Last year's poinsettia refused to die. It's a pitiful thing with some tiny reddish leaves and a promising bud or two.
The black florist pot it was never transplanted from needed something to hold it.
I found a big gold cache pot that was too deep. I tried a piece of fossil Limestone.
The limestone rock was too big. A handful of river stones supported the pot just fine.
Once I set it in a big gold pot and surrounded it with Schlumbergeras and a Pelargonium or two, it looks so much happier and festive.
That's about as festive as it's going to be. In the spring I will take this determined plant out of the pot it was in for more than a year, examine the roots and replant it. It deserves a chance to bloom once more.
Thanks to Peter Herpst, my pitiful poinsettia now has a theme song: Percy the Puny Poinsettia.
Enthusiasm waned. Plants went on without me. Hyacinth bulbs are finally out of chill and in pots.
There are other blooming plants but these are the most startling. I gave away a rooted Persian Shield, a Gerbera seedling and something else I forget to a delightful visitor named Lillie, 20 years older than me, after we toured the garden in my Mule. And seeds! We gathered seeds of everything outside that had pods.