Helen Plus Three

I'm growing my plant collection slowly, unfortunately the  '' rules'  are not so straightforward. Japanese rose, I have to figure out how to prune this ... It's not just indoor and low light conditions, I thinks there's wind factor since I'm not on the ground floor and that I do have some sun but from an angle. I'm sort of facing south-west. Spider Plant Believe it when I say, I have managed to kill a couple of so called 'hard to kill' plants from either over watering or too much chemical fertiliser (inspite of following instructions). Well I have not gotten the hang of the soil types and am playing by ear. It's been almost a year now, so things are going well for the hardier plants like the money plant, Boston ferns and bamboo palm.  So I'm making these rules as I go along.... (remember I'm an amateur)  Rule no 1 : don't always follow instructions on fertilizer package Rule no 2 : don't be so ambitio

I took this photo with my hand sticking out over the edge to catch the picture of the flower. I'm not sure of the name yet, but these are tiny flowers that bloom only in the morning.. it looks like a carnation.. It's really sweet ..  .. Discovered at last, apparently it's called a Japanese rose. discovered the true name .. portulaca grandiflora or Moss Rose .. a pretty variety — Helen A (@haof3) August 14, 2013

This poem reminds me of my father and how he lives  and I am and will be the ''  forlorn and shipwrecked brother,  Se eing, shall take heart again. " Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)              A PSALM OF LIFE        WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN                     SAID TO THE PSALMIST     T ELL  me not, in mournful numbers,         Life is but an empty dream ! —     For the soul is dead that slumbers,         And things are not what they seem.     Life is real !   Life is earnest!         And the grave is not its goal ;     Dust thou art, to dust returnest,         Was not spoken of the soul.     Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,         Is our destined end or way ;     But to act, that each to-morrow         Find us farther than to-day.     Art is long, and Time is fleeting,         And our hearts, though stout and brave,     Still, like muffled drums, are beating         Funeral marches to the grave.     In the world's broad field of battle,