Nothing inspires more jealousy in me than a content, sedate, oxygen-gushing houseplant. I have had very few in my life. Mostly, I think, this is because I'm not very good about caring for them; I don't water regularly and there aren't a lot of sunny windows for them to bask in. But as the air grows cooler, I find myself becoming more of a kind and attentive mother. Our current roster is below, listed from most to least hardy:

Coleus (no scientific name; cutting was a gift from a friend) This thing WILL. NOT. DIE. - a great thing for an absentee owner like me! We've had it for about five years. The leaves are deep purple and fuschia in the summer, when it lives on the front porch; they fade to mostly-green in the winter, when we move it indoors. I've successfully started plants for friends by breaking off a stem and sticking it in some soil -- it's very reproduction-friendly. Sorry that I can't tell you the exact type, but I'd be glad to send you a cutting!

Purple Oxalis (Oxalis regnelli) Don't let the photo deceive you; I really tried hard to kill this one. I completely forgot about it for the first couple of months of the semester, and when I finally went to water it, there were only two sad spindly stems remaining. However, it has rebounded quickly in the Plant Hospital (the sunny basement window that seems to help just about any plant recover from neglect). The deep purple leaves are lovely, and you can see one lone flower starting to emerge from the center; they're light purple with long, sloping stems and delicate petals.

The cool thing about Oxalis is that they close up at night, folding neatly into what look like restful butterflies. In the morning, their leaves are spread out again, ready for more photosynthesis. They'd be a good plant for children to enjoy, as long as they're old enough not to put it in their mouths (oxalates are a mild toxin).

Primrose (I think? Maybe? Lost the tag) This was a hostess gift, and it's still here eighteen months after the guest departed! I'm vexed with myself for losing the tag, as it's a really lovely plant that blooms every few months or so (and more if I remember to deadhead). The flowers are a pretty bright pink, a sight for sore eyes in the drab brown days of winter.

Burgundy Ficus (Ficus Elastical Decora "Burgundy") I keep thinking this ficus is about to kick it, and then I see the magical burgundy spikes that signal the forming of a new leaf. There have never been more than 8 or 10 on the plant, but it stays healthy-looking all year (except when the temperature is too cool, as on the shady side of the house.)

Jade Plant (Crassula ovata) I was so excited to finally get my own jade plant, the one I had heard would survive a nuclear holocaust. However, as evidenced by this photo, I have done something terribly wrong. I know overwatering is a danger, so I've resisted until the soil is bone dry several inches down, then given it a thorough soaking until the next time; but somehow the leaves always seem to be dropping off, and the stems slump in defeat. A real blow to my gardener's pride!

So, there's the motley crew we're hosting here. What are your favorite houseplants? And do you have any tips for, um, making sure they don't die?

In Alaska's darkest season, it's helpful to look forward to longer days of light, and of colorful winter blooms. Growing indoor flowers from winter bulbs is one common way to do just that. It seems fitting, too, as many bulbs need periods of dark, light - and cold - in order to bloom.

The manager of a local garden supply store shared her strategy for starting one or two bulbs each week for blooms that last throughout the winter. That seemed like a great idea at the time, until I saw the price of the bulbs - around $10 each. For that price, I could buy a small bouquet each week, but of course I wouldn't get the pleasure of planting and nurturing my bulb.



So I started with just one Amaryllis kit that came with:

• the bulb (larger than expected)


• one brick of growing "medium" (or "mystery dirt")


• green pot (ugly enough to justify buying a different one)


• instructions (easy, and in English!)

The planting process was very straightforward and easy to do with the kids. Unwrap the brick, add 4 cups of water, wait for it to soak in, and plant the bulb. In 6 to 8 weeks we should be seeing some color. The instructions also indicate that "this plant will bloom for many years." I just need to allow it to go dormant in summer, either inside or outside the house. If this actually works, I can see how a person could build a nice little collection over the years in order to perpetuate that constant-blooming cycle through winter.


The floating "growing medium," which looks kind of like a hamburger at this stage.


The planted bulb. Now, to keep it warm, moist, and out of direct sunlight.

