Some women become crazy cat ladies, I told my sister. I’m becoming a crazy plant lady.

It all started, truthfully, after my Grandma passed away. She had a lemon tree in her back yard which was her pride and joy, and I realized I needed one, too.

So I got a beautiful Meyer lemon. It gave me many, many lemons this year. I still need to get a real pot and replant it.

When my Mom passed away this last December, some kind church friend brought over food, including some little bitty avocados with–get this–edible skin. (The magic Google has told me these are Mexicola avocados.) Naturally, I saved the seeds. They are currently sprouting on my kitchen counter.

But oh, my pride and joy came home from the nursery with me just before Christmas, and I loved him from the moment I claimed him as my own.

His name is Edgar. He’s very affable. If I don’t let him out to play in the sun he’ll guilt me into it by watching mournfully from the window.

I swear he’s gotten bigger in the week since I got him.

I think he likes it here.

The cyclamen from the funeral is not so sure she’s happy. We’re going to have to sit down together soon and talk about whether we have compatible goals. She might benefit from a chat with my old, wise Heartleaf Philodendron…

as long as she ignores the other Heartleaf Philodendron slowly dying in the fish vase across the room.

(Between you and me, I think he hasn’t gotten over the experience of living in a horrible cave-like apartment, but that was five years ago! I say it’s time to stop holding grudges.)

So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go record Edgar’s growth so I can add it to the pictures in his baby book, schedule a Philodendron-therapy appointment for the cyclamen, meet the lemon tree for breakfast, and plan my tough-love talk for the sulking fish plant.

It’s probably best I don’t have real children.