Indianapolis Museum of Art Blog

Ah, the Olympics. That period of time every 2 to 4 years, depending on your sport love of choice, when the world’s best gather to compete.

I must admit I have watched very little. In part because I am very busy at the moment. In part because I am not strongly sports oriented (I was picked for the ball teams just before the ugly girls in grade school). And in part because I just can’t bear to watch some of the people lose. Oh, I’m not talking about the no-chance-in-hell-of-finishing-in-the-medals people. I’m talking about the for sure winners. The athletes that the announcers describe as the gold medalist favorite. The athletes that broke a record at the World Championships (insert your sport of choice). But for every Michael Phelps there is a Lolo Jones.

Here she’s gone and trained her whole bloody life for this moment. Foster homes. Working to get a scholarship. Actually getting the scholarship. Beautiful start on her run, pulling out ahead of the pack, on her way to gold…….and she clips the 9th hurdle. How many hundreds of times has she been successful? But on this most crucial moment a snafu finishes her and puts her out of the medals. It’s heartbreaking. It’s like reliving the Erica Kane woes all over again. I just can’t do it. I quit watching All My Children 20 years ago because I just couldn’t see her go through any more heartbreak. For me it all started with the hysterical pregnancy. Does anyone remember that? It’s just too much.

With the Olympics it’s especially bad when you can figure it is probably their last real chance. Sure some athletes are lasting longer but when you are in your late 20’s in 2008 it means you are in your early 30’s in 2012 and there is some younger whippersnapper chewing up the ground all around you. Yes, there is Dara Torres. But how many her age in total? So, no. While I enjoy watching many Olympic events (Some hardly seem like sports at all!) I won’t devote my life to them. Besides, I participate in the Horticulture Olympics every year. I know the thrill of victory AND the agony of defeat. This year it’s lots of defeat.

Each year it’s like having to go through all those preliminary rounds to get to the finals. And you hope for your best performance knowing anything can happen. Some gardening moments you finish in the medals, others you fall off the pummel horse. Talk about trying to stay on the balance beam. Some years you have a great mount. Your whole routine is just golden. How could it be any better? Time for the dismount. Oooooo. You slipped just as you pushed off. To put it in horticulture terms, who knew it could take that long for castor beans to take off? Normally they grow a foot a day. My whole design was to be anchored by the damn things. Oh, they’re starting to look pretty good now even though they are barely above the cannas.

But that’s like saying “I won $17 playing Bingo at the church picnic so I’m okay loosing the Olympic medal”. No one really gives a crap about the Bingo game. I mean with my love of, fascination with, and perhaps obsession for tropicals and annuals I think of myself as one of the ones about whom the announcer would say: “He’s definitely a gold medal contender in this year’s Horticulture Olympics. Remember the incredible performance he turned in a few years ago with the unbeatable red rice and papyrus combo? Let’s not forget the year of pink, orange, and yellow.” I trained. Really I did. I studied past performances. The damn purple heart vine should have filled in and not look like this.

Colocasia likes it on the wet side. So why are mine barely a foot tall?

I should have been within reach of the medal. But here I am. Nearer to frost with each passing day. Trying to catch up with the other Horticulturists instead of having them breathless trying to gain on me. Geoff’s pots at Garden Terrace are full and lovely.

Patty’s urns at the Formal Garden are all summery in blue and yellow and scented of rosemary.

Jim’s Annual Border is what a tropical/annual planting is supposed to be.

Katie’s pots are perfect.

And Chad’s Garden for Everyone has clever lush pairings like this one of parsley and fountain grass.

So where does that leave me? Lying under the pummel horse covered in chalk and blood? Hanging from the rings like a dead carcass? On my knees crying my eyes out in the tunnel waiting to be kicked out of the stadium? Hell no. I may be old but I’m not dead. I will be training. I’ll be studying those plant catalogues. I’ll be going through those images I took on the Perennial Plant Symposium tours. I’ll be taking mental notes when I visit other gardens. I’ll be writing down ideas as they come to me. Look out you IMA Horticulturists. That sound you here is me about to run past you faster than kudzu can cover a junk car in Mississippi. Game on, bitches.

• Tags: 2008, All My Children, Beijing, castor beans, China, Erica Kane, Gardens, Horticulture, ima, Indianapolis Museum of Art, Irvin Etienne, Lolo Jones, Michael Phelps, Olympics, Perennial Plant Symposium

This entry was posted on Friday, August 22nd, 2008 at 7:51 am and is filed under Current Events, Horticulture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.