Of course, this is bulb-basics 101. I understand that there are wonderful things that can be done with freezing and forcing bulbs to grow. Do you have any suggestions or comments on bulb growing as a winter gardening activity? What's your favorite or most consistently successful bulb?

We have a cat. Maia, named for Zeus' consort and the mother of Hermes. (I was taking Greek Lit the semester that Rob adopted her.) She's a Siamese, which means she is even more disdainful than most cats; in fact, I often say (usually through clenched teeth) that she's the most cat-like of any cat I've ever owned. Her favorite stunt is to enter a room where humans are present, position herself just out of arms' reach, and sit down - facing away from said humans. There is no way to say more clearly, "I am displeased." She is allllll cat.

But she gives us plenty of non-aggravating moments, too. Last year, we trained her to jump through a hula hoop for a kitty treat, a feat she repeated for several friends and family members. She's great company when you're tired of talking to people, as our jobs require that we do all day long; she does meow a lot, but you're free to interpret her speech however you like. And, characteristic of her breed, she is fiercely affectionate towards Rob and me, often waking us in the night with a frenzy of kneading paws and loud purring.

So yes, I am devoted to her in a way that some would consider unhealthy. (We don't have kids. Maybe that helps put all of this in perspective.) But I didn't realized how attached I was until several weeks ago, when we began noticing that she was losing weight. She lost two pounds in about a month's time, a fourth of her body weight; she basically stopped eating, period. Visits to the vet showed she had some kind of an infection, and finally it was traced to kidney disease. Her kidneys were failing, we were told, and she would always be sick, and eventually she would die.

It had been a rough month already; we'd switched food three or four times, tried wet food, tuna, yogurt, all her people-food favorites, in an effort to tempt her. We'd also been giving her pills three times a day. Have you ever tried to give a cat a pill ONE time a day? Just imagine trying to pry open a live oyster with your bare hands. Only inside the oyster, instead of squishy, briny yumminess, there are rows of sharp teeth. And the oyster is flailing around and trying to slice you in half with its claws. Okay, maybe this analogy isn't so relevant, but you get the idea. It took both of us, and often there were tears and/or colorful invocations as we tried to get her to cooperate for her own good.

So after all that, the doctor told me she had kidney disease, and he recommended subcutaneous injections to make sure she was properly hydrated. Subcutaneous injections meaning, putting a needle in the cat's back and holding it there for several minutes while trying to keep most of your skin and clothing intact? I asked. No, actually, I didn't really ask that. I was trying to hide the fact that I was already getting choked up, thinking that this was the beginning of the end. He was telling me to make an appointment with an internist, who could do an ultrasound and find out if there were any other possible causes for the weight loss; I called and booked the appointment, which was $500 just to walk in the door. Then I laid down on the bed with Maia, who appeared blissfully oblivious, and sobbed.

After feeling thoroughly sorry for myself all afternoon, I thought, at least I should do what I can to make her happy while she's with us. Our indoor cat's ultimate goal in life is to spend as much time outside as possible, so I put her leash and harness on and opened the front door, and she scurried out into Kitty Paradise - our humble yard.

I grew teary again as I watched her making her usual rounds - sniffing the dirt, picking her way through flowerbeds, eating grass she would probably throw up later on my Oriental rug. And then, without really intending to, I started weeding one of the beds. It felt good to be able to control something, however insignificant. I went and got my clippers and cut away the spindly sundrops, and I pulled the dead leaves and stalks out of the irises, and I divided the lambs' ears into smaller, prettier chunks. I took all of the dead, sad foliage and stuffed it in the compost bin. As I walked back around the house to rejoin Maia, who was sun-drunk amid the azaleas, I realized I hadn't been sad for almost an hour. It felt so good to be free, just for a moment.

So I guess that's what gardening is all about, for me. It's not that it's some kind of transcendental experience, or a complex and meaningful analogy about life and death. It's just that it's something to do with yourself when you're temporarily unable to handle your own life. Whatever is bugging you, you are free to put it down next to the bed while you weed it. Yank out the crab grass that's crowding your beloved plants. Rearrange and prune with abandon. And when you're done, step back and enjoy your work for a few minutes, before turning back to your life, and your pain, with a fresh perspective.