youngraven: (Default)
That title should surely be catchier if I'd been madly posting away beforehand. Ah well, I've got people on my friends list who joyfully write in my stead when I can't be arsed to do. Which works out to be 364 days out of most years.


I've got plants. I do. More of them. Well, not as many as I could have had, had I not had two fatalities. I was too embarrassed to report about the deaths when they happened. One of them was the dieffenbachia, which never seemed to get on with me. I'd put that one out on the balcony, 'cos I did think it really wanted to be there. It shuffled off the mortal. Clearly I was wrong. The other was My Plant. The first one. The one who'd lived in the teapot-shaped thingummy till I transplanted it to a larger pot. Something went horribly wrong, and it was well too far gone by the time I noticed it. Now then, its child is still leafing away in the teapot thingummy, but I'm not so daft as to believe it's the Same Plant.

Even though it's part of the Same Plant.

Gnaaaaa. Getting on with it.

So. Yesterday before seisiún, I hied me hence to the DIY, and came out of it laden with greenery. And flowery. And a big red pot for a dragon tree that I'd acquired at Ikea the day before. I wonder whether it'll sprout real, live dragons. I've never been keen on dragons, actually. I'll have to give them over to the neighbour's dog.

Do to an irritating circumstance at the pub, we all thought better of the seisiún, so I drove back to the flat to make use of what daylight remained. As it worked out, I potted my new plants out on the balcony in the midst of a rainstorm, which was interesting. And I spilt dirt everywhere, which was vexing, as I'm only just after sweeping up many dead leaves.

For my efforts, I've a rosemary in the pot where the dieffenbachia used to live; some marigolds in My Plant's vacated pot; various and sundry leafy, flowery things in a black planter (which may/n't be too heavy for the railing from which it's meant to hang); a dragon tree in a large red pot; and...some strawberries that I've yet to plant.

So, wouldn't you know that it snowed a wee bit today. Never enough to stick, but still - I'm x-ing my digits.
youngraven: (Plants)
Dear Plant,

You know, I don't understand you. You whinge and moan about the lack of plant-friendly light in my office, and yet when I provide you with the proper sort of light, you complain and wriggle away from it. What is it that you're wanting from me, seriously? You've got a proper day now - with a night time and all. Do the other plants bother you? Do you feel you need the counter all to yourself?

Sure jeez,
youngraven: (Plants)
Sadly, I report that my English ivy is very likely dead. I've no idea what eventually brought it to its end. The soil is moist, yet the leaves are crispy, and many of them are now on the floor.

What do you do, eh?

I need a plant light.

This should say something of me: I'm already eyeing the pot for another plant. I've got a POTHOS!11!!11raaarrr! which has far outstripped its pot. It's been complaining about the close quarters for quite a while now. It'll fill the ivy's pot well, and its offspring (I inadvertently broke off a vine, and I've since rooted it) will be moved into its previous pot.

Such is life.
youngraven: (Plants)
youngraven: (Plants)
Why is it - why is it - that my plant can be falling over and gasping for water, and yet when I do water it (and I never allow it to sit about thinking in drained out water, ah no) within a day it's sporting yellow leaves?

I mean, come on - it isn't as though I'm flooding the bloody thing out. Seriously. I am not doing this thing - and yet. It's vexing. Vex.Ing. Today, I touched a gerbera daisy on a work mate's desk. One of the flowers has got a double stem and two heads (it's a conjoined flower - it's odd looking), and I was showing it to somebody else (who didn't think it real at all). After I walked away, I honestly thought to myself 'sure, I hope I've not killed it by touching it'. That goes a bit far.

I think they do it to spite me, plants.
youngraven: (Plants)
Found sellotaped to my monitor this morning:

Dear Monkey-Based Lifeform,

I hate my pot. Fix it.



I suppose this means a repotting is in order. Wish me luck.
youngraven: (Plants)
Sure, you'll never believe this one - and to be quite honest, I don't quite believe it myself, but there it is. Right, so I was calmly reaching across my desk to fetch something that had fallen down into the the depress where I've got all of my various cables tucked away, when my hand lightly brushed my purple oxalis. I've talked about this plant before - it's the one that seems to fancy itself a bit of an explorer (meaning it's been shooting tendrils hither and yon across my desk).

It's been looking a bit off (mostly its leaves had gone a bit grey) of recent - and I'd blamed that on me being away for a handful of days and thus unable to properly mind it. It happens - what do you do? Only - and I do admit that I'm still a bit startled by the entire thing - as my hand passed its leaves, well... You'll never believe it. I know you'll not do, and Christ do I ever feel the moron in saying it, but better out than in? It bit me.

