I don’t blame the avocado for germinating.
I see it as a miracle…especially in my house. If the poor thing could talk, since its birth– when we propped it in water, sat it in a dark window, and now water it once every six months– that little seed would probably say–help me get some pot man! (The soily ceramic kind…geez)
That beautiful avocado plant –that really looks more like a cancereous growth sprouting tadpole appendages– reminds me of housekeeping. Why? I’ll get to that in a minute. But did you know avocado seeds grow into trees? If I never do anything, I wonder, will it grow right through my ceiling finally to reach the light its anemic bulges of boteny long for? Or will those angry inconsolable leaves and white, sickly stalk just come back down in a torrential growth spurt at me? Me, because I played a cruel joke on it.
I could Google it…but then I kind of enjoy the suspense. I want to see if this thing will survive. Of course, there is the horrifying nightmare that we are growing a carnivorous plant instead, which is highly suspect given its half-hearted color and open maw seed at the base. I’m waiting for someone to come rescue it, or decide it would better serve humanity as the subject of a medical experiment. Either way…it is a trouble maker.
You see, there are children, ah-hem, and adults in the house. If it decides to reject us as its family once it’s mutated, we’re all in trouble. And yes, it does still remind me of housekeeping. Here’s why. It reminds me of the 50,000 boxes waiting in our–we’re-going-to-move-out-of-this-house-someday pile, oozing out of the unfinished part of our basement. It reminds me of the avalanche of dust bunnies trapped and screaming for their transmogrified lives behind my dressers and bookshelves. The avocado reminds me of the section of wall I want to rip the paneling off of, shout in victory over the pile, and then paint the wall an odd color of green, or blue. Whatever isn’t awful now, but will be a few years after we move out.
That avocado reminds me of the garage…the garage that is lined with efficient shelves and tool boxes that we can’t reach, because there is wa-hey too much stuff in front of them, from the garage sale we were going to have this year…but decided not to.
It reminds me of the junk drawer, my kid’s toy box, our dresser, my overflowing pile of crafts that I hope to one day decorate my house with. It reminds me of that corner under the cushions of the couch where, in a gasp of treasure roving surprise, I found a 12 day-old peanut-butter sandwich and a neatly piled stack of gum drops. (It was just getting its feet under it.)
Our sad little avocado is not just waving its feeble leaves, mocking me, its waving a banner and starting a million “project” march on Washington. I can hear it shaking its insipid fist from the steps of our great nation, demanding a fresh pot of soil and a nice garden spot in the southern hemisphere. Half-finished, will-be-done-later, and after-“Castle”-reruns-are-over projects will march. They will bind together in a duck tape history event! And we’ll all wonder where we were when we saw the first avocado seed.
It’s going to happen folks and it’s going to make history. I just wanted you to be the first to hear about it.
I have many projects and drive-me-crazy-to-do lists, but I am very thankful for my home. I have every reason to be. In the light of the east coast’s hurricane disaster, my piles, mutated plants and peanut-butter sandwiches are heaven on earth.
Today, send a prayer out for them and/or give to the cause. It’s better than facing down an angry avocado with a complex. Trust me.
God bless you today.