My former home had large sunny windows to the east and to the west. I had a table loaded with plants, lush healthy African violets, an exuberant Christmas cactus that outgrew its pot many times. I also had a plant my sister had left with me. She was often away and brought it for my attentions. She eventually conceded that it liked my house.
When I moved to my condo, I had to downsize the plants. Houseplants don’t care to be moved, not to a new spot in the living space, but especially not to a new home. For several weeks they sat huddled in a collective group, near the living room window. I watered but left them to acclimatize. I felt like they were holding their breath. After a time the leaves seemed more relaxed.
I’ve been nearly three years in this location. My suite is on the ground floor and is very sheltered. That is great as I am protected from the heat but the windows are chilly in the dead of winter. I tend to keep the blinds closed for more warmth.
The plants are showing the strain. The one is still growing but some of the leaves are discoloured. The violets definitely are unhappy. One just finished blooming but it was a half-hearted attempt. The cactus is moody, sullen.
A friend told me the large adopted plant is likely a peace lily, a beauty but not a lily at all. It needs lots of indirect light, more moisture and misting. I should have investigated long before now what type of care was required.
Soon it will be time to give them a little more attention. I need to buy good soil and fertilizer in preparation. I will open the blinds all the way and put the pots closer to the source.
That is often the story of my life. I get the dullness of spirit when my focus is forced inward: busyness at work, concerns about family and the state of the world, and the length of my prayer list.
While it is so cold outside, I tend to draw myself inward and become cocooned in my own space. My excuse is that my life is far too busy and I need my downtime. True, but if I don’t give my time to others, I become stale, stunted and discoloured like my plants.
I enjoy my home. I have books, writing tools, yarn and my Bible all close at hand. My shelves hold a multitude of Gaither Gospel music DVDs to keep me company when I tire of home renovation programs and cooking shows. I nurture myself and I am reluctant to come out. I really don’t want to interact with the world. I am on downtime after all.
When I meet others at long-term care on mom’s ward or in the library, the Co-op or at church, I realize what opportunity I have to be a friend, a listening ear, someone who comes alongside another in need.
I have, in the last few years, begun writing to mom’s few remaining contacts: a cousin, her sister-in-law Aunt Grace, and her only living sibling, Aunt Dorothy. Cousin Beulah moved to Ontario decades ago. I don’t remember ever having met her. She, mom and Aunt Dorothy were close as children and kept in touch.
Beulah lost her second husband a few years ago and though her kids live nearby and assist her, she is lonely. Her brother just passed away unexpectedly, not quite a year after their older brother. Writing a friendly letter every few weeks is pleasant and easy for me. It means so much to her. I like the connection we have. We have the same roots, come from the same rich soil.
I love to walk outdoors. One afternoon this past week it was actually warm enough. I walked to my son’s home, to visit with the cat while they were away. We played and chatted and she revelled in the company. When I finally emerged, it was still sunny but deceptive. It was no longer warm. I had to hustle to get home. The wind was up and I was chilled through.
Today a friend came by and rooted me out. It was warmer again and we walked to a nearby spot for coffee. We also stopped at a local thrift store to snoop and chat.
Each time I sweep or scrape off my car, I tell myself “hold on. Spring’s coming.” Like my plants, I relax and continue to grow.
- Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
