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Confessions of a Brown Thumb: I have wonderful memories of my great Aunt Jeuney's backyard in California. Most vividly, I remember the sweet, full fragrance of her roses. The smell of the flowers overcame me whenever I went outside. Really, my memory of LeJeune’s home in Sunnyvale is connected to memories of my grandpa Earl’s death. Eating chocolate dipped strawberries at a family open house. Purple irises on Grandpa’s casket.

Anyway, I was thinking about Aunt Jeuney today when I looked at my mostly-dead ivy plant. I bought it at the farmer's market here in Lawrence. The lady at the stand said the plant would be easy to care for. A week ago I noticed that I had a crop of mushrooms peeking out of the ivy leaves. I stopped watering it so much, and now, everytime I look at it, another vine is totally dried up, though the soil is damp. I guess LeJeune's green thumb genes skipped my DNA strain.


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