cactus emergency plan

In my parents' house lives a very large cactus. Seven feet tall and so girthy I can't get my arms around it. My dad drove it home from California about thirty years ago when it was just a wee cactus, not the monstrosity it is today. At Christmas my mom puts red velvet bows all over its prickly branches. It's a special plant.

It also tends to fall over once and while, when it gets too fat and sassy to hold itself up. Then commences a laborious, well-practiced ordeal of wrapping it in a sheet, rolling it outside, trimming it down, re-potting it, rolling it back in and admiring its slimmer self. The best part about the trimming? Lots of baby cacti, all given away to friends and family. Oddly enough, at the ripe age of 25, I've never been on the receiving end of one of these special plants. Until now.

My parents came home from vacation a couple weeks ago to a toppled cactus, and when I went to visit last weekend I brought one of its unruly offspring home with me. It's a wee version indeed, but still required a cart to haul it upstairs, and was met by an inquisitive look from Mr. S. But now it sits in our living room, soaking up the sun, awaiting the day when it will follow in its mothers' footsteps and require us to invent our own Cactus Emergency Plan.

I can't wait to decorate it with little bows come Christmastime.