The Story of my Shamrock
I kid you not, my shamrock is at least 25 years old. Here's its story.
My friend Jill and I headed off to boarding school in the the fall of 1985. We were roommates, and we planned our dorm room carefully -- complete with coordinating red, white, and blue towels and comforters. It was pretty spiffy.
On the day we moved in, Jill's mom brought her pine sol and wiped down the entire room before we brought in our stuff. We lined our drawers with contact paper. The dads brought in the rug and the heavy stuff. And my mom filled our "pantry" with top ramen, grapefruit juice, and peppermint patties. Once we were settled in, Jill's mom put a shamrock plant on our counter to make it feel like home.
That shamrock survived a lot living with two teenagers. It dried out and wilted many times. Then it got over watered. A time or two we left it on the heater and it got crispy. Even when it recovered, we had no mercy and often left our towels laying on it! But somehow, Jill and I kept it alive for those three years of high school. Then it moved with us to college where we again shared a room.
In 1990, our five years of living together ended when Jill went to a different college and I moved into an apartment. I'm not sure why, but the shamrock stayed with me. I still have custody.
I've managed to keep it alive despite my poor track record with indoor plants. Plus, it's made it through at least nine moves without getting itself lost or killed. . . . it must be the luck of the Irish.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.