My plant bit me. I know! Is that not the maddest (is that a word) thing ever? I mean, I'm looking down at its odd little teeth marks in my skin as I type this. I think I'll have to have it looked at - the wound, I mean. 'Cos...well, I've never been bitten by a plant before, and I'm not entirely certain what to expect, and I think it's made me a bit pale.

Hrm. I don't know what to make of it. The plant isn't doing anything now. Janey. I think I could do with a lie down. I've got the oddest feeling in my


youngraven: (Plants)
Have a look at this, please. )
youngraven: (Plants)
My daffodils will not be offering any blossoms at all this year. For some curious reason, the buds have withered on their stalks. With the odd winter, I was surprised to see their leaves at all, so I suppose this means I should take heart that they aren't thoroughly dead. It's a shame, really. I'd planned to pluck one or two of them for a vase I keep in the dining room.

I'll have to settle for the irises (which are now feral and after strangling the life out of the holly hedges) and the roses (although a bit later in the year, I think). The irises have got blossoms, though God knows when they'll open. They're purple ones, our irises. For the most part, I leave them alone. They seem to prefer it that way.
youngraven: (Plants)
Yesterday, as I was working and surreptitiously chatting with my sister, my plant moved. Actually, it rather (albeit briefly) shook itself vigourously - as though waking from a bad dream.

It startled me a bit, but then I remembered that I'd watered it that morning - and perhaps it was shaking a bit of water from its leaves. Only plants don't do that, do they? No, plants only move when acted upon by some sort of outside force. Alright, sure they move when their new leaves open, and a vine creeping along the ground could be considered movement. Plants don't, in still air, shake themselves much as a dog would do after a splash in a puddle.

It isn't doing anything now. Its leaves occasionally bob a bit when an air current passes over them, but beyond that, it's sitting in its pot and collecting dust - innocently one might say.

Only I don't trust it anymore. No, not a bit.


Jan. 11th, 2007 02:32 pm
youngraven: (Plants)
First, I offer the latest Harry Potter meme:

Politely hidden behind a cut, of course. )

If the world turned on its ear somehow, and I found myself living in that universe, I'd not at all be troubled by ending up as a barkeep. I was especially amused by the herbology bit. As I told my sister this morning - 'wish me luck, I've just watered my plant'. This plant...well, in all honesty, it doesn't look wretched (since I stripped it of all of the brown and withered leaves, at any rate), but to be sure it doesn't look grand, either. If it could speak, it might well sigh 'I've lost the will to live'. Have I mentioned how lush and verdant it was when I bought it? Sure, of course I've done.


Dec. 15th, 2006 11:58 am
youngraven: (Plants)
So, how many people have been wondering how my plants are going? Slightly less than one half of one of you (sure, that must be awkward)...alright, that part will soon be able to put its burning curiosity to rest.

I've got (yes, even still) four plants. Three of them, it would appear, would soon be rid of me if they could pull themselves out of their pots and scarper. It's odd, really, I used to have a Way with plants. Now, my thumb is as black as the devil's soul. Plants fear me. In my own defence, one of my plants is a poinsettia. My mother (who herself has got a Way with plants) assures me that poinsettias are disagreeable and fonder of dying than living. So, perhaps it's that this particular one has been at the end of its natural life for the whole of the time I've had it, and I'm cruelly forcing it to exist.

Sure, it's a mystery.

The dieffenbachia - well, its first impression of me was 'I'm drowning - have done with the water', which I didn't realise, because nowhere on the little card that came stuck in the soil did it say 'this plant prefers arid conditions'. So I'd been labouring under the false assumption that plants fancy water, please. Yesterday, I fed it a spike. We'll see how well that goes over. At the moment, it's hovering between drooping and perky, although it's mostly drooping.

This was supposed to be an unkillable plant.

Lately, my ivy's been troubling me. Somehow, it wandered away from my attention, and when I had a look at it Monday, it looked like shite. This is yet another plant that I shouldn't be able to reduce to a sad and wilted mess, and yet. There 'tis. I fed it a spike as well yesterday, and this morning, I gave it a bit more water. It does appear to have a stalk that I'd not noticed before, but it's entirely possible that it's been there all this while, and I'm simply more gormless than I'd realised. Here's to hoping it's the former.

I am fond of my plants, no honest, and sure I'd rather have them living than otherwise.

