I Remember Mama Nature

Isn’t it nice, George, the way we have everything fixed up around the house now? So convenient and easy to take care of . . . and, yes, really beautiful, not at all the way it used to be back when we were trying to fight nature.

Remember our first big problem, that planter just inside the front door? I’ll bet I put a hundred different plants in there. The nurseryman kept saying, “I know this will live.” And he’d send me home with a rubber plant or an aspidistra. But every time, no matter how carefully I’d water them and feed them and spray them, they’d start getting yellow around the edges and kind of droopy, and then, bang, no more plant. Oh, I tell you, I was disgusted. I actually got to the point where I almost hated those plants.

Then one day somebody suggested — I think it was Noreen — that maybe I should just give up and put in some of those artificial plants. At first I didn’t want to do it. It didn’t seem right somehow. I mean, like why have a planter at all if you’re not going to have real, living things growing in it?

But then at the florist’s one day I saw some polyethylene philodendrons, and I had to admit they looked real. You couldn’t tell they weren’t unless you went up and felt them, and how many people do that? The only difference between them and real plants was that actually they looked more perfect. But you can’t complain about having too much perfection. That would be like complaining about too much good health.

Anyway, I just loved that philodendron. Everybody would practically squeal when they came in the door and saw it. “Martha,” they’d say, “however did you get it to grow like that? Why, it’s just perfect.” Well, for a while I’d just not let on it wasn’t real. Then finally I’d break down and tell them. My, they were surprised. Most of them wanted to know where I’d bought it. I know they could hardly wait to go out and get some just like mine for themselves.

Well, that took care of the inside nicely but I still had the whole great outdoors to worry about. Then it dawned on me. If artificial plants worked so well inside, why not try them outside? And so I did. Gradually I planted the whole yard with artificial bushes and trees. (I like to call it planting, but I actually just stuck them in little holes filled with cement.) There were ferns, junipers, bamboo, and a huge weeping willow with a formica trunk. Oh, they were expensive — they cost twice as much as real plants — but I figured they were worth it because they would last a lifetime.

My, they looked nice. They were just the right size to begin with, and they stayed the right size, too. I remember that all the poor neighbors used to get those tiny little plants you could hardly see and work over them until they grew. It seemed they were only the right size about five minutes, and then, boom, they were growing like weeds, and the poor souls had to spend all their time clipping them back.

After I got all my plants and trees in, I thought the place needed a little color, so I added some plastic flowers — carnations, azaleas, tulips and I kept bouquets of them in the house just as if they’d been freshly cut from the garden. Finally, the only gardening problem I had was the lawn. All that sprinkling and fertilizing and weeding and mowing. So I decided why not? I marched out to a place where they made artificial grass in little squares like asphalt tile — you know, the kind they use for covering the cement floors of roof gardens and such — and I bought enough to cover the whole front and back yards.

After that our yard was a beautiful garden spot all year long, the envy of the neighbors, and we could just sit and relax. But still I felt something was missing. I guess I’d noticed the cute little pets the neighbors had, and we’d never had any because they take so much care, and just when you get attached to them, they run out in the street and get killed. Then I got this wonderful idea. Artificial plants are perfect; why wouldn’t artificial animals be perfect too? So I marched out and bought Rex, our staunch little iron watchdog, and Darleen, our plaster of Paris duck, and all her little ducklings out there poking around in the artificial grass. (That reminds me. I must get them some imitation insects.)

And inside the house there’s Doze, our velour kitten, curled up on the hearth by the gas log, and Pepi, our toy talking parakeet with a tape recorder and tiny speaker in his chest. I guess we got ourselves about the biggest and best bunch of pets in the neighborhood.

Really, George, I think we’ve finally found perfection in our home, and, yes, in our lives too. Remember when we were first married and used to have all those arguments? Why, come to think of it, I haven’t heard a harsh word from you in over a year now. I guess you must be as happy as I am with our ideal life, aren’t you, George?

You don’t have to answer, dear. I can tell you are by the way you’re calmly sitting there in your easy chair, just like always, holding your pipe and smiling quietly. But look at your glasses, they’re all dusty! Why, shame on me. I haven’t dusted you all week. I’ll run and get a cloth right now.