05.07.2004 - 10:30 a.m.

A coworker pokes her head into my office: �Hey, you want a peace plant?�

Usually, she has an Andes mint or something. The words �peace plant� do not compute. �A what huh?� I ask, articulately.

�A peace plant,� she answers. (Or, alternatively, "A piece plant," she answers. Not sure which.) Seeing my skeptical look, she adds, �It thrives on neglect.�

"Thrives?" I echo. I picture my dead mini rose, my failing African violets, and the jade plant that lives only at the mercy of my roommate. Then I picture my aloes. My aloes are actually doing well--they thrive on neglect. �Sure, I�ll take it,� I answer.

A peace (piece) plant is a cute collection of tall stems, each topped with a single, dark green leaf. She gave it to me on a Thursday. I forgot to take it home. The next morning, I opened my office to see that all of the leaves were wilting while several of the stems had fallen to lean against the edge of the pot. �Come on now, I am neglecting you,� I admonished it.

I decided maybe it needed some basic care before the neglect, so I took it into a nearby classroom that gets light, and gave it some water. I did not forget about it when five o�clock rolled around.

All of the stems were droopy by then. It looked like a recently-sprayed weed in a driveway. So I took it home, where I have mostly ignored it for a week. It has neither improved nor finished dying.

It is demonstrably not thriving on neglect.

Ironically, my boss (in his infinite wisdom) has me plantsitting a bromeliad for two weeks. �Prefers medium sunlight and consistent soil moisture,� the label says. So far, I�ve forgotten about it entirely and left it in a dark office for thirty-six hours.

We�ll see how it does.

-stonebridge

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