We have a huge black wrought iron plant tree in the living room that has 12 hooks. Granted, it may seem odd to some, but when filled with hanging plants, it looks really cool in the bay window, and we've plans to fill out that area with a few more pots hanging from the ceiling and then a few larger types placed on the floor - to give it that 'jungle' feel (and to give the cats something else to tip over / shred / otherwise destroy). What we're going to do with all the plants when it's Christmas Tree Season we're not exactly sure - we just know we have to move them, since as any self-respecting home owner knows, 'Bay Window' is synonymous with 'Christmas Tree Window'. Perhaps for the month of December, all the plants will migrate to the bay window in the master bedroom, providing the gentle sound of rustling leaves at night (as they're ripped from their stems by those of the feline persuasion). So anyway, the point of mentioning all these green things was to lead into the fact that this week I repotted all the ones that have been hanging there. The exciting thing about this is that...oh, okay, so there is nothing exciting at all. My life has come to this - writing about repotting plants. Um. Where was I? Oh yes. Repotted plants. The whole downstairs smelled faintly of potting soil all day - and I mean this in a good way (not a 'euww, what's that stinky dirt smell!' way). One of the plants that was supposed to be of the hanging variety is not, in fact, the dangling draping sort of greenery. Instead, in complete defiance to the little picture on the plastic sliver that was stabbed into its pot when we bought it, it insists on growing straight up instead of out and over like a well-behaved hanging plant should. This one I took pity on and put it into a new, non-hanging pot, and placed this on top of the piano (which, along with providing a nifty new place for the cats to sprawl, also provides a nice smooth surface for placing a non-drip pot, since it's very near the window). I'm pondering whether putting it there was wise, however, because I keep finding little bits of potting soil around that pot. While it may be perfectly safe since it won't drip water all over my lovely new piano, the dirt is a bit annoying. The piano-lounging cats swear in complete innocence that they know nothing of how the dirt got out of the pot, but I suspect they know more than they're letting on.
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