The devil's ivy...I don't know what to make of it. I've rigged it a plant shelf (after a fashion) and I've removed it from my desk to said shelf. The shelf is out of direct light, so one would think that the bloody thing would shrivel up in protest. However, because it's a contrary wee bastard, it's thriving. Not only is it unveilling a new leaf at least every week, it's presented me with an entirely new stalk - and the leaves on the new stalk are larger and broader than the ones on the previous stalk. Hrm...well, most of them are. But no matter the size, right? 'Cos it's lush and green and lovely, and it flummoxes me as to why its mates aren't the same.

Well, besides that they're all different sorts of plant.

The dieffenbachia is a third of the size that it was when I bought it. Humbling, really.


Aug. 28th, 2006 02:04 pm
youngraven: (och)
Begun on 8 aug

Alright, so when I say I've got feckall to say for myself, what I mean is I've been dreadfully busy and haven't been able to put it all into words. You know, lest you think I'm lounging about on my porch watching my grass die (which in this cursed drought, actually doesn't take a great deal of my time). It’s been raining for the past day and a half

So, for lack of anything else to say at the moment, let's have a look at my plants, shall we? At present, they number four (yes, I've got a fourth plant since last I spoke of them - it's some sort of ivy).

The devil’s ivy, my first plant, has got a new shelf upon which to reside. It’s currently tangled up in the fairy lights that I’ve got strung under my cupboards. I’d meant to remove them after last holiday season, only I never did. Time will tell whether my plant finds this an agreeable shelf or otherwise. The ambient light is blocked a bit.

The poinsettia, I’ve discovered, I’ve been grossly over-watering. It’s a bit sparse at the moment, but I’ve vowed to ignore it back to lushness. Ignore it back to lushness - funny ould world, innit?

I do think it would rather have a bit more light, so perhaps I’ll move it out of the...well, it isn’t exactly shade is it? Shade implies outdoors. Shadow? Bit of dark. There, that will do, I’ll move it away from its Bit of Dark.

The newest plant is, as aforementioned, some sort of ivy. It has got many tendrils sporting many ivy-shaped leaves. It lives atop my cupboards because (at the moment, at least) it’s too bushy to live anyplace else. I suppose only time will tell whether it thrives or withers to a crisp. The person who gifted me said plant is a grower of orchids. She’s got them on a table by the window nearest her office. That anybody can grow orchids in an office is astonishing to me. Sure, I couldn’t do it. So, needless to say, this ivy is used to a bit of pampering. I hope it isn’t afraid of heights (go on, remind me that it’s a plant, do).

The I was told it’s unkillable, but this is a wildly contrary plant. When it was taken to plant hospital (yes, another one – sigh), I was told that I’d been watering it too frequently. I’ve now got a metre to tell me when to water my plant. I checked the dieffenbachia before I quit the office Friday, and it was completely dry. So I watered it, waited for the water to have drained into the tray beneath the pot, and fed that water to another plant. I didn’t pour litres of water over the thing, I was sparing – mindful of what my metre had told me.

So, do you know what I found when I arrived to the office today? A grumpy plant with a collexion of drooping, yellow leaves. I’m beginning to think that perhaps I shouldn’t water the bloody thing at all.

And the metre still tells me it’s dry as a bone.
youngraven: (Nicked?)
I composed this entry in my mind days ago when it was still relevant. Because it created such a windstorm in my tiny life, I even created an icon to accompany it. So, here's the story - grab a packet of crisps and...something else. Whatsoever suits your fancy; I can't see you, thus I don't much care.

Monday morning, I'd brought oatmeal/porridge/glop to the office for breakfast [insert acknowledgement that eating at one's desk is a habit best broken]. I had prepared it, carried it back to my desk, and was quite eager to tuck in when something crossed my mind (anybody else now humming 'Rocky Road to Dublin'? Argh).

Where is my spoon?

Anybody who knows me at all well knows that I don't willingly create a great deal of rubbish. I recycle almost everything that I can do, and I'm not a great proponent of things that are tossed away. Since plastic flatware falls with a resounding crash into the Things That Are Tossed Away category, I make a point not to use it.

I'm really quite obssessive about it. [ profile] chimerahouse and [ profile] sylphslider can tell you stories about how I combed Chinatown in search of a pair of chopsticks and a box to put them in so that I could have some for the office. I've got a variety of beakers (one that I dropped and thus now contains paper-clips), a tiny plate, a tumbler for water, and (of course) a knife, fork, and spoon.

Normally, all of this resides in my desk near to the packets of soy sauce and spicy mustard that I've been hoarding for nigh unto two years. However, there are times in which I carelessly leave something (say, a spoon) on my desk. So, at any rate, Monday morning arrives - porridge in hand - and I can't find my spoon.

