A Veil of Green

I am a restless soul and have moved over fifty-two times in my life. Over half of those moves were due to noisy neighbors with big speakers and bigger egos which rendered them entitled to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to. I’ve also lived in five different states ( but I still identify as a New Yorker.) Throughout my journey I have had many friends, acquaintances, associates and lovers, most of whom are not great corespondents. I am still in touch with my two best childhood friends  byl and email. Facebook has put me back in contact with colleagues and the kids I knew from elementary and junior high school on Long Island. I met my husband, Dan, in 1982. We were roommates for ten years and have been married for another thirty-two.

However, my longest on-going relationship which has sustained me throughout my many moves, careers, and low periods where there was no one else to talk to is with Plant. Plant is a Bridal Veil plant, with lance-shaped one-half inch long leaves on delicate purple stems that cascade down from the flowerpot. When Plant is happy, he/she produces tiny white blossoms. At its healthiest, Plant becomes a ball of leaves and blossoms. 

I acquired Plant during one of the great bleak periods of my life. I was living in a log cabin ( the first log cabin built in Snowdenville, PA) which was on the grounds of a greenhouse. Having left art school in Baltimore during the 1972 gas shortage, I had moved there with my lover of six months. We had been living in-between Baltimore and Philadelphia, where he worked. This required both of us to commute in opposing directions every day for an hour and a half one-way. Needless to say, this caused a great deal of stress. Having lived in the log cabin all winter, my lover broke up with me and I had to move out.

Our landlord, who owned the cabin and the greenhouse was working when I walked in amongst all the plants. Despite my resolve, I burst into tears and the poor man was so overwhelmed that he told me to choose a plant as a gift. From that time on, Plant and I were inseparable. Plant would move with me a total of ten times in the next ten years. He/she was there throughout Grad school, lived in my artist loft in Tribecca while I built it, was in the apartments Dan and I shared, moved with us to Nashville, and finally ended up here in Massachusetts in the beginning of the 21st Century. 

Each spring and fall, I thin Plant out and re-pot him/her. I often plant the thinned-put part in the garden of wherever I happen to be living. There are very likely clones of Plant wherever I have lived. I usually let Plant live outside in the summer, which I call, “going to camp."  In 2010, Plant came very close to dying. It was my fault; the weather was growing colder at night. I should have checked for frost warnings. But Plant was so beautiful; just a ball of greenery and flowers, that I thought I would leave him/her out one more night.

In the morning, there was a silvery coating covering everything. Horrified, I hurried out to where Plant hung. I touched a leaf. Plant was like a glass globe with a plant inside. I rushed Plant to the kitchen, letting it defrost. It’s lovely branches, once green and purple now hung dark and slimy like seaweed on a beach. I don’t know which of us was more in shock.

But there was one purple branch down near the center by the roots with a tiny green leaf on it. I picked it carefully off and stuck it in a whiskey jigger of water, praying it would put out roots. Today, Plant hangs in my dining room, having come in from last summer’s camping season. 

As I age, I naturally, think about death more often than I used to. I have lived too many places to want to be buried anywhere…I don’t really have a home town. But should I change my mind, I plan to have whomever buries me cover my grave site with the faithful, tough and beautiful Plant.