My not-so-merry Christmas cactus
Ah, my cursed Christmas cactus.
It’s not good to swear in this season of goodwill — nor at any other time, really. Yet during past Decembers, I confess to hurling unprintable epithets at an exasperating Schlumbergera bridgessii, commonly known by the above nickname.
Cacti — in case you haven’t noticed — are suddenly the cool decor items to acquire. No longer relegated to the dusty windows of Chinese restaurants, the tall, phallic kind played a starring role in a recent horticulture show in the U.K. — and the demographic that gardening mar- keters are dying to win over (millennials) loved them.
The clichéd candelabra type of cactus, known as saguaro (which always pops up in old cowboy movies and memorabilia about Frida Kahlo) is also hot. Saguaro images are on everything — T-shirts, jackets, backpacks, CD covers and, inevitably, coffee mugs and fridge magnets.
So watch out: you’ll probably receive at least one gift ornamented with a saguaro this Christmas. Perhaps, if you’re lucky, someone might even hand over the real McCoy. But be careful how you take off the wrapping paper: the nasty spines are as sharp as needles.
All this ballyhoo about the prickliest plants on the planet brings back memories of an enormous Christmas cactus I inherited from my mother a decade ago. It never consented to bloom much for me (and certainly not around Dec. 25), even though I tried hard.
One year, the plant got stashed in a dark bedroom cupboard for several weeks in the fall, surprising the Man in my Life when he opened the cupboard door to toss some used underwear into the laundry bag. (He cursed a blue streak too.) Other years, I treated it to a cool, sunless room and cut back drastically on watering. But nope. All I got in return was a few measly red flowers — and never at this time of year.
When some branches of my stubborn Schlumbergera got afflicted with a squashy rot, I heaved a sigh of relief and tossed the pot out on to the deck. Then I watched it die slowly in a pile of snow without a shred of regret.
Since then, I’ve avoided getting involved with cacti. Any cacti. They clearly hate me.
Not so my neighbour Ann. The photo shows her Christmas cactus — at least 10 years old and still going strong in her dining room. Ann’s Schlumbergera always produces a bevy of blooms like clockwork in December — and often at Easter too.
“I don’t do anything to it,” she says with a shrug. “It just gets a bit of water now and then and stays inside all year.”
Am I jealous? A bit. Should I treat myself to a brand new Schlumbergera this Christmas, now that cacti have become so cool?
Nope. Being cooped up indoors in winter is bad enough, without tiresome tropical divas sulking on the window ledge. A pleb poinsettia sounds like a safer bet for the holidays. Then come January, I can cruelly toss that out in the snow too.
Merry Christmas. soniaday.com