Blathr Wayne Lorentz

One of my local nurseries is selling cotton. Next year, Iʼm totally growing to grow my own pants.

Today at Home Depot, I was surprised to find that you can buy french fry seeds.

This morningʼs promenade in the garden revealed a sleeping bee and a baby pepper.

The Houston Botanic Garden isnʼt the worldʼs greatest botanic garden. Itʼs probably not even in the top 100. But itʼs less crowded than Hermann Park, and after a long series of misguided “improvements,” it's added a coffee cart, so I keep going.

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.

Today I got a good look at Tina, the lizard who lives in my garden.

She has blue eyes, like my wife.

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

Itʼs chilly today, so Tina is warming herself on a lightbulb in my garden.

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

There is a new visitor to the garden these days. Her name is Tina. Today I saw her leap from a pot onto a flower and eat a fly. Good lizard.

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.

A butterfly came to visit my garden tonight. Itʼs called a common buckeye, but to me itʼs most uncommon, because I donʼt get very many butterflies.

Flapper girls gotta flap.

Today I learned the local nursery sells Arabica plants. The sign says they grow to be eight feet tall, but have to be protected from the cold. Of course, the ceiling in my library is ten feet tall, so maybe...

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.”

Meet my friend, Lily. This is her pad.

It is said that in Houston, you can plant broomsticks and grow brooms. Itʼs a way of saying that the cityʼs location, geology, and weather are so well-suited to growing plants that if you canʼt grow something, the problem is you.

Thatʼs mostly true, but only if you get enough light. If youʼre in a north-facing apartment, youʼre just as hampered in your growing efforts as someone facing north in Chicago, or Los Angeles.

To grow plants in Houston, you need a lot of sun to counteract all of the excess moisture you have to deal with. That's why under the city's proud canopies of oak trees, the vegetation is usually sparse, or in varying states of decay. If you get dappled sunlight, you might have luck with foxtail ferns, but the important word there is still ”luck.”

A good example is at Houston City Hall, where the mighty oaks spread their branches, bogarting the sunlight and leaving everything underneath to rot. It all looks really bad. But in the sunny spots, you can see the landscapers are doing a great job with the flowers.

There are parts of Houston that are really ugly. But there are also parts that are really pretty, and very often those are places where the city has made an effort to plant flowers.

I wandered through Main Street Square in the rain today, and the flowers are in full bloom.

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.

I woke up to a jumping spider in my garden. I guess theyʼre called that because of the way people jump when they run across one first thing in the morning.

My tiny moss has made a tiny flower.

The two sunflowers Iʼm trying to grow in three-inch terra cotta pots have gone from silly to ludicrous. Oneʼs about four feet tall, the other about three-and-a-half. The seed packet said theyʼd grow to between 12 and 20 feet tall. Theyʼd better get a wiggle on if they want to reach that height before I move.

A few weeks ago, one of Darcieʼs fleaBay packages arrived with a packet of sunflower seeds in it. So I stuck one in the lavender pot on my desk.

The packet says it should grow between eight and 12 feet tall. What could possibly go wrong?

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.

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.

I wish I could decorate the cacti in my garden like this, but I just donʼt have the gloves for it.

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.