“And people, aren’t they flowers too?”
Sergey Yesenin, Russian poet
You know this plant. You can find it anywhere – in the apartments, in the houses, in the offices across the globe. It’s very popular because it’s hardy, it almost does not require care. If you forget to water it, it won’t die, it will just sit and wait for you – for days and weeks. It grows slowly too, and you don’t need to be concerned about frequent trimming or repotting due to rapid growth. It’s sansevieria, or snake plant – a floral species with long, tough pointy leaves, often striped.
I had these plants everywhere I lived, all my life. I have had one in America for years. It sits on the desk at the window in my studio in the cold months. I take it to the deck in the summer where soon covered with cobwebs it becomes a temporary home for insects and dry leaves.
About a week ago, watering it, suddenly I noticed a strange growth inside the tightly woven leaves. What is it? I was intrigued. It did not look like a new leaf, it was a thin shoot with what resembled buds. Is it going to bloom? Sansevieria can bloom? I was shocked. I thought this plant would never bloom. How ignorant I was. I didn’t really do anything to make it bloom – the same regimen as always. It just decided to bloom on its own. It thought – it was time.
Last night cleaning the deck table with the plants, I smelled something beautiful. It was coming and going, and I could not determine where it was coming from. Then it dawned on me to check sansevieria! Sure enough, the buds turned into exquisite curly petals, and it was the petals that emanated the sweet and very refined scent. You would never associate this scent with a hardy plant with tough leaves like sansevieria. Turned out, inside the brutal unbendable warrior there lived a fragile and sublime soul.
Then I recalled when and where I got this plant. It came from one of my previous work places. It belonged to my coworker, an interesting old lady, so old that I often asked myself how she managed to keep a job in this era of pervasive ageism. What was interesting about her is that she knew how to dress. As a fashion connoisseur, artist and seamstress, I recognized it the minute I saw her. Nobody in America gives a damn about fashion, alas. With so many clothing stores, magazines and TV shows, women are wearing crap, and they seem to be quite happy about it. Bad taste ranges from rainbow colored leggings in combination with tank tops worn by plus size ladies to a national brand mixing navy and black in its designs (no, it’s not innovative, it’s poor taste, these colors cannot be combined).
My former coworker was an eye candy. She wore very expensive, very high quality outfits. Never dull, her colors were always carefully matched. The jackets and pants fitted perfectly. Her shirts were always ironed. She was a pure delight to look at. She always gave me an uplifting feeling that somewhere deep inside this country’s female soul fashion and good taste are alive.
We were not close friends, and as much as I wanted to know where she was buying her outfits, I never dared to ask. It seemed awkward and foolish. And I silently admired my fair lady from a distance.
Alas, my concerns about her age and her employability turned out to be grounded, and one day she was fired as an “underperforming” employee.
She was given very little time to collect her possessions, and left a couple of things behind, including the plant. It sat on her empty desk for a week before I realized that it might end up in the trash. And I took it home.
Do you know when ageism will come to an end? When we will stop assessing people by their skills, or work record, by their personality type, or by applying some scientific theory or by following our famous gut feelings. It will end when we start looking at people as divine creatures with potential that can either grow or wither — depending upon who handles them. When we realize that we are gardeners. When we finally admit that it’s old ugly apple trees that produce the best fruit. When we are able to witness the sansevieria bloom.
2019
Image: Jonas Peterson.
