It Keeps Me Hangin' On

Two Christmases ago my neighbor, an avid indoor gardener, gave me a small Christmas cactus.  Last Christmas, she gave me a poinsettia. Both plants continue to flourish and to bloom much to the consternation of my friend who has a green thumb but no long-term success with either Christmas plant.

Feeling a little guilty about my wild and undeserved horticultural achievement, I gave all the credit to a large southwest-facing window in my living room, but yesterday, as I was dancing around my kitchen while blanching vegetables for the freezer, it occurred to me that the explanation for such thriving plant life might have nothing to do with a green thumb or afternoon sunlight.  I think the secret sauce just might be Motown.

Motown has provided the soundtrack to my entire life.  Founded in 1959, just three years after my birth, the music of Motown became outrageously popular in the 1960s.  My father loved radio, and one was always playing in our home making it easy to follow the sounds of the hit parade.  For my First Communion I received a Philco transistor radio of my own.  While DJs kept me up to date on the latest releases, I could not, at will, tune into Motown or my favorite Motown invention, The Supremes.  Then, a couple of years later, in a bit of Christmas magic, I received that “innovation in portable listening,” an 8-track cassette player, along with a cassette of The Supremes’ greatest hits.  I was beside myself with joy.

Looking back, to call that cassette player “portable” was something of a stretch.  It was a bulky metal box on a shoulder strap that was bigger and heavier than a mom-purse, but I DID NOT CARE.  I would have carried Diana Ross around on my 10-year-old shoulders for the love of Motown and My Girls--The Supremes.

Throughout my growing up years, The Supremes remained a constant on the pop charts and on the radio.  They remain a constant in my home to this day.  I play their music whenever I have chores to do.  I slide around in my socks like Tom Cruise in Risky Business while adding in the smooth moves of Diana, Flo, and Mary. The Motown sound never fails to lift my spirits and fill me with energy, and apparently, it does the same for my Christmas plants, perhaps in honor of that long ago Christmas when I strapped on that portable 8-track cassette player and swore a lifetime of devotion to My Girls.

If my heart ever stops, play me some Motown.  If that doesn’t revive me you will know that there is nothing you can do, so stop! in the name of love, ‘cause I’m probably already stuck like glue to My Girls.  We’ll be dancing on the other side.

In the meantime, my prescription to keep those house plants hangin’ on:  open the blinds to a southwest-facing window, water them once a week, give the pots a quarter turn each morning, add some dirt now and then, and every day give them some baby love.  And plenty of Motown.
 
  

---