I’m a victim of colliding compulsions. I visit a nursery, I see a new plant and I have to have it. When I get home my German genes kick in, and I wonder where I’m going to put it. How will it fit in my overall design? When I can’t work that out, I do my Scarlet O’Hara: “Oh, I can’t think of that now. … I'll think of that tomorrow. … Tomorrow’s another day. … ” And I leave rebuilding Tara until tomorrow.
When tomorrow comes, I’m forced to confront my cash-and-carry habit. Why does my garden look like I brought a plant home every day and tried to find a spot for it? Maybe because I brought a plant home every day and tried to find a spot for it. I’ve got one of everything. What happened to the lovely repetition of color and shapes I admire in my friend Marge’s garden? Where’s that analogous color combination I yearned to replicate?
That’s it. My cash-and-carry habit is over. I'm going to sit down and design a bed, calculate the number of plants and put it all on paper, and I won’t buy a single plant that's not on my plan. Period. Got that?
And you know something? This disciplined approach turns out to be more fun than I thought. After I’ve researched the best plants, measured the area and calculated the number of plants, I know how the pros feel as I tuck my plan in my pocket and head to my favorite nursery.
As I pull into the nursery’s parking lot, I see the striking, feathery, nearly black foliage of a new shrub. Its alluring clumps of pink blossoms draw my nose in. Mmmm … lemony. As I get closer, I recognize this plant. My friend Linda planted this by her front door. It grew 6 feet tall by 6 feet wide in a nanosecond. I miss Linda. I'd like to see more of her, but I can't find her front door. She can't even rely on the deer to prune this overgrown plant because it's poisionous. But I can't think about Linda's poor decision now.
I consult my plan, knowing full well that this plant is not on it. I start to sweat. Is it fear of falling off the wagon or just another hot flash? I reach for my cell phone and call Marge, the most disciplined person I know. “Is it on your plan?” is her first question. “Never mind,” she says. “Do you have a pencil on you?” I dig through my purse. “Yes, yes, I have one,” I yell as I hold my violet Revlon eyeliner pencil in the air. Snapping out of my exuberance for a moment, I notice people are staring at my elevated eyeliner and me.
“Now take a deep breath and listen carefully,” Marge says calmly, as if talking a jumper off a high ledge. “Pencil it on your plan. Then buy it.”
Gosh, where would I be without the wisdom of a friend like Marge?
As I head home, rearview mirror chock full of foliage, I realize I had better face my real problem. It’s just crazy to have that violet scribble on my nice, neat garden plan. I'm going to need a better pencil than my violet Revlon eyeliner. Maybe I'll invest in the pencils the professional landscape designers use. I'd better swing by the art store on my way home.