On the never never

It's mother's day next week. Here I am, old mom. One of the nice things about getting older is that your list of things you cannot imagine ever liking gets shorter. There was a time when I didn't like — at all — black olives (declared at age 3), the Rolling Stones (declared at age 11ish) or Westerns (didn't need to declare, because, obviously). The problem was that my first black olives were tinned, I got hold of the wrong end of the Rolling Stones on that Steel Wheels tour and, I don't know what to say about Westerns, they just seemed not interesting. I never would have imagined an amazing kalamata studded bread, or Emotional Rescue or Deadwood — luckily I wrinkled up a little bit and stumbled upon these things in the course of life.

However, I do have a list of things that I am very sure I will never, not ever like, and geraniums were on that list until last week. I had always thought of geraniums as good in theory: they have deep forest green foliage with bright neon flowers, but it's the wrong green and the wrong pink when you meet them. They smell like a plant, but not in a good way like tomato plants or grass. They have hairy leaves. Honestly, I felt pretty indignant that they were cluttering up the place when there are perfectly good poppies and ranunculus in need of a good home.

Anyway, of course immediately after posting that I don't like them, I found two beautiful geraniums. I am won over. (Oh, the lady at the plant store said she pinches off the flowers — she doesn't like them either. So, I did, and then I found they are pretty by themselves.)

Crystal Palace Geranium

Vancouver Centennial Geranium

By the way, a plant is a very good mother's day gift, don't you think?