healthier than the trees outside.

I do not have a green thumb. I think what I’ve done in the gardens outside is a goddamn miracle, because they look pretty good in my opinion. The backyard looks better than the front, but it’s coming along in a random sort of way. Dianna had gorgeous gardens. I once said I needed her to come here and help me figure it out. Her advice? Just put stuff in. Let it grow.

The random-ness of this seemed a bit dangerous. In truth, I have done zero research beyond reading the little information tag that comes with the plants so I know if it needs full sun or partial sun. So far so good. Well, except for the plant I got for Administrative Professionals Day.

Hardy-looking, thick, green-leafed plant with tiny yellow flowers. It lived on my front steps since the day I brought it home, with the cellophane still around it. I didn’t water it. It came with no tag and I had no idea what the fuck it was or what to do with it.

Two weekends ago while I was out weeding and planting some new random shit Todd and I bought, I dug a hole at the edge of the garden and dropped that plant in there. The next day at work I mentioned the plant and did anyone know what it was? A coworker said it was still in her house and she meant to Google it. Well, we Googled it then and there.

Google AI says this: Flaming Katy (Kalanchoe blossfeldiana) is a popular, low-maintenance succulent houseplant native to Madagascar, prized for its vibrant, long-lasting clusters of flowers that bloom during the cooler months. The plant requires bright, indirect sunlight and should be watered thoroughly only when the soil is completely dry.

I texted Todd… “That plant I got from work? It’s an INDOOR plant.” Not right now, it’s not, he said.

It’s currently 100 degrees outside and it rained last night.Well, at least I know I can’t kill it. For now.