Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Those Left Behind on Death Row
Do you ever wonder what goes on in your home when you’re away?
With its human inhabitants away on vacation, their humble apartment dozes in the hazy light that filters through half-closed blinds. The decorative pillows are arranged neatly on the sofa, all four chairs are pushed in under the dining room table, and all non-essential electrical appliances have been either turned off or unplugged. It is completely quiet, except for that odd snapping sound the TV makes now and then and some sort of commotion coming from the kitchen, where three houseplants, a drooping Peace Lilly, an Anthurium, whose red, heart-shaped flowers were now tinged with brown, and a stoic, unnaturally green Zamioculcas sit together up to their pot rims in a sinkfull of water. A fourth plant, a carnivorous Sarracenia with long, hollow tubes that are one-way death tunnels to any bug that wanders into them, sits off to the side in its own pot of water.
Peace Lilly: “Whose brilliant idea was this? We’re all gonna get root rot sitting here up to our stems in water like this! None of us are swamp plants, except for maybe Ol’ Bug Breath over there.”
Sarracenia: “You’re just jealous that KA likes me better than all of you. He always makes sure I get lots of water and even an occasional insect treat. The only reason he waters you is because he happens to be in the neighborhood with the watering can. You’d better be grateful for me and him, because if it were left up to Karen to water us, we’d all be leafless and lifeless by now.”
Anthurium: “I guess they thought this would keep us from drying out until they get back. At least it gets us off of Death Row for a week or two. Huh! Death Row. Almost every home in Sweden has a shelf in each window filled with happy, well cared for plants. But considering how it’s been for us here, ‘Death Row ‘ is a fitting name for our miserable little shelf, isn’t it? We get no fertilizer, hardly any water, and I don’t know about you guys, but I’m so root-bound I feel like one of those ladies we saw on the Discovery Channel who had their feet tied up to keep them from growing.”
Peace Lilly: “Last year they took us to the neighbor downstairs when they left for vacation. That place was nice—she had lots of lush, healthy houseplants. It was like going to a spa! We lived like royalty there. I actually thought I’d bloom again after that. Why didn’t they take us there this year?”
Anthurium: “Don’t you remember? She moved away. It’s just as well. That woman made me nervous.”
Peace Lilly: “Nervous? Why?”
Anthurium: “She’s a vegetarian! Don’t you know what vegetarians eat?”
Peace Lilly: “Yeah, I do. They eat vegetables, not house plants, you numbskull!”
Sarracenia: “I guess that’s why I got to go to Karen’s job to get looked after. I’m a carnivore and maybe it was against that lady’s principles to feed me meat.”
Anthurium: “Somehow, I don’t think she would consider that eating animal flesh and eating bugs is the same thing.”
Sarracenia: “Anyway, at Karen’s job there was this guy who fed me flies—mmmm! I can still taste those big, juicy. . .”
Peace Lilly: “Alright already! That’s enough! No one wants to hear about your 'fine dining experience' at Karen’s job. We need to think of a way to get out of this swamp!”
Anthurium: “You think it’s a swamp now, just wait another couple of weeks. The mildew and mold that’s gonna grow here will be the only flora left in this apartment. But what can we do?"
Peace Lilly: “I wish this stupid Zamioculcas would contribute some ideas here. All he does is sit there and do nothing. Just look at him. He’s a really weird green color. Never grows any new leaves—never loses any, either. And never says a word to us. Just sits there like a big, dumb—Oh my gosh, you don’t think he’s…artificial, do you?”
Anthurium: “Oh, come on! That’s absolutely creepy! Anyway, who’d be dumb enough to put an artificial plant in water like this?”
Peace Lilly and Sarracenia: “Karen.”
Anthurium: “Right. I could actually believe that. Neither she nor her husband seem to know much about plants. I’ve heard Karen say that her co-workers feel sorry for her office plants and come in and pluck dead leaves from them and even give them water sometimes.”
Peace Lilly: “What! She has plants at work, too?"
Sarracenia: “You bet your buds she does, I saw them when I was there. They didn’t look much better than we do. There was this pathetic little miniature palm tree with a twisted trunk, and a dried-up spider plant whose children were starving for water, too.
Anthurium: “Oh no! Not even the children get care? That’s outrageous! There ought to be a law…”
Peace Lilly: “Forget about them! There’s nothing we can do for them! We’ve got to think about our situation right now. Come on you guys—help me come up with some ideas.”
Sarracenia: “Hey! I know! We can wait 30 million years!
Peace Lilly: “30 million years? What are you talking about?”
