I'm looking, Clover. The Endstory.

In accordance with the prophecy,
I have placed the shamrock in solitary confinement in hopes it will return to life in several weeks. Zombie planting. Stay tuned.

What is this? Sarcasm?

I pronounce the Clover dead, I arrange the room around it's departure and I cry at the cruelty of the universe. I pray, I sway and, well, you can substitute your own rhyme here. Just when I write off my baby a little sprout emerges. It's right in front of it's sagging cousin in the photo. Replete with little leaves, it turns to face the sun. What is this a bout? I'm ready to put my shamrock in the closet. Not that I would ever advocate this in any other circumstance, but my shamrock needs to be put away. Wini, more on her soon, is my mentor in making things and making things grow. She's been with me since the tomato seeds from Italy episode, to the ballad of the burned out begonia. My sweet Mother Nature told me that clovers need to be put away for awhile to rest and dry out. Like Mark Foley in FL, if your stick it in the EZ Fake Oven, it will emerge clean with sheen, on the scene. Remember, Isaiah Washington went to rehab and look at him now......................

I'm looking, Clover. Part 5.

Horrors upon horrors. I was teased with new growth only to be denied joy. As I carefully administered an inse (inse is less than a scotche) to the pot, the sprout washed away from the torrent like a palm tree in a tsunami. My merry little tune that I hummed as I was watering quickly became a keening death-cry of old. My baby, my baby!!! Even now, the proud bough of the final frond collapses under it's weight. My shamrock will be dead by St. Patty's Day, what's the irony in that?

Clap your hands if you believe in fairies.

There is a pot of gold at the end of some rainbows. As I lay lamenting my poor nearly muerte shamrock Fate sends in a clown. Two new sprouts have popped up through my careful watering, witty conversation and unrestricted sunlight. I've also been a little easy on my limiting their television and music time. Spare the rod, I know but my effort are being rewarded with the promise of new life. As you look at the photo you'll see the stem jutting towards the right and to the left of the center of the frame a small green hoop coming up from the soil. Talk about stem cell research at the grassroots level. Funny on two levels.

I'm looking, Clover. Pt. 4.

The green is slowly leaving the leaves. It's just a matter of time now. I can even see that the stem is getting tired holding up the clover towards the sun. It's starting to slump and bend. This plant is tired. My poor baby.

I'm looking, Clover, pt. 3.

In an afternoon repose, our shamrock enjoys it's last days on earth. And in it to boot. Thanks for all the sympathetic calls and late-hour remedies. It don't look good for Clover, so do me a favor. When you get home to night and you look at that ignored houseplant on the corner of the bookshelf, take the time to pull it down and hug it. You don't know what that means to a ficus.

I'm looking, Clover. part 2.

My shamrock is still alive. Here it is stretching towards the sun, which we all are doing as it has been so blasted cold here. The leaves still have a lot of chlorophyll, I hope they have so much so that they have plenty of little sprouts coming up from below. Think happy sprouts for me.

I'm looking, Clover.

Five years ago I bought this silly little clover from the grocery store in the neighborhood. It was in a cheezy little plastic cup for St. Patrick's Day, unlike most of south Boston on that holiday(in it's cup). We laughed together, we grew together, until lately. Clovers stretch towards the light and open their fan-like leaves in that direction. At night they fold their leaves down like patio-umberellas, holding vigil til morning. Back in CT when I lived in a little cottage by the shore I grew many things. Vegetables, herbs, perennials, annuals, complacent, houseplants and a very special purple clover. When I moved to LA I knew it wouldn't survive the trip, and I left my obvious favorite in the loving care of Sista Sal. I adopted a new clover in that memory. And now it dies.

We are on Cloverdeathwatch. There were twenty-odd stems, then ten, then five, then three and now one. The plant is tended with mineral rich water, optimum heat and light, conversation and pleasant music. These may be it's last moments in LA but they will be optimistic. I'm bitter as I hate to see plants die. It's a failure of sorts and I have a real problem with failure. Be with me as we watch new growth save the day, or the cold hand of nature smite my baby.