It's mother's day here in the UK for the benefit of my US and Canadian visitors who might think I've gone a little crazy. Well, crazier than usual at any rate. My youngest daughter has presented me with a lovely brooch which I suspect she has fleeced from someone. I expect I'll hear the full story later. My middle daughter has made a lovely card. Boo and Shaggy, my eldest dd,have also given me a huge wicker sarcophagus full of plants. They love it and if you like plants I'm sure it's really beautiful.
This was a lovely thought but I hate houseplants. I'm not good with them, they seem to sense my animosity at having something else to care for and promptly shrivel up and die. This thing is huge- there must be at least twelve plants in it, one of which is a kind of dark purple leaved thing that reminds me of dead butterflies and gives me the creeps. I know I'm an ungrateful recipient but my punishment is that I have to care for this thing and look at it forever as it occupies my favourite table top and I worry about water stains on the mahoghany.
I appreciate the sentiment behind the gift but if any of you ever, at any point, and for whatever reason become possessed of a desire to buy me a houseplant - pease don't. The deaths of a hundred African violets are already on my concience.
I love cut flowers, especially daffodils which are my favourites. Fresh flowers are so cheerful and always lift the spirits. Guess I'll have to go buy my own.