Apartment: The Greening

. . . yeah. I read too much World of Darkness stuff, and am a huge geek to boot. (Please don't boot the geek! I'm really rather nice!) So the Noun: the Gerunding form is familiar, and promises hours upon hours of fun, either running or playing a game, simply reading the book, and in the case of some lines, mocking it mercilessly (Promethean: the Mocking).

So as you drive into California, there is a place where you have to stop and inform the nice gentlemen that you are not, in fact, a desperado verde, smuggling foreign plants, soil, insects, parasites, and diseases into the Golden State. "Yes, we have no bananas", you sing in your head, so as not to annoy the poor man, who is, after all, just doing his job, with something he no doubt gets all the time, to the point where it's in no way funny anymore. As such, I will not be bringing my houseplants with me, and since there is no native vegetation already in existence in the apartment, I'll have to step up and remedy the fact. Enter the Greening.



Preliminary research indicates that I may be capable of keeping orchids, and definately have the skills (and hopefully, the patience) for herbal topiary, forming lavender and rosemary into miniature orangeries, rocking the Versailles look.



No, not that one. This one. (Though I dig the quill pen accessory. Very Bas Bleu Barbie of la Princesse de Lamballe, I think.)



Though now I come to think of it, what's the point of living in California if one can't grow one's own Meyer lemons? Or limes?



I think the phrase "Whoa, there!" may be appropriate. Before I turn the place into a jungle. The cat would like it, as would the other beast, but humankind was not meant to live in a knee-high rainforest. It would be like a Lilliputian Amazon, dense undergrowth at the feet, then mostly clear until the canopy hits your lower thigh. Hm. Yes. Best to not.