Bucky and Satchel, my beloved orchids, were simply too beloved. In fact, they were beloved to death. May they rest in peace wherever it is that our well-sorted garbage gets taken.

(Can dead plants go with the food waste? I would think yes, but that would involve disassembling the orchids and it was just too soon, so they went in the general garbage.)

Replacing Bucky and Satchel meant a trip back to the lovely weekend flower market. As Colin was off trying to take a beginner’s-level Chinese proficiency test, I made the trip alone.

The amount of plant life in the three warehouses struck me with awe all over again. Violet and yellow and snow-white orchids and tiny cacti vied for the attention of passersby. Glass orbs of every size spun in colorfully lit water features. Everyone was, I assume, talking plants.

I found two new victims—er, orchids—with the same colorings of Bucky and Satchel and a good many more buds. I checked to make sure the roots looked healthy, though I’m not sure what healthy orchid roots look like. Bucky and Satchel 2.0.

On the way out, I spied a stall selling miniatures to go in bonsai scenes. I found a tiny heron that would go nicely in Colin’s bamboo, and the lady wrapped up two (I thought the price was for one, but I was wrong). I also stopped to buy a new pack of seeds to try where our rosemary had failed. Four O’Clocks were the only ones that wanted half sun and high heat, and that’s what our balcony gets, so that’s what I picked. They should germinate in about a week.

Oh the way home, a Taiwanese gal who I would guess to be about my age stopped me and asked if I would write Happy Birthday on the board she was carrying. I warned her about my hand writing, but she didn’t mind or didn’t understand. We took a few pictures and went our separate ways.

Ling and me

Ling and me

Our sunset that evening.

Our sunset that evening.


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