Tuesday, Sept. 22, 2009
Et tu, hosta?
When I was venting about the pain which was the summer of '09 I neglected to mention the final indignity, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Forget the nose/hornet kerfuffle, the smashed finger, the endless rain, the terror of heights.
I was betrayed by a hosta. Yes, even my beloved hosta broke my heart. It's hard not to be bitter.
As my three loyal readers know, I have a thing about hostas. I love the shapes of their leaves, the lovely multicoloured patterns that many possess. The fact that they are one of the few plants that can live with zero care on my heavily shaded, extremely cold woodland property sealed the deal.
The spousal unit wasn't particularly attracted to hosta in the beginning. He was more about the brightly flowering annuals such as nasturtiums, marigolds and geraniums. Over the 30+ years we've lived here, I basically wore him down. He came to appreciate the interplay of variegated leaves, shade and dappled sunlight.
Up until fairly recently, the spousal unit had little interest in selecting the garden denizens. But as our gardens have grown in size and complexity, he's decided he wants to have a say in what's planted.
You can well imagine my horror.
Several years ago the spousal unit bought a T-Rex hosta, a plant that has ugly leaves. There is nothing particularly special about this plant except for the fact that it's supposed to get stupidly big.
Feel free to insert the appropriate male/size obsession joke at this juncture.
The T-Rex did, well, nothing for several years. It was a smallish plant with boring plain jane green leaves. When he bought it, the spousal unit insisted that I plant it by the porch we use to come into the house because he wanted to admire it.
A mature, sensitive, caring woman would have simply walked by the underperforming plant and delicately said nothing. I, of course, took every opportunity to mock the spousal unit's hosta. For several years.
Here's the thing: I know very well that some hostas spend a few years just, well, settling in. It's as if they have to gather up their strength for what is to come. Apparently the T-Rex is one of them.
One day a tiny nothing hosta about which I can make endless tasteless jokes, the next day a burgeoning monster. To give you a sense of the scale, the hostas around it have leaves that are 8 inches long. Aye yi yi.
Those pictures that show people standing by T-Rex plants that are nine feet across with leaves bigger than elephant ears? For years I pooh poohed this. Now I'm starting to think it might be possible.
The spousal unit could, of course, have been insufferable about this. Payback and all that. There could have been endless references to his mighty manly hosta.
Alas, he is a much, much better person than I, and has only once remarked upon how well T-Rex is now performing.
So to summarize: nose/hornet, smashed finger, endless rain, height fears, betrayal by my favourite plant in the world and the realization that my spousal unit is a much, much better person than I.
It's hard not to be bitter. It really, really is.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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