Yes, it’s a slow news day. Except for one tidbit. Before today I had no idea succulents could become so exhausted by day-to-day living. The drag of photosynthesizing and being watered on a weekly schedule was too much for my poor aloe who abruptly decided it was nap time.
Now being a person who generally has difficulty falling asleep, I admire those who are able to go from fully conscious to deep, dreamless sleep at the drop of a hat. Unless that person is driving, in which case my admiration turns to naked fear. My late grandfather once very nearly drove my brother and sister and I into a river in Canada because he quick-started a nap during the drive from Oregon to Alaska. (I saved the day with my lightning-quick thinking in the form of a piercing shriek.)
This talent of near instant sleep is not only possessed by grandfathers. My early morning carpool consists of 6 children, 1 trombone, 3 ukuleles, 1 viola, 1 clarinet, and 1 unkempt grown female. Guess which is me? Hint: not the trombone. One of the boys can be asleep by the time I turn off the interior car light, put the car in motion, and pull out into the main road. And he even snores.
Apparently, my humdrum houseplant took a page from grandpa’s book. Granted, it had put on a lot of growth in the last year. (Something about repotting after 6 years in a Smurf-sized pot.) In fact, it was getting a little out of hand with pups sprouting all over the surface. Other than that, obedient and quiet. Then, timber! Rock mulch and soil everywhere. A poor bystander in the form of a variegated jade plant was even beheaded on the way down.
I noticed a problem as I was fumbling around trying to set it aright without busting off the chunky top portion. The scrawny stake used as a prop was both too short and too sharp for the task. It had pierced the aloe in several places which were oozing and said ooze caused the stake to slip.
I tried to lean the plant against the wall. No dice. So back down to the floor it goes until I figure out how to support a wide, tall, top-heavy plant. The stalk (trunk?) of the aloe is not strong enough to go without support. But something about a tomato cage in the living room says tacky. Am I right?
My 7 year old noticed the plant and asked,”What happened, mommy?” Never one to miss an opportunity to fib to my children I answered, “The plant is sleeping. It’s really tired right now.” The kid didn’t bat an eye. Quiet, everyone, the plants are snoozing.
Update: I used the tomato cage idea. The aloe is still alive but missing a few leaves and nursing a nasty grudge.
Ideas for waking up an aloe? Do you think it was sleep-deprivation or crutch rejection?