Sarracenia: “By then at least one of us will have evolved legs and could go for help!”
Peace Lilly: “You idiot! Why don’t you go eat worms—No, I take that back, you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, you larvae-lover!”
Sarracenia: “Yes, as a matter of fact, I would just love to slowly suck the innards out of a big, fat worm. . .”
Peace Lilly: “Aw, here we go again! You’re making me sick! Even my aphids are ready to upchuck!”
Sarracenia: “You started it!”
Anthurium: “Stop it, you two! This bickering isn’t helping. Listen, maybe it’s hopeless. Maybe we should just end it all, like Amaryllis did a few Christmases ago, remember?
Peace Lilly: “Of course, who could forget? What a bright bulb she was! So statuesque, such a beautiful bloom. Then she got stuck on Death Row with us, but she wasn’t tough enough to take it. She broke down and jumped off the shelf one afternoon.”
Sarracenia: “I remember KA came home and found her broken body on the floor surrounded by her shattered pot. He told Karen that the pot had become unbalanced because Amaryllis had grown so quickly, but we know the truth, don’t we?”
Peace Lilly: “Yes. It was truly tragic. But I refuse to give up, and neither should any of you! Come on. . think!”
As the hapless houseplants try in vain to use their collective brainpower to come up with a way to escape their plight, a thought occurs to Anthurium:
“Hey—I think I know why we’re having such a hard time with this.”
Peace Lilly and Sarracenia: “Why’s that?”
Anthurium: “You know when someone is really, really stupid and people say: “He’s got the brains of a houseplant?”
Peace Lilly and Sarracenia: “Yeah. So?”
Anthurium: “Well, that’s the kind of brains we have! we’ve got the brains of a houseplant.”
Peace Lilly: “Dang! I guess that means we’re hosed, doesn’t it?”
Sarracenia: “Yeah. What a bummer!”
As the houseplants resign themselves to spending the next few weeks in the kitchen sink, Karen and KA enjoy their vacation, secure in the knowledge that all is as it should be at home: The decorative pillows are arranged neatly on the sofa, all four chairs are pushed in under the dining room table, and all non-essential electrical appliances have been either turned off or unplugged. And they don’t even think about their houseplants—after all, they have plenty of water, and even a little hazy light that filters through half-closed blinds.
With its human inhabitants away on vacation, their humble apartment dozes in the hazy light that filters through half-closed blinds. The decorative pillows are arranged neatly on the sofa, all four chairs are pushed in under the dining room table, and all non-essential electrical appliances have been either turned off or unplugged. It is completely quiet, except for that odd snapping sound the TV makes now and then and some sort of commotion coming from the kitchen, where three houseplants, a drooping Peace Lilly, an Anthurium, whose red, heart-shaped flowers were now tinged with brown, and a stoic, unnaturally green Zamioculcas sit together up to their pot rims in a sinkfull of water. A fourth plant, a carnivorous Sarracenia with long, hollow tubes that are one-way death tunnels to any bug that wanders into them, sits off to the side in its own pot of water.
Peace Lilly: “Whose brilliant idea was this? We’re all gonna get root rot sitting here up to our stems in water like this! None of us are swamp plants, except for maybe Ol’ Bug Breath over there.”
Sarracenia: “You’re just jealous that KA likes me better than all of you. He always makes sure I get lots of water and even an occasional insect treat. The only reason he waters you is because he happens to be in the neighborhood with the watering can. You’d better be grateful for me and him, because if it were left up to Karen to water us, we’d all be leafless and lifeless by now.”
Anthurium: “I guess they thought this would keep us from drying out until they get back. At least it gets us off of Death Row for a week or two. Huh! Death Row. Almost every home in Sweden has a shelf in each window filled with happy, well cared for plants. But considering how it’s been for us here, ‘Death Row ‘ is a fitting name for our miserable little shelf, isn’t it? We get no fertilizer, hardly any water, and I don’t know about you guys, but I’m so root-bound I feel like one of those ladies we saw on the Discovery Channel who had their feet tied up to keep them from growing.”
Peace Lilly: “Last year they took us to the neighbor downstairs when they left for vacation. That place was nice—she had lots of lush, healthy houseplants. It was like going to a spa! We lived like royalty there. I actually thought I’d bloom again after that. Why didn’t they take us there this year?”
Anthurium: “Don’t you remember? She moved away. It’s just as well. That woman made me nervous.”
Peace Lilly: “Nervous? Why?”
Anthurium: “She’s a vegetarian! Don’t you know what vegetarians eat?”