I mean, I looked everywhere for it. Thrice in my desk, four times under the many stacks of paper on my desk, twice beneath my keyboard. No spoon.

Bah. I took an exception and used a plastic spoon, deciding that the world wouldn't end over my one (begrudgingly committed) trespass.

So, Tuesday arrives - porridge in hand - and...go on, have a guess. Where is my spoon? Somebody nicked my spoon - s/he left the fork... That's foolish - why take the spoon and leave the fork? Surely somebody who needs a spoon enough to abscond with it also needs a fork. Right? Colour me perturbed indeed. I mean, I'd always said 'ah, I don't care if they go missing'...but...oh, never mind.

Wednesday arrives - this time, the porridge stays home. I'm resigned to a life without a spoon. Or at the very least a life without that spoon. I mean, it isn't as though we're mates or it was made of gold or anything. So, down I sit when something else crosses my mind, and I look at my plant. And it looks at me. And I look at it a bit closer. It...isn't actually looking at me. It's a plant. I know this. Put the straitjacket away. I'll tell you when I need it.

After a few more moments considering my plant, I arrive at a conclusion: my plant had taken my spoon. To what end, I'll never know, but I suspect it was scheming to dig one of the other plants out of its pot and move in. See? It's raising a newly sprouted leaf at me as if to say 'eff off'.

And...I haven't got a closing statement...but I do know where my spoon is. I think.
youngraven: (bah)
No holiday for me, today (which isn't surprising, really).

Today, I was given the task of re-creating economic charts in magazines and newspapers. This is, of course, in violation of copyright law; however, when any of us attempt to explain this to Those in Power, their eyes glaze over and their mouths hang open. Since I am but an humble worker bee with comparatively little education, it simply can't be that Those in Power do not understand my explanations. No, the more plausible theory is that they simply don't want to hear it. They leap into little rooms in their minds and shut the doors fast. This way, when the Copyright Tigers come to rend somebody limb from limb, they can truthfully stammer 'I didn't know' and point to the aforementioned humble worker bees. could be the buzzing.

Seriously, I should have thought that 'borrowing' another organisation's intellectual property might have been considered a breach of ethics. There's been a lot of talk about ethics here. Ah well. I cited the charts (when I could find a source); here's to hoping they are only for internal use.

And now...for a plant update. The sorry remains of what had been two leaves have shrivelled up and fallen off. Nonetheless, the leaf buds persist. I think perhaps now I could give it a bit of water. Snrk. This plant is much like my life at the moment - very nearly a Sisyphean task, yet I carry on with it. Only time will tell, eh?

You'll pardon me, my mood's a bit foul. least I've got mando strings now. And with strings I can make sounds.
youngraven: (Default)
The urge to water my plant is almost unbearable. I know I've been told to leave it alone, but I'm going to water it - I can feel it. Plants need water. I've got water. Therefore, I should water my plant. The leaf buds are still there. They've not turned cancerous or anything. All will be well, I believe, if I can stop myself freaking out and watering it before it wants watering.

But when does it want watering? It's a plant - it doesn't speak English (or German or Irish or Spanish - at least I know the words for water - if it spoken any of those languages and asked me for water, there's a goodly chance it would get it). Normally, when a plant wants watering, it wilts because it's conserving what little energy it's got. This plant hasn't got leaves - it's got buds. Buds don't wilt - they turn brown and crunchy. In other words, they cease.

I suppose I could shove a pencil down into the soil...if it comes out wet, then the plant doesn't want watering. I tried that yesterday (was it?); for my efforts, I got a pencil with bits of dirt on. The top layer looks dry. I'm going to dig about in it. I should go and fetch a spoon. Actually, a folding bone will do.

The soil is a wee bit damp. I'd hardly call it wet (but then, it isn't as though I dug down to the bottom of the pot). water or not to water. I don't suppose I have to pour a great deal of water over it...

Oh, why can't you behave like my other plants!? They don't mind being watered in the least - na, in fact they welcome it. Jesus, a plant refusing water is a bit like a tortoise refusing oxygen. Sort of thing.

Yes, and what of those other plants? What, indeed. The poinsettia's swopped most of its brown-spotted leaves for lush, pale green ones, and the devil's ivy - it needs a shelf of its own. It's grown a tendril that's nearly two-foot long. It had been creeping up on the poinsettia (as if to strangle it - they're competitive, my plants), but lately it's shown more interest in my outbox. It's actually somewhat eerie. I've moved the tendril a handful of times, and yet I always find it someplace else. I wonder what my plant gets up to when I'm not here. On the other hand, perhaps I'd rather not know. I prefer not to think of it as something that might eat me.


youngraven: (Default)

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