Tough love and prancing poodles

When I was in High school, the sibling relationship with my older brother had greatly improved. There was a change from our earlier sibling conflicts which sparring was probably more from my character flaws than his. We became good friends. He gave me some very thoughtful gifts which have endured in substance and interest in spite of 40 years lapse of time. He gave me a pocket-size set of scriptures which I still use on trips. He bought me a furry black short coat, a mouton which was the fashion rage at the time. We had to return it because it was too small and he acquired a white furry coat which my friends and I loved. I still love it although the fit is quite different from what it was in my teens - hence, the 2 dimentional model.

For a couple of Christmases Tony positioned stuffed animals under the tree for me. The first was a black furry cute/ugly monkey which was also a hit with my friends and has been played with by numerous grandchildren. So much that it is in dire need of repair and some needle work. The other animal is a white furry poodle which was as cute and charming in its pristine state as any childhood faux pet has ever been. The poodle head and body are stiff and erect, not too padded, (especially in its declining years) with 4 cute poodle legs with some stiff coiled metal insides, ending with rubber feet that provide drag on a hard floor surface. Originally a leash was around the neck to facilitate imitating a cute poodle walk, adding to its already charming poodle personality. It was a winner gift from my brother at the time and has continued like the bedraggled monkey to entertain grandchildren. With the latest grandchild chicanery I noticed the poor dear doggie was looking a little grungy and skinny, very different from the fluff of its youth. When all of the grandchildren have graduated from interest in the prancing doggie, it may be an almost hairless chocolate poodle.

Recently Tony has given me a set of books of artwork from an artist in Utah whose style I appreciate very much. The other recent gift Tony blessed my existence with was a sprig of Hoya. What is a Hoya you would ask. It was certainly something I had never heard of, let alone could imagine it ever gracing my kitchen counter. It was a prize acquisition from an across the bridge neighbor of our family when we were children in Las Cruces.

He had sent the cutting in a padded envelope with instructions to put it in water and with subsequent instructions that the Hoya should be treated with tough love. It will not need much water for a week or two and then water well and then it will bloom profusely - ‘tis to laugh! Looking at the twig he had sent, I couldn’t tell which end to place in water. It had one leaf in the middle but neither end looked promising of even having survived the postal trip from its mother plant. I happened to stick the wrong end in the water and when Tony called to see how much I loved the plant he had caringly placed in my dubious stewardship, I had to ask which end was up.

I assured him I loved the little vagabond and would care for it like it was one of my own but mostly forgot it was in my house. That was when Tony started keeping me apprised of the status of the HIS hoya. "I hate to brag but my hoya has out-done itself and has blossomed all over the north quadrant of the city of Salt Lake, and by the way, how is your little orphan doing?"

His periodic hoya updates have kept my eye on my stick of a plant which now has14 leaves. I keep waiting for the tough love to bring out the blossoms on my counter.