Peace Lilly: “Yeah, I do. They eat vegetables, not house plants, you numbskull!”
Sarracenia: “I guess that’s why I got to go to Karen’s job to get looked after. I’m a carnivore and maybe it was against that lady’s principles to feed me meat.”
Anthurium: “Somehow, I don’t think she would consider that eating animal flesh and eating bugs is the same thing.”
Sarracenia: “Anyway, at Karen’s job there was this guy who fed me flies—mmmm! I can still taste those big, juicy. . .”
Peace Lilly: “Alright already! That’s enough! No one wants to hear about your 'fine dining experience' at Karen’s job. We need to think of a way to get out of this swamp!”
Anthurium: “You think it’s a swamp now, just wait another couple of weeks. The mildew and mold that’s gonna grow here will be the only flora left in this apartment. But what can we do?"
Peace Lilly: “I wish this stupid Zamioculcas would contribute some ideas here. All he does is sit there and do nothing. Just look at him. He’s a really weird green color. Never grows any new leaves—never loses any, either. And never says a word to us. Just sits there like a big, dumb—Oh my gosh, you don’t think he’s…artificial, do you?”
Anthurium: “Oh, come on! That’s absolutely creepy! Anyway, who’d be dumb enough to put an artificial plant in water like this?”
Peace Lilly and Sarracenia: “Karen.”
Anthurium: “Right. I could actually believe that. Neither she nor her husband seem to know much about plants. I’ve heard Karen say that her co-workers feel sorry for her office plants and come in and pluck dead leaves from them and even give them water sometimes.”
Peace Lilly: “What! She has plants at work, too?"
Sarracenia: “You bet your buds she does, I saw them when I was there. They didn’t look much better than we do. There was this pathetic little miniature palm tree with a twisted trunk, and a dried-up spider plant whose children were starving for water, too.
Anthurium: “Oh no! Not even the children get care? That’s outrageous! There ought to be a law…”
Peace Lilly: “Forget about them! There’s nothing we can do for them! We’ve got to think about our situation right now. Come on you guys—help me come up with some ideas.”
Sarracenia: “Hey! I know! We can wait 30 million years!
Peace Lilly: “30 million years? What are you talking about?”
Sarracenia: “By then at least one of us will have evolved legs and could go for help!”
Peace Lilly: “You idiot! Why don’t you go eat worms—No, I take that back, you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, you larvae-lover!”
Sarracenia: “Yes, as a matter of fact, I would just love to slowly suck the innards out of a big, fat worm. . .”
Peace Lilly: “Aw, here we go again! You’re making me sick! Even my aphids are ready to upchuck!”
Sarracenia: “You started it!”
Anthurium: “Stop it, you two! This bickering isn’t helping. Listen, maybe it’s hopeless. Maybe we should just end it all, like Amaryllis did a few Christmases ago, remember?
Peace Lilly: “Of course, who could forget? What a bright bulb she was! So statuesque, such a beautiful bloom. Then she got stuck on Death Row with us, but she wasn’t tough enough to take it. She broke down and jumped off the shelf one afternoon.”
Sarracenia: “I remember KA came home and found her broken body on the floor surrounded by her shattered pot. He told Karen that the pot had become unbalanced because Amaryllis had grown so quickly, but we know the truth, don’t we?”
Peace Lilly: “Yes. It was truly tragic. But I refuse to give up, and neither should any of you! Come on. . think!”
As the hapless houseplants try in vain to use their collective brainpower to come up with a way to escape their plight, a thought occurs to Anthurium:
“Hey—I think I know why we’re having such a hard time with this.”
Peace Lilly and Sarracenia: “Why’s that?”
Anthurium: “You know when someone is really, really stupid and people say: “He’s got the brains of a houseplant?”
Peace Lilly and Sarracenia: “Yeah. So?”
Anthurium: “Well, that’s the kind of brains we have! we’ve got the brains of a houseplant.”
Peace Lilly: “Dang! I guess that means we’re hosed, doesn’t it?”
Sarracenia: “Yeah. What a bummer!”
As the houseplants resign themselves to spending the next few weeks in the kitchen sink, Karen and KA enjoy their vacation, secure in the knowledge that all is as it should be at home: The decorative pillows are arranged neatly on the sofa, all four chairs are pushed in under the dining room table, and all non-essential electrical appliances have been either turned off or unplugged. And they don’t even think about their houseplants—after all, they have plenty of water, and even a little hazy light that filters through half-closed blinds.
# posted by Karen @ 3:33 PM 
