Blathr Wayne Lorentz

We got a nice little Christmas present today. After a year of doing a whole lot of not very much, the camellia bush is blooming.

Guy looking at vines at the nursery: *Grunt*

Me: That one is nice and clingy if you want something that will climb brick.

Guy: You know about ivy?

Me: Just from my days at Harvard.

Guy: You went to Harvard?

Me: Lots. I used to deliver pizzas all over New Haven.

Guy: Walks away

Autumn is here. Time to replace all the plants in my garden that were killed by the Texas summer.

A neighbor I’ve never met before knocked on my door tonight and gave me this. She’s moving out, and found it in her refrigerator. She’s admired the garden on my balcony, and thought I might take care of it, since she’s leaving.

Over my wife’s objections, I have put it in a pot with some dirt, and we’ll see what happens when it has sunlight to work with, and not just the dim bulb of a refrigerator.

I can’t imagine what the rest of her refrigerator looks like.

I wonder what kind of leaf this is. To me, it looks like a philodendron, left in the corner office of a skyscraper after everyoneʼs switched to work-from-home.

I donʼt know if thereʼs too much water, or too much mulch on this hillock, but either way the result is a ʼshroom with a view!

It rained last night, so this morning, I can be an artsy-fartsy photographer in the garden.

This morning, one of the bushes in my garden decided to surprise me with yellow flowers.

Good bush.

I decided to see why the holes in my Swiss cheese plant are so much larger than they should be, and found this little guy curled up in the garden.

I guess I should squish him or spray him or something. But I think Iʼll just let him have the plant. I can grow another. And the world needs butterflies more than I need yet another plant. Plus, birds gotta eat, too!

I shall call him “Herman.”

If you have plants growing out of your hotelʼs downspouts, it might be time to hire a different maintenance crew.

Nature finds a way.

If I had an Instagram account, I could tell the supposedly Texas-style Howdy Kolache company that saguaro cacti donʼt grow in Texas. They only grow in southwestern Arizona, hundreds of miles away.

Iʼd tell them myself, but like many hobby companies these days, the only way to make contact is via the one random social media app of their choice.

Come on, Mr. Plant! Only 27 feet to go! Streeeeeetch!

Grass, flowers, turtle, rock. Everyoneʼs looking in the same direction. Except for me. Iʼm looking at them looking at something else. Must be quite a show.

Nature finds a way.

I spent the morning at the tree museum. I think the Houston Botanic Garden will be really nice in ten years or so. Today, it looks a lot like itʼs just barely gotten off the ground. Lots of saplings on bare earth. Bulldozers. Sections cordoned off for construction. Urban hillbillies riding quads over the exhibits.

I became a member last year, but probably wonʼt renew. The benches that were nice for sitting on and looking at nature have been removed. Itʼs doing concerts now, farming for restaurants, and charging unwarranted prices to walk through its Christmas lights display. Even members have to pay, which is very unusual amongst serious musea.

It has a good location, and lots of potential. I suspect that the financial pressures of COVID have caused its leadership to lose its way in the forest.

My tiny moss has made a tiny flower.

The spider plants Iʼm growing in tiki mugs on my kitchen wall have started to bloom.

Also, Iʼm growing spider plants in tiki mugs on my kitchen wall.

The Fred Segal stores in Las Vegas closed long ago, but the decorative M&M jars live on as makeshift plant nurseries.

Iʼd like to know who the person was who thought, “People like miniature saint statues, and people like plants. What if we made statues so you could grow plants out of the saintsʼ butts?”

I'm trying to grow lavender on my windowsill. It's been a month, and this is all I have to show for it.

Seeing a cactus skeleton is a good way to understand how much water they store.

The large black things are hare droppings. The tiny black dots that cover everything is called cryptobiotic soil: “cyanobacteria that cement the soil together. It provides nutrients for plants and seeds, and increases the soil topography which allows greater moisture absorption. This crust is only a few millimeters thick and is easily destroyed when walked on. Recovery can take between 7 and 250 years. Please donʼt walk on it.”

More succulents are turning red and green for the season in the Mary of the Missing Hands That Broke Off In A Sandstorm Memorial Garden and Lizard Hatchery.

The plants are turning red and green here at the Silver Pyramid Cactus Ranch and Pretty Good Cat Sanctuary.

My dry cleaner has an entire wall of holly. Hopefully the H.O.A. doesnʼt nail her for decorating for Christmas before Thanksgiving.

Annie is cute. Not smart. Just cute.

I hope my neighbors like flowers, because my flowers sure like the neighbors!

A week ago my mutant cacti stopped their weird growth spurt aimed at Area 51. I thought it was over. Then yesterday, they all turned around and started pointing down the road toward Fort Irwin, where the Army has a dozen “villages” identical to various Middle Eastern locations and populated with actual Middle Easterners in order to train the Special Forces.

Itʼs like a Spielberg movie on my mantle.

It doesn't matter where I move my plants in the house, they still do this crazy shit in the direction of Area 51.

Freaking UFOʼs.

If your house plants start doing this, you might live too close to Area 51.