Living with spider plants

I have been thinking about the 80’s this week, and how brutal that decade was.   

In Wales we lived with the miners’ strikes, Thatcher and the threat of nuclear annihilation and in our free time we consumed The Thorn Birds mini-series and Flowers in the Attic.  I remember watching The Thorn Birds with my parents at home. Of course I didn’t understand the themes, but I was envious of Rachel Ward’s lovely blue and white towelling robe that she wore on the beach in the famous scene with the priest.  I remember thinking it was very exotic to wear a robe on the beach and the next time I went on holidays with my mam and dad, I started to do the same.  My parents must have found it odd to see me sitting on the beach in Weymouth in my full-length, flammable dressing gown, but they didn’t mention it at all, if they did.

We were convinced that there would be a nuclear war between the USA and the USSR, and I clearly remember talking about how to survive nuclear winters with my friends in the park during our school lunch hours.  I remember the discussions taking place, but I can’t remember what our tips or recommendations were.  We assumed that omnicide was going to happen, that the human race would be exterminated and that we were the generation who would witness it.

Isn’t it funny what you remember and what you forget?

I remember a woman called Sherazade, who I knew, when I lived in Prague.  I moved to Czechia a few years after the Velvet Revolution, when it turned out that the people behind the iron curtain didn’t want nuclear annihilation either. It turned out the people in eastern Europe just wanted to get good jobs and go to the countryside for their holidays, they wanted to meet interesting people and sometimes to go dancing.

Sherazade came from Canada and was exquisitely beautiful and funny.  She used to carry a violin case around Prague with her, but there was nothing inside except some papers, her purse and her cigarettes.  She would open it up and laugh at people’s confused expressions, but she liked the way it felt on the Metro and in the old town.  The last I heard of Sherazade was that she moved to India where she was collected from the airport by an old boyfriend on his Harley, and I’ve never heard from or about her since. 

Prague then was full of transitioners; full of artists, writers, poets and film makers.

It was spectacular in the winter under a fresh coat of snow, and simply charming in the spring dressed in blossom.  We kept the bars and restaurants in business before the tourists arrived for their weekend mini-breaks and stag dos.  We felt that we were watching history unfolding as Czechia moved away from the former Soviet Union, and towards the west.

Isn’t it funny the things you remember, in amongst all the things you forget? 

I remember the smell and sound of Sherazade’s violin case as if it were yesterday, and the imagined texture of Rachel Ward’s towelling gown.  But ask me how I’ve spent all the days since the 12 March, and I would be pushed to give you any details.  Sure, I’ve spent time working and time exercising, and there’s been food to enjoy and a visit to Wales.  I’ve read some interesting books and I enjoyed the online courses, but how six months has gone by, I don’t know.

One thing I have enjoyed is my Spider Plants.

Originally from southern Africa, Chlorophytum Comosum, was first described by Swedish naturalist Carl Peter Thunberg in 1794.  I brought one home from my office desk in March, and now I have eleven.  They seem to propagate at will and every time I turn my back one of them has sprouted some more plantlets and there’s constant messing around and mischief.

I have the original plant, who seemed to be suffering with stress related issues in the early spring and didn’t enjoy the move at all.  It’s fine now, but I still have to be careful with the irrigation.  I have a stunningly beautiful one, which is fully symmetrical and has beautiful colouring.  I have a hippie one, and a wayward one, I have two quiet ones and a sombre one.   The three littlest ones are still finding their feet and then I have one that makes creaking sounds when it grows.  I stroke and chat to all of them all most days, but living with eleven spider plants is unsustainable, so if you live in Dublin and you want one, let me know. 

Last week, after watching a particularly powerful YouTube video I gave them all a steam shower. My partner, who is usually very supportive, simply asked “have we gone too far with this botany project?” so I cut Spa Day short and put them back on their shelves.  Memories of Sherazade’s violin case melts with Rachel’s robe and it all comes together as I chat with the spider plants. 

Aren’t we people odd, aren’t we funny, aren’t we strange? 

This week, my favourite twitter account @smolrobots described humans as “apes who learned to star gaze and dreamed of heaven” and it made me think we’ll be OK.  We care for indoor plants that don’t feed us, and we care for women from our past including fictional ones, and those we don’t see now.  The full-blown nuclear war we feared didn’t happen, the quality of TV mini-series improved, and the tide came in and went out again.  We are capable of such gentle thoughts and memories, and I think we’ll be OK.

In amongst all the harder stuff, I think we’ll be OK.