I love fish but I don’t like sushi. I love to exercise but I don’t like yoga. I love plants but I hate cactus. Go figure: I’m a mass of contradictions.
The only reason I bring this up is because anyone who knows me well knows my likes and dislikes, or, I feel, they should. I mean, a good friend would never call me up and say, “Hey, let’s take a yoga class and grab some sushi afterwards.”
This goes both ways. I have a good friend who has been sober for 20 years and I would never offer him a martini, which was the source of many of his problems back in the day. Another friend is terrified of balloons (don’t ask) so I make sure not to send her any on significant occasions.
So I thought it odd for my recent birthday when a good friend gave me a huge cactus plant. We’ve known each other for 30-odd years and I know she knows I hate cactus because I had just returned from a trip to Phoenix the week before my birthday.
“How was Phoenix?” she asked. This was my cue to start ranting about how I hate Arizona. I hate the heat. I hate the aridity. I hate the dust storms. I hate the politics. And I especially hate the cactus.
Why? Well, I think they’re ugly. And boring. And extremely inhospitable. For someone like me who has lived in the tropics my entire life I look at a dry, dusty, cactus-strewn landscape and I can’t help but think about lush, cluster palms, and large lovely lawns and vibrant hibiscus flowers. I mean, you look at a hibiscus and the plant says “Come hither and enjoy my loveliness.” You go near a cactus and it says, “Back off, Prick.”
So when my friend handed me that large cactus, incongruously tied with a bow, I was puzzled for compliments. “Wow,” I said. “That is one big cactus.” I thought a moment. “Thanks?” I added insincerely. My friend looked at me, beaming. “Sure is prickly, ” I said. I tentatively touched a spike and immediately began to bleed. “Sure is prickly,” I repeated.
Just then our kitten approached, curious, and I picked her up so she did not come into contact with the vile monster. My partner walked into the room a minute later as the kitten, my friend and I stood there, silently looking at the cactus as though we were expecting it to do tricks. The cactus, feeling rightly that all eyes were on it just stood there, silent and defiant.
My partner does not care for cactus plants either, although he does not feel as strongly about them as I do. He was silent for a minute before he said, “Wow. Big cactus.” The kitten and I nodded our heads in agreement. My partner looked down. “Beautiful pot,” he said.
I had been so appalled by the cactus I never even noticed the pot but I now saw that it was beautiful and I seized on that. “Yes!” I said emphatically. “Beautiful pot. Thanks so much!” My friend beamed some more as she prepared to leave. “Remember it likes it sunny and dry!” she reminded us before she left.
After she left, by unspoken agreement my partner and I carried the cactus to the far end of the patio where it is shady and the sprinklers could hit it. Then came the summer rains and soon our cactus was no more. We unceremoniously dumped the corpse and put a hibiscus tree in the pot. It’s a really nice pot.