Tuesday, April 26, 2005

A recent trip to the ever-amazing daughter's favorite store, IKEA-Philly ended up with a Camry jampacked with various kanick-kanacks. The trunk was tied down. One backseat was in the horizontal position to allow a box from the trunk to snake its way to the passenger seating area. Another box was propped in the front passenger's seat, leaning back toward the rear. The ever-loving wife's patience was being tried tremendously as she bent under the box, hunkered in the back seat. Oh the price we pay for feng shui.

One of the smaller purchases was a personal one, a Dragon Tree. Well, really more like a Dragon Shrub, or better put, a Dragon Plant. It sits on my desk, right next to a computer speaker. I want to make sure it's soothed by the invigorating sounds of office jazz. Office jazz is not smooth jazz. Office jazz is a non-orchestra, heavy on piano and saxophone, no vocals jazz. It can be heard at low volume, but it lacks the David Sanborn-ish sound quality. No wailing clarinet nor soprano saxes. Mainly tenor sax, with a rare alto here and there.

My office can best be described as being bare of any bare spots. If there's a shelf, it's packed. If there's a chair, reports, books, or printouts are stacked precipitously. You would think with the capacity of PC's these days, I woudln't need to see and touch so much paper. But, alas, I'm surrounded by dead trees. Folks that would visit tended to scrunch in their shoulders for fear of triggering a paper pile into an avalanche. They would keep one eye on the door, judging that they weren't far enough into my office to be able to make leap out. Some folks would just loiter at my door, preferring to keep conversation at a distance; they didn't want to pull a muscle in case of a necessary sudden movement.

(Professor of Dance Jessica Fogel of the University of Michigan presenting a new work, "Dragon Tree, Waterfall, Tea")
The introduction of the Dragon Plant into my office was such a strange event, for me. Throwing caution (and their arms) to the wind, people would come in to see and to touch the tree. Was it the oddity of seeing a live thing in my office? Was the touch of natural green it offered in the sea of white and brown? They would even look at the plant and then at me, working on how to pose that question that eventually all of them asked.
"So, how long before you kill it?"

The responsibility of a living thing in my room is heavy on my shoulders. Plan B is already in place. Next Saturday, I'll have to trek up to Philly to buy some of my little plant's brothers. Just in case, the now resident Dragon bites the dust. Morde sorghum.
If I lay off the water and don't empty my coffee grounds into the tree pot, The Dragon'll have a chance. Who knows, in a couple of years I may be able to send an invite to Professor Fogel to dance in my tree. I'll even move out some of the paper mountains and clear the floor of fallen binders.

The Dragon's looking at me. Thank God, it can't speak.

IKEA - that European store where marriages are put to the refiner's fire! Yours must be particularly strong, since it now has your progeny enlisted, too.
You need this little table for the plant:

Or, perhaps a companion Phoenix palm:

Good Luck, Mr. GreenJeans!
Mr. WP: My ever-loving wife and always-amazing daughter know the tricks. Feed me with the huge breakfasts at IKEA (which are FREE if you buy over $25 of stuff..this is never a problem. I'm happy if we struggle out having spent below $300) and then I'm putty in their hands. I spend the majority of my time standing and bent over or collapsed in a SNILLE chair, laughing at the names.

Ms. Pattie: Wow! That's some table. Unfortunately, it would dwarf my little Dragon plant and therefore draw all attention away from it and its fragile ego. A surefire way for an early death.
Yhe companion Phoenix palm would be outstanding. Aside from providing a jolt of oxygen in my room, it would prevent visitors/interruptions. My work flow would be greatly sped up.
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